So... as much as I'd liked for this to be longer, I feel like I have to update because it has been so friggin' long since last time. What have I been doing to make me not write and update as much as I'd like? Welp, I went on two trips, went to a wedding and have now taken over most of the responsibilities of the office. I'm so busy half the time I don't know what I'm writing when I pull this document up. This chapter was really hard to write and I actually had something else completely done, but changed my mind, erased it, and decided to give you guys something else instead. But, thanks to that decision, I've finally pulled this story back into progression mode now that the Trials are done.

Whoa... the Trials are done. I'm still not over that.

Also, if you didn't read the AN in Be Ready, I got engaged...yeah... marriage. Neat.

Now I've got to add planning a wedding on top of everything else. Please, please, please bear with me on this because I assure you I am not letting this story go unfinished. I refuse! It's too crazy to leave it alone! I have too many plans!

Thank you for reading as always. This chapter might be a bit weird, but it was necessary. I need some good plot progress and this definitely kicks it into high-gear!

See you at the bottom!

Wiping watering eyes with three ferocious swipes with her trembling fingers, a deep burn in her chest -one that had nothing to do with her vox core – traveled to her throat and sat sourly. Hurrying through the archway into her under-cove, she refused to look at the old man who was standing firmly with his large feet planted right behind her small chair. The under-cove was casted in an array of strange and wobbling shadows thanks to the numerous torched sconces lining the stone walls. They shimmied around Balgus' huge form, creating a black wraith that stretched to the middle of the ceiling on the left and right side equally. She could practically taste the waves of disappointment wafting off of him. It didn't matter if he was disappointed or angry or inflating up the energy to explode at her for running away like a coward.

She was already disappointed enough.

Planting herself noisily on the chair, Hitomi took deep breaths to calm her rising frustration and anger. It failed her as more tears spilled from her eyes. Her hands were shaking, her knees bouncing up and down with combined adrenaline and the unstable waves of her emotions. She was exhausted, confused, and unable to handle the stress any longer. She knew she was being unreasonable. She knew crying wouldn't solve anything at all. But it was like her body had no way of releasing all the pressure, fear, and anxiety the long, endless day had pressed on her. First, fighting Gadeth and his speed, then Millerna and her daggers, then Dryden and his intelligence followed by Allen and his impossible strength… and last Van…

He laughed. She thought bitterly brushing another finger under her eye. He just sat there and laughed at me. What a way to go out… The mountain of tension she'd pushed aside from every fight finally started tumbling down on her shoulders at that small little laugh. It hit her like a tidal wave; crushing and unyielding.

And all she could do was cry.

"Stop the waterworks, Kanzaki," Balgus' voice rumbled behind her head. His chest held that tell-tale small growl that always vibrated her ears. Despite the usual warning that clicked into her mind at his strange dog-like noises, she found that sound oddly comforting.

"I can't seem to… Trust me, I'm trying…" she sniffed, wiping her cheeks dry with both hands. More tears trailed in their fallen brothers' wake and continued their onslaught down her face; dripping off her chin.

"Your Trial is over. You are second in the Vehotus. You should be out there for the formal introductions. This is a celebration. Not a tragedy."

She let go of a shaking sob and a hiccup. "I b-broke the sound system anyway. Not like they can announce much… " Hitomi shook her head; her auburn locks fell over her forehead and brushed into her wet eyes. "He laughed at me… Van actually laughed at how I lost. I feel like such an idiot."

"You are an idiot." He agreed without a moment's pause. "You have flaunted that particular daunting character trait ever since I met you. Most of the time I wonder if your idiocy knows no bounds. But then you pull stunts like stomping off the field like a wallowing moron and surprise me once more. That's when I realize you have no limit to your stupidity. You are an unlimited ocean of stupid. That doesn't give you an excuse to be a spoiled brat and snub the king, Kanzaki."

