Again, unedited.

Some years ago

Heated streaks ran down the sides of her face as the rain pierced through the hardened soil. The deafening rain competed with the roars and cheers of impassioned spectators. Her bandaged feet felt cold, her heart grew heavier the moment they jeered for their prized moment.

Clinks of heavy chain clashed against the damp wood. Slow ascending footsteps climbed its way towards the executioner's platform.

"Not you," she whimpered. "Why did it have to be you-!"

Despite her words; her presence; her reputation; Polaris of the bird tribe remains a sight unseen among the crowd of angry Gildaarians. It wasn't their fault. Her endowment made her this way. But that was not the point; that didn't matter if she was seen.

Sacrom Frosthand is taking the fall for her crimes.

And she was made to bear witness to it.

"Lord Sacrom, no…" -she took a trembling step forward- "This can't be happening…"

Another step.

Her mentor stood at the centre the platform for all to see. The herald raised his arm to demand silence from the crowd. He then lifted a parchment sheet before him and declared;

"By the decree of the Imperial Telenars! Lord Sacrom Frosthand is sentenced to death for the following charges. For conspiring to overthrow the imperial Telenars; amassing Gilaar's southern tribes against the Jewel. For contempt and defaming the Imperial Telenar's virtue and law. For supporting Blood Mage tribes by supplying endowed children for their sacrifices-"

With each charge, the crowds bellowed and roared in contempt. With every charge he was accused of, her ears throbbed till it was about to burst.

"-For each of these charges, Sacrom Frosthand is stripped of his rank and sentenced to death."

Her memory ran rampant in her mind. The blood mages took advantage of their revolt and used Frosthand's banner to excuse their nefarious deeds. And in her foolishness, she had only realised it all too late. Amidst her role to lead the hundreds to fight against the imperial army, the blood mages hid among their midst.

It was her, not Frosthand who was stained with pools of red. And yet-

"And yet-" she gritted her teeth.

This is wrong. This is all wrong! Lord Frosthand, why? Why would you do this?

His lean face wore a calm reverie. His soft eyes resigned to his impending fate. His calm demeanour made himself clear; he had no regrets in this decision.

In that moment, her heart was set ablaze.

Not again.

Within that moment, her mentor's silhouette overlapped with Wesley's. Memories of all those tainted years mirrored this dark day. She felt the pulse of her radiance flow through her veins; her hands immediately returned to her blade. With her sword hand, she pierced her thumb onto the sword's needle; awakening her weapon through her own blood.

With an anguished cry, the warrior slashed the first body in front of her. Her first victim barely noticed their death.

"I won't lose you again!" She leapt forward, kicking down another living obstacle. The crowd's cheers turned to panic as the pain in her heart guided her sword to another victim. Hell bent to charge towards her destination; with a furious cry, Polaris stretched her auburn wings and leapt above the crowd to plunge her sword onto another. As a guardsman fell, the soldiers were now alert, a handful of them set their endowments alight.

Five fire raisers. Two wind singers.

The pulse of her radiance adapted to her enemy's abilities; her blood-smeared blade became an extension to her arm. 'Mage's wrath', the land and parting gift Wesley had ever given her began to glow. Its crusted surface of iron rust lit into scarlet runes, setting the blade alight for all men to see.

"Magecraft!" a soldier alarmed.

Her mimicry endowment brought forth fire to slash at the front; the wind aiding her in lightness and speed, cutting down two more who stood in her path. Three winged-folk soldiers surrounded her; she thrusted her sword into the earth; releasing a shockwave of radiance to push them back.

Polaris turned to the direction of the platform; her desperate eyes met with Frosthand's harrowed gaze.

Why? His eyes told her.

She throttled another soldier down, not knowing how many were killed. But in that moment, she didn't care; the rush of radiance had loosened her rational. Nothing mattered, nothing but him. And just at that moment before she reached the stairs-

The executioner slew Frosthand by the spear.

"NO!"

