Nothing could be heard at that ungodly hour, save for the hum of the vehicle as Gaelstrom bypassed the city of Nuremberg. Merlin and Semargl slept soundly in Mr. President, having only stirred once earlier that evening to converse and eat dinner. He and Merlin had planned to cut through Hessen, and all the way to Amsterdam, where they would then make their way across the sea to the United Kingdom. It was a solid plan. One he felt would work just fine. Until their little encounter with Bauer, that is.

With him having connections to Ouroboros, they stood a greater risk at getting Mordred's attention. And with that possibility being the more likely, death loomed on the horizon. But where and when was the question. How...Gaelstrom really didn't want to think about it.

Memories of his childhood drifted in his mind's eye. The salty sea air in his face while he fished in Galway Bay with his dad - one of his many fond memories. Until Dr. Callaghan started bitching about the wind blowing his hat off into the water. Added to his annoyance would be Gaelstrom diving into the bay to get it. Not because he didn't admire the act, but because his clothes were wet. First, he harped about his hat, then he harped about having to quit fishing so Gaelstrom could get a bath.

Grumpy old fart. Not much had changed, really. It was funny how he realized those seemingly insignificant moments meant the world to him when his life dangled by an unraveling thread. And now that he was no longer a dying man, he had all the time in the world to make more memories with his parents.

Weeks ago, before Evanescence brought him back to life, Gaelstrom had accepted that things between him and his father would likely never change. He'd always be an irritable ole codger - he'd always see Gaelstrom's accomplishments as minimal in comparison to what his dad thought he could be achieving instead. For example: earning a degree in something that wasn't writing related, to Gaelstrom's dismay. And on top of that, working with the government like he was. A.K.A. the Speedwagon Foundation.

Deciding that those thoughts were only getting under his skin, he brought his focus away from them and to the yellow lines passing the front of the car.

"Line. Line. Line."

Admittedly, he was restless. Sitting there in a car by himself with no one to talk with prompted him to look through the rearview mirror. In the backseat, Eva rested against a pillow on the window. The same pillow he brought with him from the hotel in Bratislava. He'd given her his red coat to use as a blanket. Though she slept soundly, the same couldn't be said for Polnareff. His eyes were half-open, looking out the window as if the thought of sleep was tempting him, but he was refusing its advances.

Maybe he wouldn't mind having a conversation? Maybe he was too tired? Gaelstrom didn't really know, but he thought to try anyway.

"You alright back there?" he asked.

Polnareff's voice was low. "I'm fine."

A basic answer. "Can't sleep?" Then he thought about something the two of them used to ask each other as kids; something Polnareff had asked him for the first time in years while they sat by Merlin's fireplace. "Whatcha thinkin' about so hard?"

He thought he'd faintly smile at the very least, but his expression remained the same. Polnareff closed his eyes and sighed. "Just curious..." he said, "...you know, you saved me a few times in Munich. I'm grateful. But there's something I don't get."

"What's that?"

"How is it that you could stare at yourself in the mirror all those years ago - at that scar on your face - and still care about me enough to come back into my life?"

This again. Gaelstrom inhaled into his nostrils, calming his nerves. He exhaled, still a hint frustrated. "Look, Jean, do we really have to talk about that right now?"

"You asked what I was thinking about."

"Yeah, guess that one's on me, but-"

"Seriously, though," Polnareff interrupted, leaning towards the driver's seat, "I don't get your motives here. Just what exactly is going through your head?"

"What, you think I got an agenda?"

"I don't know, do you aim to go behind my back again?"

Gaelstrom's clenched his jaw. He really was dense, wasn't he? Still clinging to the belief that his aunt was an angelic creature that could do no wrong, and that Gaelstrom was the judas out to ruin his life. Sure, okay. The only thing stopping him from snapping at Polnareff then and there was the fact he'd wake Merlin.