She stood from her small chair slowly, her hands lowering from her tear-stained cheeks to clench into fists by her side. Her golden armor started frothing at her shoulder blades. "Why do you always have to be like that, Balgus?" Hitomi hissed, giving him her best glower through tears. He blinked slowly at her pathetic intimidation, undeterred. "Calling me stupid or a moron? I already know I lost the Trial in the most idiotic way possible. I don't need you pointing out my 'unlimited ocean of stupid'. Why can't you just be supportive for once-"

"I am being supportive, imbecile!" The old man barked suddenly into her face and she actually took a step back in surprise. "You are too slow to realize it. You ask why I have to be like this. It's because every single time you came back into this under-cove after a fight, you had some new emotional problem you had to deal with! Whether it was depression over a booing crowd or your lack of using your weapons wisely or exploding the under-cove in lightning and scaring half the population of Fanelia, you always have some mindless issue that has to be handled before you can move on. And now you pull this brilliant slice of heap garbage and left his Majesty on the field to bawl in self-pity! If you wanted sympathy, you came to the wrong under-cove! Get rid of those tears, get out there, and take your defeat like a Pilot! You are embarrassing not only yourself, butall of those you represent. That means Hospesland, Rutilus Flumen, and me!"

She was quiet, her eyes still blinking down tears. The anger and bitterness fizzled out and was replaced by boiling shame. Swallowing down the sore lump in her throat, she took a deep breath to speak, but he cut her off again.

"I say it for your own good, brat. You are excruciatingly frustrating to talk to when you get all upset and weepy. You have the skills of a warrior and a well-trained Vehotus, but you are going to have to keep your emotions in check if you want to survive. You want to talk about pressure; there will come a time very soon when you will be on a battlefield. You are a Vehotus now and will be trained in leadership. That means you will have men underneath you, looking up to you, seeking guidance. You cannot break in the middle of a battlefield just because your enemy laughed at you. What kind of leadership are you showing right now?"

"I know, I know, I know!" she said swiftly. Pushing the chair aside with a thick hand, Balgus took several steps closer to her. His mouth was a pinprick of disappointment. The shame increased as well as her tears.

"No, you don't know. You don't seem to get it. You will watch men die. You will see those you considered comrades cut down, slaughtered." The old man's small dark eyes glinted with a mysterious spark and then fell dull. His thick grey eyebrows squashed together, wrinkling his forehead considerably. She saw the pain behind his wise face. She heard the absolute truth in his words. "What will you do when that happens? What if your entire platoon is lost and it is your fault? You will be forced to make fast decisions during a battle – sometimes they will be good, but a lot of the time your decision will kill many people. Will you come crying to me or Rutilus when that time comes?"

"I-I'm just tired from the entire day and-"

"You will be even more tired during a battle! You will be so tired, your feet will feel like they are about to fall off! And this will be only for one battle, Kanzaki! You are destined to fight a war! You will fight and fight and be so worn out there will be nothing left of you by the very end! You have officially earned the right to be there! To fight! To command! What men would follow you into battle looking like this?" He gestured at her red face. "What men would sacrifice themselves for a Vehotus Commander that cries like a child under just a little bit of pressure and stress? Dry up, Kanzaki! Dry up and don't cry again until you have a good reason!"

She stared hard at him. He stared equally hard at her. Once, long ago, they were student and teacher. Then they slowly became friend and friend. It was strange how the time just brought their relationship closer than she could ever imagine. Balgus was her family now. She heard his words...

And she pictured his large body broken and bleeding beside her.

And instantly cringed away from the image as soon as it came.

She was higher than him in rank when it came to the Vehotus, but she realized there was still a wide gap between them, one that she knew she'd have to cross eventually:

Innocence versus veteran killer.

"I will have to kill." Her voice was flat, but the words chilled her to the bone and goose-bumps rose up on her arms and neck.

"And you will do it, too." He gave a small nod; his eyebrows raised only a fraction from their crunching scowl. "You will do it because you are destined to protect Fanelia. You will do it because of Hospesland." Balgus pointed out to the under-cove door with a thick finger. "You will do it because of that man out there. Because the king will be fighting right beside you. Because you are now in the Vehotus and it is your sworn duty to keep him safe. Never forget that, Kanzaki: It is your duty as Second in the Vehotus. Don't-" Balgus' deep voice actually caught as the words tumbled out. "Don't fail your king like I did. Don't… let him die."

The silence that fell forward in the stone room was drenched with words unspoken, but hints of deep regret, shame, and fervent wistful prayers.

"You never told me what happened to Van's parents…" Hitomi whispered into the strangled, deep hush. Balgus' face twisted into an impassive block of stone.

"And I never will."

The large man turned away from her, taking several steps back towards the stone wall. She watched his broad back expand as he inhaled slowly. His muscled shoulders straightened abruptly. He turned back to face her and the dullness had all but disappeared from his deep-set eyes. "It is my burden. It is my torment. And I do not let my emotions take control. Use me as an example."