The shock of the impact had him stunned, gasping as his body fell off the platform like a cut-down tree. With the wind at her side, she flew to him as fast as she could. The warrior barely caught him; his body weighted like ingots of iron.

Time froze within those passing moments. Her mentor dying in her arms. THe clashing of blades echoing behind them.

"Why?!" she cried to him. "Why did you have to do this-!"

He coughed, his weary hand reaching for her wounded cheek. "Foolish child…"

Drops of her tears mixed with her victim's blood fell on his face.

His breath haggardly spoke; "I release you… Pol-ly… from the lie we- told ourselves… That Wesley… taught you- You. I. we are shackled by his words… and led us astray-"

I don't understand!" her grip on him tightened. "I should be the one who deserve-"

"-We have poisoned you with words," he interjected, his voice now weakening. "And led you… wrong- Polly… Live. And learn… and be… free…"

Silver eyes grew dull; his pulse ceased throbbing.

"No," she shook him by the shoulder. "Nononono you can't do this. Not again. Please, no don't- don't leave me alone!"

Her vision blurred as pellets of rain continued to fall. A painful grip held her arm, dragging her away from Frosthand's lifeless body. Polaris retaliated with a shriek and tried to swing her sword, only to be struck at the back of her neck, causing the world to grow dim.

Present

Tybalt walked the narrow streets.

With the sun melting into a scarlet hue, he discerned the assembly's meeting would have long since ended for the day. Even as the day reached its twilight hours, the people put effort into decorating the entire city with corsages and banners. Once or twice, he'd walk past people with armfuls of bolts of fabric and long planks of wood and a bucket of nails. A few times some street urchins would run within his vantage as they answered to small errands for a meagre coin.

As his shadow casts itself onto the cobblestones, the mere thought of being called upon irritated his nerves. But to be sent a wilted rose and a notorious crest from one of his spies wasn't a thing he ought to overlook. The message it implied was more than obvious.

Upon crossing the eastern bridge, he saw the foppish blond leaning against the wall at the end of the bridge at the appointed meeting place.

Francisco.

Now one of the leading figures of the country's assemblymen, these three passing years made him no less a nuisance than when they had last met. To be dressed in common robes meant this meeting was to be an inconspicuous appointment.

"I hear your eyes and ears are still sharp as ever," the assemblyman coyly smiled.

Tybalt leaned against the wall opposite to the man, folding his arms as he glared at him. It felt like an age since their last exchange, not since the day they bore witness to the goddess's wings on Juliet's back. It wasn't hard to guess this womaniser had come before him to inquire the matter of the raised rumours as of late.

"Vassals of Montague who benefitted his reign have gathered with the intent to seek your council," Francisco said solemnly, then gave forced a chuckle. "But you already knew that didn't you, oh prince of shadows."

"Stop wasting my time if you're here for idle chatter," Tybalt scoffed. "Why must I waste a breath upon the fools who worship my very enemy?"

"It is true then," Francisco's jovial tone mellowed. "That you hold a centrepiece of the city's web of information?"

Tybalt frowned.

"A few members of the assembly have recently begun to cast whispers of doubt," Francisco persisted. "And a few have chanced upon the word of your linage. Some, I dare say, seemed more than eager to eliminate you before you become a threat."

"A bastard son of two rival houses bears no merit for the council of fair Verona," Tybalt retorted. "What would anyone gain by attempting to put me upon the seat of its empty throne? Try as they might if they wish to eliminate me, but even you and I know my place among the shadows acts as one of the city's anchors."

Francisco then folded his arms. "Neo Verona's prosperity will now rely upon the shoulders of those capable. Hand in hand, the people have earned each other's trust through both hardships and earnest deeds."

"And did the matter ever occur to you that there are things that even your precious assembly couldn't do? Don't tell me you have forgotten the means by which you yourself had done for her sake," The rogue shook his head. "My confidants merely exist to keep order in places where neither of you cannot. For every prosperous light, lies a shadow overlooked. If I haven't enacted these leverages in the twilight district of our city, whoresons like the dead Tyrant would have begun their plot to reinstate chaos."