He settled on giving him a short answer and nothing more. Letting it go was for his own good. And though he knew it would make Polnareff's temper shoot through the roof, avoiding that topic for the time being was for the best.

"I really don't think we need to do this right now. Do you?"

"Why not?"

Gaelstrom's nose wrinkled. Geez, what a hard-head. "You want to piss Merlin off?"

"Okay, fair enough." Polnareff said. He brought his back against the seat in frustration, slumping downward.

In a way, Gaelstrom regretted striking up a conversation with him. Something told him this wouldn't be the last time. He'd keep on and keep on until Gaelstrom finally broke and placed every single detail in the palm of his hand like giving candy to a baby. It'd shut him up. Or maybe he'd be like Gaelstrom's father and hunt something else to complain about?

"Sorry," he spoke up, catching Gaelstrom by surprise, "I don't want to fight with you."

Gaelstrom smiled, looking out the windshield at the tenebrous sky ahead. "Nor I you."

"Can we have a civil discussion about it instead?" Polnareff asked. "I don't mean to seem pushy, it's just bothering me."

If it would bring his mind at ease, Gaelstrom could manage to set aside his need to protect his own feelings long enough. But if anything about Jean-Luc came up - and especially Gaelstrom's feelings for Polnareff - his defenses would be fortified, and no one, not even Jean Pierre Polnareff himself, was getting in.

"Alright," Gaelstrom said, "what would you like to talk about?"

"For starters, let's talk about 1977."

Oh, no. Not that. Wait, he was supposed to be letting his guard down. Gaelstrom breathed in, then slowly let out a soft sigh. "Where you wanna start?"

Polnareff leaned towards his seat again, speaking quietly as not to alert Merlin. "I'm not sure, to be honest. You know, my aunt came to my house from Paris before summer started."

"Yeah?" He just had to mention her. Fuck that self-absorbed cow. "Look, I'll tell ya anything you wanna know, just don't bring her into this."

Polnareff's expression soured. "Okay, but I don't see what you have against her."

"Jean, please."

Polnareff sighed. "Alright, fine. Have it your way. Will you at least answer my question from before?"

"What?"

"You know, about the scar...?"

Gaelstrom kept his eyes on the road, trying not to cave into the crippling sorrow that lingered around him after that unforgettable summer. He could feel his heart weighing like lead. His mind told him: You know how you'll feel if you traverse those waters. Don't do it. The more you remain in the dark, the better. You're safe there. If you step into the light, even a little bit, you're making yourself vulnerable.

And yet, Gaelstrom ignored that little voice. For Polnareff, he would let his guard down. For old time's sake.

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April 25, 1977

The beginning of the dark days that lied ahead. A looming dread that only Jean-Luc could feel fast approaching. Over the course of two months, he spent the majority of his time researching Mordred and his devout followers. Having some knowledge of their stands' abilities, and some info acquired by Dr. Callaghan at the Speedwagon Foundation, he comprised dossiers on each and every one of them. They were placed in a red folder that he always kept hidden in the only place his children would never think to look - the storage room.

Prohibited entrance was strictly enforced. Neither Polnareff nor his sister were to go near it, let alone mention it. If anyone was to go inside, it would only be Jean-Luc or Dr. Callaghan. His children followed the rules well enough, avoiding irking their father's ire.

Even on a stormy evening when a ball just so happened to bounce down the dim hallway.

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Lightning flashes flickered through the windows of the foyer, illuminating one side of nine-year-old Sherry's face an electric blue. Wind whistled past the window panes, rattling glass subsequent to the rumbling of thunder. At the end of the darkened hall stood a tall, mahogany door. Sherry inched towards it, slowly leaning down to pick up her brother's ball. A feeling she couldn't describe twisted around in her gut, prompting her mind to manifest thoughts of urgency.

Get away from there, it said, turn back. Now.