Hitomi's memories produced a shadow of Van. Locked in a room, crying over his friend's ashes; he had held in his sadness for the sake of saving face. And saving face for whom? His country? Was this strength or another form of running away? Balgus made a good point. There was a time and place for grief, but… her heart twisted with a brush of sorrow.

So Balgus was where Van learned it from…

"You use words like 'torment' and 'burden'. Did it ever occur to you that maybe someone can share that burden with you, Balgus?" The old man's face conformed into a glare and he opened his mouth, but she was the one to cut him off this time. "I find that with all my doubt and self-consciousness, I do know who I am on the inside. If I'm upset about something, I will cry. If I think something is funny, I will laugh. If I want to talk or cheer or scream until my voice is raw, I will do it." The old man's eyes crushed into slits as he watched her brush the remnant of tears off her face and take step defiantly towards him. "If I don't want to be in a room, I'll leave. If I want to tell someone they are wrong, I will tell them how foolish I think they are. I have never been in a battle. I have never killed anyone. I will someday soon and I am not looking forward to that time. You are right that I have been neglecting to dwell on that particular part of war. You also are right that I am being silly right now to be upset. No soldier would follow me into battle, but you know what, Balgus?" She took another step towards him; her face close to his large chest. Though she was tiny compared to his bulky mass, Hitomi felt the power of her words crashing down on his head. "I refuse to keep my emotions in. Because emotions are what make me who I am. Both as the Pilot of Rutilus Flumen and Hitomi Kanzaki of Hospesland. I change, rush, flow like water. I can't keep it in. And I'm just fine with that. When did it become common practice for a leader to be stoic and emotionless? When did this become something you teach? Is a Vehotus Commander not supposed to be human?" Glancing down, she looked at her small hands. "I am a warrior, Vehotus Commander, and Pilot, but I am also a young girl, Balgus, with feelings and emotions and fear. I am also Hitomi Kanzaki. If I smother the emotional side of myself then who am I when the war is gone? What kind of person will I have become once the fighting ceases?"

Unknown to Hitomi, her armor had started to swirl a little faster; the gold tossing slightly off the under-leather. They caught the firelight from the various torches and flashed an array of gold showering beams over the walls and ceiling. The actual fires seemed dim compared to her shining armor. The old man was frozen, his small eyes focused completely on his new Vehotus Commander. She met his gaze; her expression still holding a touch of defiance, but also encouragement. She swallowed in a tense throat and fresh tears rimmed her green/gold eyes.

"Rutilus Flumen chose me for who I am: Hitomi Kanzaki, me, the small girl with larger than life dreams that ran through the vineyards of Praeter with a fighting stick in her hand. But she also chose the one who sobbed for days when her step-mother died. She chose the one who forgot her dreams for years as her father wasted away on his death-bed. She chose me for who I am and I will never change the best part of myself. Not for you, Fanelia, or Van."

The silence that fell now was completely different. A wavering line of melancholy, and yet a whisper of strength made the rushing gold on her armor fling off further on her back. As Balgus stared at his once hopeless Utpote, now fierce Vehotus Commander, the swirls looked like angelic wings; flushing and tossing into the air behind her. Turning on foot, her make-shift wings slowed back to their usual pace.

Balgus started as if waking from a dream. "W-Wait, Kanzaki! Where do you think you are going?"

"I'm going to Rutilus Flumen. She is where I belong."

The old man rushed forward follow her, but she was too fast; already slipping through the side exit and disappearing into the darkness.

Gone.

For the first time, she took a step towards the tent opening.

She wasn't being held against her will. She wasn't chained or locked in some cell. She was free to leave if she wished; however, she remained where they had left her – that long-limbed man Plaktu and his young canine companion. She continued to curl against the floor; her dark eyes staring for hours at a time at the tied flap of the tent. It was bizarre. Despite the loud noises of daily bustling work the camp constantly provided outside, Merle found herself slowly unwinding like a ball of yarn. Her muscles gradually stopped seizing, her heart decreased to a steady and solid beat in her chest. It was as if the horrible drive she had before was pushed aside, chained in a corner with some mysterious force. The small girl had given up trying to pull her mind powers forward.

She came up blank.

Powerless.

Disappeared.