"I did not come here to beg for your council," Francisco interjected. "I'm here to recruit you."

The words made Tybalt's hands hang to his sides, furrowing his brow.

"Your ability to discern the nature of others is as valuable to our reformation. Though I'd ask of you not take its seat as Prince, to have you in our halls will be more than a benefit as a spymaster."

"And have at me like a dog tied to a leash?" Tybalt scoffed. "Don't think me a fool. A favour I will claim for the right price, but to bow before your assembly defeats the purpose of it."

"Then what of those who plot against your very existence?" he retorted. "Surely, you cannot hope to rid them by the means of the blade."

At this he mirthlessly chuckled, Tybalt shook his head; "There are other means to rid a man from his meagre threats. I've already known their names, let alone their past deeds. Even if these men were to aspire to rid of me, there are lynchpins I can unlatch to make certain they won't dare show themselves before the public."

Fransisco gaped at him incredulously, then reverted back to his confident persona. "Has it not occurred to you that your very threats might have further encouraged their demand for your blood?"

"What I do is for Neo Verona's sake. What I fail to comprehend is why men of your council would choose such louts into your assembly, despite their past tidings."

"The same reason I chose to recruit you into our fold."

"And play the part of this 'good citizenry' charade?" Tybalt scoffed once more. "Better that I handle matters outside of the law rather than to live two-faced before the people. Besides that, my confidants do not answer to laws but to the depth of one's pockets. If not so, there are still disparaged citizens whom your assembly cannot reach. Let your assembly run its course to your ardent ideals while I watch over the city from my side. Until the day Neo Verona no longer demands my services, I will continue to watch over it from the shadows."

"Then what of Montague's supporters?"

"What about them? Last I spied, there were no supporters left for the Tyrant in his final days; only lucid nobles who benefitted from his lavish edicts."

Francisco's frown deepened, only to shrug as he feigned a smile. "Well then. I suppose there is no meaning to dissuade you."

The assemblyman then made his strides as he said; "If that is your duty to Neo Verona, I should assume this tip will serve you to good use." -he brandished a folded note before the rogue- "As you are aware, banditry persists in places where prosperity strides. But I'd prefer you take a gander of these reports that have plagued the forested roads towards the capital. Do as you see fit, I'd like to hear of your exploits sometime."

Tybalt eyed the note in hand before receiving it, Francisco took a turn to walk down alongside the river's edge. It was clear that men of his calibre were duty-bound by their oaths to Capulet's cause. He had an inkling of an idea that the assemblyman harboured an ill-fated love for the late Juliet, just as Neo Veronians bore their admiration to the Red-Whirlwind's legacy. As for Tybalt himself, there was no true meaning behind his cause in keeping his candid web of spies. Only that there was a profound sense that whatever the tyrant had left behind, others are bound to follow ensuite if the kingdom's shadow won't be addressed.

Or at least, that is what he told himself.

Nevertheless, he unfolded the note and surmised its contents before he tucked it away into his pocket. With his appointment finished and any necessary inquiries addressed, he turned away to the opposite direction, taking the steps towards the direction of Escalus.

Upon his arrival, dusk had begun to settle as the sun had already begun to sink into the land. There, he saw Polaris sitting by one of the stone ruins, appearing to be playing a pipe to herself. As he drew nearer, the wooden, high-pitched sound that escaped her instrument sung a melody that felt strangely foreign and nostalgic. The melody was slow and tempered with a mellow expression, the kind one would associate to that of mourning.

At the end of the melody, she rested her pipe on her lap, turning her head towards the dying sun and rubbed her eyes with the back of her sleeve-covered hand. With the wind fluttering her cloak, she tucked it closer to her before she closed her eyes and began to sing in the same tune;

"Upon the hill, they wearily gaze
'All eyes on me and be amazed.
My sins are clear; my blade dyed red
No more shall you be full of dread.'