From behind the door, she could hear the sound of an eerie whisper beckoning. Its voice was likened to a small child, speaking soft and incoherently. Light, airy laughter heightened Sherry's sense of fear, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. Suddenly, the thoughts urging her to turn back didn't seem like mind fodder aiming to lead her astray.

As she went to turn on her heel, another whisper stopped her dead in her tracks. Her heart froze at how clear its words were - how they gripped ahold of her, demanding her attention.

I'm not allowed to come out. Ironic, as she wasn't allowed to come in. Can we be friends?

Where she felt like sporadic thoughts should be reeling around in her head, there were none as though her mind were encased in a sheet of ice. She was midway down the hall with the ball in her hands, her eyes glued to the door. That feeling telling her to run grew fervently, becoming more and more predominant by the second. Amidst that came a hint of curiosity. What was her father hiding? Why didn't he want them to go inside? Who was the other child?

Resting the ball between the crook of her arm and hip, Sherry cautiously approached the door to the storage. She reached for the door handle. The child-like whisper grew louder and louder, almost as if she were hearing them inside her head. More airy laughter pounded against the walls of her brain, cultivating a dizzy sensation. Next thing she knew, its influence thawed her mind and shattered any ounce of fear. A guise of tender innocence spurred her forth. A guise she wanted to assume was that of genuine loneliness.

Who was she to forsake a lonely soul? Slowly, her fingertips glided over the round knob, when a voice from up the hall startled her.

"Sherry, no, what're you doing!?" her brother walked briskly down the hall towards her.

She spun around, the whispers abruptly dying and the cogs of her mind turning again. His presence seemed to break the trance she was under. Even though she was able to think freely again, an explanation for what happened just wouldn't come.

Her mouth parted, trembling as she tried to form an excuse. "I was just trying to get your ball for you." she said, holding it out for him to take.

Her twelve-year-old brother sighed, retrieving it. "You know we're not supposed to go near the basement."

"But there's a kid in there. He's all alone, I can't just leave him."

Polnareff grimaced and raised a brow. "What?"

"Didn't you hear him just now?"

His eyes shifted around. "Uh, no...? I did hear thunder, though."

"You don't believe me..." she said in a crestfallen tone.

The sound of her voice was enough to break anyone's heart. And without a doubt, it definitely worked on him. He knelt down on one knee and gently took her by the hand. Sherry's gaze remained to the floor. Unbeknownst to her, there was a genuine look of concern on his face as he spoke calmly.

"Sherry, look at me." Her gaze lifted away from the floor and looked back into his eyes. "There is no other kid here. It's just us-"

"But I heard it, honest! Just look if you don't believe me."

There was no talking her out of it. Burying his own frustrations, as not to upset her, he stood and made his way to the door. With a quick twist and jerk of the knob, his arm fell loosely to his side and the door creaked open.

"See?" he said. "No kid. Just a dark, creepy basement." He shut the door and ushered her up the hallway with the ball in his possession.

But she knew she heard it. Something was there. She knew a voice was in her head tempting her. Sherry peeked over her shoulder as she walked away with her brother beside her. Again, a knot twisted in her gut letting her know that something was amiss.

Polnareff led her away from the dark hall and out into the foyer, where electric blue flashes flickered through the windows. Safe at last. The eerie feeling dissipated and the comforting vibe of their home filled her mind with peace.

"Listen," he told her in a calming voice, "there's nothing down there. Nothing that can hurt you, it's just a junk room that dad doesn't want us to go in, okay? I promise. As long as I'm here, nothing will ever happen to you."

"Promise?"

He smiled. "Cross my heart and hope to die. Look, if anything comes through that door," he gestured behind him, "whatever it is better be ready for the fight of their lives."

Without warning, the front door swung open. A lightning bolt streaked across the sky, illuminating the silhouette of a mysterious figure standing in the doorway. It had large rectangular hands that, to Sherry, looked like gigantic sledghammers. As the loud crash of thunder boomed over the house, Polnareff and Sherry screamed simultaneously. The loud scream had gotten Jean-Luc's attention who made his way quickly to the bannister above, candlelight glowing from one hand.