… Deep inside, as the calm overtook her little by little, she felt a sense of weightlessness; of something she'd only felt in memories. This feeling, she couldn't put a name to it. She was separated from herself, but still whole.

More whole than she'd ever been in her life.

But she didn't deserve the comfort. She was a monster.

Chid.

Clinks of hammers pounding metal, shouts of male voices in all sorts of languages. The occasional bark or chirp or honk of some unknown mixed creature came from outside her tent. Was she expected to hiss or claw or purr? A memory of a heated breast vibrating with a deep luscious sound of a comforting hum. A mother's purr for her kitten.

Had she ever purred because of pure happiness before?

Merle couldn't remember…

The tent flap stirred and the dog boy came. He was obviously instructed to completely ignore her existence, for he brushed the stretched leather aside and entered with almost a bored look in his soft brown eyes. Placing a plate of food only a few feet away from where she laid, he turned around immediately and left. She couldn't help but notice that although the canine boy kept his expression impassive and he never met her gaze, his long tail sometimes let out a small wag as he stepped into her tent.

The first three meals, Merle had refused to eat.

That didn't last long as her stomach began making the worst howling noises she'd ever heard in her life. Slowly picking her way through the plate of meat and tiny, soaked roots, she ate sluggishly; each bite suspiciously sniffed and dissected with her claw.

As the hours passed and not a drop of sickness hit her, she began to accept the meals with a more luster; her hunger surprisingly strong for how small her body was. Merle even found herself licking the bowl clean on some occasions. The tan man, Plaktu, had visited her only three times since she first woke up with The Mutts. He explained that her body was replenishing its spent reserves and that her healthy appetite was in result of that. With a small smile that she couldn't return, he simply told her to rest and eat.

But now evening had fallen and Merle was hungry again.

The small cat straightened up as the opening stirred.

The boy came inside.

Her dark gaze actually touched his warm brown eyes and he stopped walking forward. Her nose caught the wonderful aroma of brown rice and wild spices. With curious frown, she glanced at his furred fingers and noticed he grasped the plate with shaking hands. He kept his eyes on her; his serious expression wavering as his tail began to wag leisurely.

Then, to her surprise, he spoke softly to her: "I have given you time, but I understand why you are still in here. Plaktu explained to me that you are in the process of a metamorphosis." The boy ducked his head sheepishly and his long brown fur looked strangely golden as fell over his neck. "This tent, Plaktu says it is your cocoon. You are safe and comforted, but there will come a time when you will be done with your transformation. You will come out a completely different person. He told me to stop asking questions and give you space, but I wanted you to know that I will wait… That I'll be waiting for you…if you need a friend…"

He set down the food.

Left through the door.

She thought about his words as she ate; focusing specifically on one word:

Friend

She lay back down, but this time, her comfort was pricked by a curious question.

The Kitsune Clan and Canine Clan were allies? That's what the book had said when Chid- she shook her head with a small mew and shied away from the memory…

But.

The dog boy did seem to like her.

Friend

Friend

What is a friend?

Sitting up once more, she stared hard at the flap. Feeling the question toss inside her mind, she knew she had to find the answer herself. Merle stood with shaking legs, her heart pounding with fear, but her back straight with bravery. Her limbs were still weak, but the few days of good food and rest had done their work. She reached up, brushed her curly fuchsia hair behind her long ears, and dusted off her stained white dress.

Maybe it was time for her to find out for herself…

Maybe, just maybe, she'd find what she was looking for… the reason she'd ran so far…

She'd find a friend…

And...

For the first time, she took a step towards the tent opening.

For the first time, he took a step towards the door.

He hadn't been chained since his journey to the mountain top. True to his word, the dark General hadn't touched him with as much as a fingernail. The door was unlocked. His wounds had been bandaged. He was offered a decent room and clothes - but he had spit in their faces and demanded the cell. Despite the violent rejection, he hadn't heard the tell-tale jingle of keys, the quiet, yet thundering click of the sturdy lock keeping him from escaping. Food – more than he could ever eat – was given to him freely every few hours. The door swung open easily and shut behind the servants who came to check on him. It closed, not with finality like it had before, but with the spark of burning temptation.

It was so simple. It was there. Freedom.

And yet… he hadn't left. He counted the passing time with the arrival of his periodic meals. As he ate slowly, his grey-eyed gaze never left the only barrier holding him in. No matter how many times he felt the urge to leave, to escape his prison, he never moved.