'For more than life, and more than death
I lived for more than a hundred men
Take aim, take heart, I will concede
In payment for the sins I lead.'

He asked for more, he asked for less
No herald claimed for his request
For stained his hands, with blood and steel
But fate demanded for him to heal

'Bring forth your malice you deflect;
Bring forth your kindness to reflect.'
Said forth the Lord of Life with zeal
Who stayed his hand for his land to heal

'Why spare me justice and claim my soul;
Throw me down and take me whole'
The mage's cries then pierced the skies
'Enact your vengeance and take my life!'

But here once more, his Lordship said
'Live forth your life, and do your best;
For in atonement will you find rest;
Go seek the lands and have your fill;
And there my promise I will fulfil.'

Then soon the mage became a man;
A pilgrim who travelled across the land
To seek, to care, to heal, to rest;
And thus abandoning his bloody quest.'

As she hummed the tune in place of words, Tybalt watched her figure against the fading sun. There was something about her song and the dusken sky that demanded a solemn silence. As if the song carried a weight that was etched onto her person. At the tossing of the wind against the long reeds of grass, she ended the song with a short sigh.

"I see you haven't forgotten," she turned to meet his eyes. "I'm glad."

He smiled in turn and walked to stand beside her.

"I'm beginning to wonder who among us has more time to waste," he remarked.

"Oh, I cannot deny that," she laughed. "As a faceless nomad with no proper titles or history, as it were, I dare say employment is almost impossible."

"And more or less have the capacity to avoid paying our taxes," he added.

She laughed harder, shaking her head. "I won't deny that is one of the barest conveniences that come with this accursed endowment. But… Well, I suppose you can say that even if I want to do things right, I am… uncertain if it truly was the right thing to do."

He raised a brow in confusion.

"Ah, don't mind my idle words," Polaris shrugged. "I must confess that my time in isolation has left my mind to wander thoughtlessly to my past mistakes."

He looked upon her profile, how her gaze was kept to the instrument in her hand. It became apparent that he was inexplicably drawn to the mellowness of her gaze. How she befitted the gloom of moonlight's glow, as if her very essence kept the secrets of this world. And even if he were to find out everything of her, what then? Would her presence be as enticing as it was before? The questions she brings forth from him had only led him here to this very moment, yet, he didn't know if the secrets she kept was worth knowing.

Polaris then placed a hand to the space next to her. "Care to join me?"

Without a word he gave a curt nod and took her offer. Upon closer inspection, the instrument on her lap looked worn-down as the polished wood appeared to have lost its lustre. Now that he sat next to her, he could clearly see the large gashed line on her left cheek. He had wondered for a while what sort of life had she left to have given her a permanent scar.

"That song," he pointed. "What is the story behind it?"

"...It speaks of a man who walked the path of blood." She began. "In Gildaar, magecraft is forbidden for its art stems from the drawing of blood. The song had sung of a mage who regretted his bloody path, who sacrificed many to fuel his magic. And despite his sins the Lord of Life granted him a second chance. And in that chance, the mage discarded his craft and became a pilgrim to serve his penance. Forever wandering to atone for his sins."

"Is it the same for you?" he dared to ask.

Polaris eyed him with an arched brow. Only to then relax her features with that mellow smile.

"Aye," she nodded. "A part of me felt, since we had first met, that your sight is stained with blood."

Tybalt raised a brow.

She chuckled, "I know it's rather presumptuous of me. In my years of living in the battlefield, over time you could tell if someone had taken another person's life or not. The eyes of a killer look upon their world differently than those who do not."

"You fought in a war?"

"Hmph. It's hard to say it truly was a war. Less than a war, more than a revolution." She turned her gaze back to her instrument. "It was a failure of a civil war, but one that dealt with schemes and skirmishes. But even then, in the end we... our ideals... under the banner of desiring for change, we had only brought more sorrow and malcontent."

The sudden unveiling of her past didn't seem as surprising as he had anticipated. Not with the callouses he felt from her hands. Nor the fluidity of her motion when she raised her sheathed sword against him by accident. With those perceiving eyes of hers, she had already sensed his own bloody history.