"What's happened?" he cried.

What Sherry assumed were large hammer-like hands were nothing more than the sides of bulky suitcases. They were nearly ready to burst open with all the clothes the carrier had jam-packed in them. Jean-Luc turned on the wall-lights and sauntered down the stairs at a steady pace to see their visitor. Polnareff and Sherry's wide-open eyes traveled from the figure's toes to their head, getting a good look at their face.

A middle-aged woman, who looked to be thirty-five, dropped her luggage on the floor. Her heels were a vibrant hue of red. Blonde bobbed hair flared away from her face, accentuating its heart shape. She brushed off her waist-high khaki colored pants, flinging water droplets all over the floor. With an annoyed sigh, she shut the door behind her and flashed an insincere smile to Jean-Luc, Polnareff, and Sherry.

"Well?" she spoke in a heavy French-English accent, "Is anyone going to help me carry my things to my room, or not?"

Jean-Luc gave her a dismissive wave. "Yeah, good to see you too, sis."

Polnareff and Sherry exchanged glances. "Sis?!"

🔸️ 🔸️

He never knew he had an aunt. The only relatives Polnareff knew of were his mother, father, sister, and his deceased grandparents on both sides. Although her sudden existence baffled him at first, he was more than willing to learn about her during her stay. Why she was there, he didn't know. He was too afraid to ask her, what with her haughty attitude and snappy tone.

It was odd how Jean-Luc never bothered to mention her before now. Odd that he was never transparent about most things, namely his work and his constant coming and going from home. But like all things that Jean-Luc kept secret, the fact that he never cared to speak of his own sister was warranted.

She had introduced herself to her niece and nephew as Auntie Adel that stormy night. Albeit in a very dry manner and with a lack of enthusiasm. Almost as if speaking to Polnareff and Sherry was more of an inconvenience than anything. In fact, the same could be said for just about anyone else that was willing to strike up a conversation with her.

Bringing her luggage to her room was without a doubt no easy task. Polnareff could've sworn his arms were going to fall off every step of the way, both up the stairs and down the hall. What did she keep in those suitcases, anyway? A dead body? Bricks?

Like Jean-Luc, Adel was also affected by Stigmata's curse. From a very young age, she'd always admired the idea of leaving home to become an actress. To which she did. There was no denying she had talent - creating false emotions, like crying in front of a camera, was second nature at best. At worst, she'd utilize those skills with real people in real situations.

Every friend she'd ever had condemned her as a two-faced, conniving cow. People that never befriended her avoided her like the plague after the rumors they'd heard. Every director she'd ever worked with claimed she was insufferable, earning her a bad reputation. She had been married three times and divorced twice. Her last husband was discovered lying in a puddle of his own blood in a bathroom.

None quite knew the reason. Despite his untimely death, she didn't feel the least bit guilty about her infidelity with another man. Adel gained everything her late husband owned and moved into Paris to live alone. Away from the drama.

She starred in two movies, both of which were massive flops. Nothing ever seemed to go her way. No one cared about her. No one but her brother, Jean-Luc. He knew she was a horrible person, yet had faith that someday she'd put her abhorrent behavior behind her and shape a better future for herself. Even if the curse took everything she had away from her. She deserved to be happy without the need to fuck people over and take what they had. Doing so just so she could feel some semblance of happiness - living as if the curse didn't exist.

If anyone pitied her at all, it was him and only him.

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April 26, 1977

Dawn

Gaelstrom arrived early that morning, catching Polnareff by surprise. He hadn't even finished school and yet their summer began early, much to their excitement. Dr. Callaghan had explained to Jean-Luc that he pulled some strings with the Speedwagon Foundation to make arrangements so that Gaelstrom would still make passing grades despite not being present for school. These decisions were made because Dr. Callaghan planned to meet Jean-Luc and Merlin in Germany within the next few days. At the very least, he'd be there to keep them company when their father left.