He only sat. He ate. He stared.

His strength increased at a crawling pace. His muscles were weak. His skin was pale, almost translucent in the continual swathing darkness. He knew he slept for he jerked awake on occasion with a painful crick in his neck. But the only thing he saw was the door. He either slept with his eyes open, or even in his dreams the wooden barrier plagued him. Once considered a cage long ago, the cell – the dank, rancid, moldy stone walls – now felt like it was the only thing holding him together. He knew who he was in here. He knew if he stayed, he could fight. Folken was the enemy. And the enemy had to be destroyed. But… he was no longer chained. He was no longer an animal. He was given food. He didn't have to stay here anymore. They had a place prepared for him. Comfort.

He had known if he fought for freedom, he'd be killed within an instant. For so long, he had dreamed of that final release. It had raced through his mind thousands of times. Bursting through the door with the name of precious Fanelia erupting from his lips before the swords ran him through.

But… even that had been taken away from him. His will to die. The cliff's summit only a few steps away…

He had backed away from it in his moment; instead of 'Fanelia', a whimper of pathetic panic had escaped his throat.

And now he knew his true self. He was afraid. He wanted to survive. The fear was in his very soul; shattering across his consciousness. The door was safety, stability; however, as he sat here huddled in the darkness, he knew he was delaying the inevitable.

Within a span of uncountable time, Folken – his black shadow looming from the torch-light outside the cell, slithering over the floor, and coming to rest over Dilandau thin face – gazed down at him silently. His silver hair, so similar to Dilandau's, covered his red eyes, but he could still feel the gaze like a scratch on his thin skin. He didn't return the General's stare, but simply watched the open passageway as if entranced.

The General spoke to him, his voice deep:

"I have given you freedom, but I understand why you are still here. You are in the process of a metamorphosis." He gestured to the walls with long fingers. "This cell – this small space within a thousand other smaller spaces – it serves as your cocoon. You are safe here. But there will come a time when you will be done with your transformation. You will emerge. I will wait for you come to see me. I will wait for you… brother."

He left.

The door shut.

The sound echoed.

He knew he was losing.

The food came.

What he was losing, he couldn't quite remember anymore. But it left him: water dripping between his fingers.

His plate was taken away.

So fast, so easily, and once again so simple. It was all a matter of letting go.

Wait.

What was he letting go of?

The food came.

His plate was taken away.

He slept.

The door was what he saw.

He woke to another plate of food.

And it was taken.

Then he awoke, not with his usual jerk back to reality, but a slow ease. He hadn't even realized he fell asleep. His eyes opened to focus back on the door in front of him. For the first time, he felt his heart beat in his chest. His ears caught a strange whisper, but as he turned his head to see who was speaking, the origin of the voice remained unknown to him in the darkness. Another sharp hissing made him slip his attention back to the door.

His mind surfaced a memory.

The door was unlocked.

Why was he in here? He couldn't remember. What was this for? His limbs hurt. His backside and lower spine ached with crippling pain. There was no reason for him to be in here.

With a grunt through clenched teeth, he stood shakily. His legs wobbled, his muscles pulsed with sore stabs of aching pain.

But…

For the first time, he took a step towards the door.

*"In this form, my beloved, I give you one blessing: no harm shall come to you, for I have made you indestructible. When the enemy strikes it will be as if they are hitting water; fruitless, bending, and yet firm. To this I swear I shall never go back on my word: as long as you are a stone, you shall not be harmed."*

I was a stone.

My body condensed to a small particle. My thoughts and memories - my only companions – tossed with simplicity.

So, this was my destiny now.

A simple stone lying in wait for destiny to cross my path?

What would destiny look like? I had no idea.

I wondered about a lot of things for long periods of time during that stretch of empty space.

What was my destiny? A Pilot of my own? Who would find me here? I was lost here.

This horribly lonely place where Law had banished me was desolate, with unyielding elements that howled like wailing tempests against my small body. The cold, so encompassing the falling snow hardened to thick ice as it hit the ground, covered the slick ground. I endured thankfully covered by the blessing given to me. True to Law's decree, I remained indestructible – and I found could speak. My tongue was loose from its once shackled cage; however, I was quiet; my mind a wave of tumbling trepidation. My comfort, my warmth came from Escaflowne. He was waiting for me. Always searching and now waiting. My love had traded his freedom for mine. The only way we'd be together was if a Pilot was called to take me and use me for war.