Sunrise. Lilac and coral tinted the sky as the stars began to fade above the countryside. Rushing out the front door of the two-story home was Polnareff, who anticipated his best friend's return. His newly appearance caught Gaelstrom off guard. The same timid child that he'd met for the first time no longer had a prominant overbite. As Jean-Luc had promised, he forked out the money to get Polnareff's teeth fixed. This meant no more thumb sucking for him. The wild, silver hair that seemed to grow quickly with each passing summer was no longer cascading down his back. Although he was still taller than him, he'd traded skin and bones for a lithe body.

"Jean?! Wow! You look different!" Gaelstrom regarded the changes Polnareff had underwent in his absence. "Uhh...the heck is that on your head?"

"What, this?" he reached up, feeling his cylindrical hairdo. "It's my signature look, obviously. You won't believe what happened to me the other day! I actually got noticed by a girl!"

Gaelstrom frowned at that statement, his heart sinking. "Oh, that's nice...what made you decide to go with this? Not that I'm judging you."

"I actually don't know, I just wanted something different for some reason. Okay, there I was, sitting on the steps by the front door when all of a sudden, it hit me...like a truck...right in my face." He leaned towards Gaelstrom, whispering behind his palm. "I used dad's hair gel. Don't tell Sherry, okay? She thinks I used magic."

Gaelstrom chuckled. "You're really something, Jean."

"What?"

"Every summer, you're doing something off the wall. A few years ago, you were using your dad's video camera to make home movies that didn't make any sense."

"Hey, that one where I eat gumballs and gain magic powers to fight an evil pig-man was pretty fun." Polnareff recounted.

"Yeah...and then just last summer you started making comic books. What was it called again? Red-"

"Red Ninja and Blue Ninja: Battle For the Stolen Arm," Polnareff finished for him, "I've actually got most of the drawings for it finished." With an exaggerated sigh, he threw himself into Gaelstrom's arms dramatically. "I filled four notebooks, Gaelstrom...four notebooks...with nothing but my genius story."

Gaelstrom gasped, taken aback by his dramatic display of woe is me. "You've been busy, huh?" he said with a smile.

His first day in France and he was holding his best friend in his arms, perfectly aware of the thoughts going through his head. Just the touch of his smooth skin caused his heart to expand with warmth. He didn't want to make his feelings of infatuation that he'd harbored for him too obvious.

If he let his guard down even a little bit, Polnareff would know exactly what he felt and he wasn't sure if he'd react with acceptance or never speak to him again. Being that he was his only friend, he couldn't risk losing him. Not now, not ever. To him, Polnareff being a boy played an insignificant role in their friendship. It was his kind-spirited and eager personality that he adored. Gaelstrom's heart and who it chose to love - the deepest, darkest secret he'd ever keep.

He was grateful for Dr. Callaghan's decision to send him to France and meet his two lovely friends. Real friends he believed would always be there for him no matter the circumstances. Friends he could be wholly himself around. The love he carried for them filled every inch of his heart. Saying goodbye meant leaving his heart behind, and like hell he was going to do that. One could rip it fresh out of him, leaving an open wound to bleed profusely and still nothing would change.

Polnareff moved away from him, puzzled by the distant look in his eyes. "What's with you?"

"Huh? Oh, ah, nothing."

The two boys made their way up the dirt road together, shoulder to shoulder. The gentle brushing of their skin when they walked. The sense that his heart walked beside him. Gaelstrom's fingertips ghosted against Polnareff's, unsure if he really should take ahold of his hand. It would've been fine a few years ago, but they were getting older and Polnareff never returned his show of affection anyway. Knowing this, his heart welled. But even so, he held fast to a belief: come what may, nothing could ruin the bond he shared with Polnareff and his sister.

Nothing except Aunt Adel.