His last words sang to me; filled with a sweet promise:"I loved you when your golden waters caught my eye. I've loved you always. Goodbye, my beautiful river."

But I will never have golden water again. I know this about myself - even to this day.

I have been conformed to shapes, morphed, and mutated for too long. I do not remember what it feels like to be free-flowing; to toss myself and let myself roll blindly to the tides of the world.

I am now entwined with the tides of the world. More than I ever wanted to be. I am confined.

It was long years before I was found.

I was picked up by rough, scabby hands; scarred fingers. The fingers trembled as he held me, his grip on me tight, but gentle. He held me to his wrinkled brown eye, his wizened face close to me with expert inspection. I plunged into a pocket warmed by the man's body heat. Jumbled by the mule he rode. The sounds of small camp, the flashes of golden fire. I quietly waited, wondered –

What would become of me in this man's hard-worked hands? What destiny was this?

The mysterious man, his name remained unknown to me, I soon learned was a sculptor of fine jewels. A hermit artist who occasionally hiked these isolated parts of the world for precious stones. He was a master at his craft, his creations flawlessly molding in his hands. He whistled to himself on occasion, breaking the held silence. His old eyes were always dreaming as he bent low to insert the sapphires, rubies, and opals in his works.

He used me as well.

At first, I was a decorative piece on the side of elaborate necklace. Then he removed me and used me in a brooch. I watched as he turned his white head this way and that, the thin strands of his greasy hair framing the sides of his face. He picked me out of the brooch and measured my sides, my delicate shape, and my inner shine.

And picked up a chisel hammer.

No matter how hard he hit, he could not break me. I was an enigma to him. I began to frustrate him – an inner pleasure I enjoyed more than I should. I was a stone that could not be broken, melted, scarred. And it made him angry. During this confrontation several times, he threw me hard against the wall of his small cave and I bounced on the ground. With a sharp cry escaping him every time, he would run and cradle me in his thin hands; sometimes shaking with apologies dripping from his mumbling lips.

And yet I remained unharmed.

It was months before a mysterious revelation seemed to hit him and he casually began to talk to me. He spoke with a creak in his voice, laughing to himself most of the time, but occasionally turning to me with an inane question.

It was as if he could sense I was there; alive inside the stone. I never answered.

He may have talked to me, but he still set my stone into his works. However, I stood at the forefront of his masterpieces. He re-measured my sides many times, a heated verbal debate raging from him. He couldn't find the perfect place for me. Where did I belong? I was fitted into elaborate pieces of woven jewels, painting frames, and even a glass chalice.

Yet, he always picked me back out and replaced my spot with something else – all the while mumbling curiously - and very angrily - to himself; always asking the same question after every failed attempt: "Where do you belong?"

It was a stormy night, the worst I'd ever experienced. I was daydreaming of the rain, the feel of it on my own skin as I sat innocently on the workbench when he woke with a gasp and upturned the empty tank of mead sitting next to his dirty cot. He flung himself to me, his wrinkled hands bracing on the work table. The man was hissing words to himself, his brown eyes inspecting every inch of me. The long stringy locks of his white hair dipped low around his anxious face. His long nose brushed against my smooth surface. And he spoke to me, not with a ramble of questions and strange exclamations, but with a tense whisper. His brown eyes, for once, were clear of that daydreaming glaze that they usually held.

He rasped the words, "I know now. I know now what you are. I know what I am supposed to do with you..." He trailed off, his mouth twisting to an elated grin. "Yes, yes, yes, yes you are something that needs to reflect! That is what you do! You look at me like the surface of water. You have shown me myself. I will make you into what you show me."

It took him till dawn the next day to finish one of the most beautiful creations I'd ever seen him make.

A golden hand mirror; delicate and intricately carved with details so exquisite, you'd think the gold was still liquid. The golden frame around the glass tossed with the ease of a rippling river, smooth, yet rough. I rested at the top, my stone glimmering like a crown; a splash of gold perfectly soldered around me; holding me in. At the very base of the oval glass, the handle was thin, but flared out into a thick waterfall of tumbling water.

It was within the moment he finished, the man packed up, took me with him, and traveled for days on end Northward to enter a bustling merchant city. The snow was thicker here, gentler –

But the people were harder than ice. As the old man stopped by a tent, he held me for inspection. And then, he sold me for a suitable profit.

Why I felt betrayed, I cannot tell you. I watched his wrinkled hand bounce the heavy money bag and I was given to a shifty-eyed woman who smelled of fake flowers. But I left her soon enough, traded once more to another merchant – and another – and another. I revolved hand to hand, spent for expensive equipment; sometimes I was the spoils of a thief. Each day a new petty human declaring to be my owner.

These people were bred for treachery and deceit. They lied, they stole, they cursed… they killed. They were disgusting creatures, ending the lives of one another so easily. So simply.

There was nothing inside of them except for envious greed.

I was in the middle of it.

There was something about me that seemed to cast a spell over the merchants in this strange place. Whether it was due to my vox power that dazzled them, my mirror was soon a prize to be had – a spoil in a war of terrible hands and mischievous eyes. They licked their chapped lips as their fingers fell over my delicate mirror and I was sickened by it. I was grabbed by their blood-stained hands. Was this really what Law intended for me? How was this horrifying violence a blessing?

Man had used my body as a Guymelef, but I had been feared. A robotic warrior with mysterious power. A tool for conquer and conquest.

In this place as a helpless jewel, I was tossed in a sea of voracity.

Not respected, not revered, but manhandled.

And my mirror broke.

I was dropped by clumsy-fingers and stepped upon by fumble-footed individuals. Though my stone was undamaged, the beautiful reflective glass was splintered into pieces; the gold handle bent and snapped. The ruins of the frame was smashed in the dirty, blackening snow, crumpled. A familiar smell of bloody iron began to join my fallen body as a heavy thumped corpse fell into the snow beside me, staring.

Dead.

I was crushed even more as humans joined in the fight; angered and driven mad by envious desire. A bloody battle began, men stepping on top of me, throwing and hitting, piercing and crying out in agony.

Throats slit, backs stabbed with steady hands. Glinting eyes of cruel want spilling over every raging face.

Just as I thought I was forgotten in the cruel-mixed chaos, the pieces of the mirror were quickly and gently scooped by a small black-cloaked stranger that seemed to appear from the shadows. I was cradled in tiny arms, the breath of a young child falling in dainty gasps as we ran out of the increasing sea of blood; weaving in and out of tents, tables, and legs. The child was fast, the footfalls very sure and precise. We escaped together, pilgrims on a new journey, and I was thrilled by it. The mouth behind the hood cursed as the little fingers lost their grip on the precious golden handle, but with a brave resolution, the child continued to run with just the frame of my mirror. We slipped out of the side of another dark tent and into the frosty woods. Though noon had just passed and there was still a lot of daylight left, the limbs of the tall pines seemed to claw at the sun, creating a murky shadow.

The thick fingers of the small child scrabbled lightly with the weight of the frame.

And the child touched my pendant.

It was as if lightning struck us both.

A girl, the child was a little girl...

Her heavy-booted feet stumbling to a halt in the quiet forest. The shouts of the fighting merchants were smothered in this dense place. She continued to touch my pendant, her green eyes widening within the hood. Her breath was catching, not with the exertion of her escape, but with something she couldn't understand.

But I knew.

I knew at that moment.

The time had come.

That night the redheaded, green-eyed little girl dreamed of Fanelia.

And here we go. If you see any mistakes, please let me know. I've had a few people volunteer as Beta Readers, but I have yet to set up anything because my life is crazy (see AN above this chapter).

Many of you will probably be wondering about Van and what happened with him. I'll explain everything next chapter. I had to move on from the Trials, so that's why Rutilus' story was sort of a break from it. A 'transition', so to speak. Next chapter, I might just continue with Rutilus' story because DANG IT that is fun to write about! Seriously, for YEARS I had this planned and now I'm finally getting back into it. Those Trials took it out of me, but I'm excited to be back in the plot line!

Also, I had a Balgus moment to take care of. Hope you guys enjoyed that...

Predictions, comments, loved it, hated it, wished there was Van in it, wished there was Gadeth in it, wished I had kept going (yeah, sorry about that, but I figured you had waited long enough...)

Thank you always for reading and - if you do review - I love you! lol! Really I have the best support team on this story. You guys make me excited to tell the story. And for that I will reference an increasingly old meme: You guys are the REAL MVP!

Until next time!blue...