"No war is ever victorious," he said. "Let alone a revolution."

"Aye. It's always funny to me, in all its blasted ironies," she shrugged. "As a child, I aspired to be a hero and muse for all the balladeers to sing-" She raised her scabbarded sword in the air. "-With sword in hand, and a feathered beast as my conspirer; we'd slay our enemies three-fold more. And in our victory, I'd stand before the great Telenars, dressed the finest silks to be knighted and heralded as a saviour."

The mirthless chuckle that escaped her lips only fed to her grief.

"Oh, how foolish you are, Polaris of the Bird Tribe," she lamented. "Wherefore thine enemy? Wherefore thine friend? …Wherefore thine self if none are present? And even in the simplest act of accepting my well-deserved punishment, even that was stolen from me."

And with those words, her eyes glistened as the moonlight gleamed upon the land. Though she spoke in riddling phrases, her grief resonated with him. But a part of him found it profoundly ridiculous for someone who had tasted murder to lament of it so easily.

"What right do we have, to lament over our dead?" he chided. "The moment you ceased to stay your hand; a killer does not deserve to lament over their actions. What right do you have to regret upon it now?"

"No," she shook her head. "No sir, I fear you are mistaken. You are right to believe that warriors have no right to lament over those whom they've slain. It is not those whom I've slain that I regret. It is the deaths I've caused is what I regret."

"What do you mean?"

"I am perhaps, the greatest fool that has ever walked the land," she tightened her grip on her scabbard. "In the heat and drunkenness of our ideals, all of us failed to realised that a war upheld by ardent ideals isn't heroism. It was tyranny. And with it, I led my comrades with that drunken stupor. The worst of it was that in that delusion, no one blamed me. None who remember and know me never blamed me. That in its stead, they assured me I was not at fault; that I was doing what needs to be done. And I-"

A tear fell like a raindrop from her wet cheeks and onto her scabbard. Then another. And another.

"They told me, it's not my fault," she sobbed. "They told me I was enacting a long-deserved justice. What fools we were! And the worser still, was in my deluded mind, I truly believed them. And with it, when our revolution failed, when I should have walked upon those gallows for all to see; my mentor he… he stood my place. And claimed it all to himself. It was selfish, harrowing and wrong! I deserved their scorn and all their hatred. And yet here I am, worlds apart from my own kin; waiting for death or punishment. How I loathed me. I hated all of me, and I still do."

Tybalt sat still, hearing the words of a woman weeping in repentance. His heart wretched over his misunderstanding, never realising the gravity of her words. Yet it amazed him still, how she was able to play such light words despite how broken she was.

With a careful hand, he wound his arm around her back and slowly drew her close to his chest. Even now, he found himself weak at a woman's tears; reminding him of his days when there was no room for comfort in his life. In his arms, he felt her hands squeezing the fabric of his clothes as she clung to him, trembling in her grip as she sobbed. With a careful motion, he smoothened the back of her head with his hand, a swell of emotions he never thought he'd felt again.

Polaris then retreated from his grasp, withdrawing herself away before she turned her eyes away from him. Rubbing her eyes once more with the back of her sleeve, she forced a smile as she struggled to speak as she sniffled.

"Damn my tears," she laughed. "This wasn't a matter I intended to speak to anyone about. I'm not a woman deserving to weep. Not after my sins-"

Tybalt shook his head. "What manner of creature are you to say such a thing?"

"H-huh?"

"If I were one of your slain, I'd bask in the thought of your guilt, and curse you to a fate of endless sorrow and weeping."

She paused for a moment, then laughed once more. Whether it was for herself to stave the sorrow, or for other reasons, it surprised him.

"Oh poor, miserable me," she feigned. "Forever will I be cursed in sorrow and misery by the makings of a ruffian, who cared none for my pain." Polaris then released a long breath, her smile now seemed warmer. "Goodness, sir. If that was your way of comforting the miserable, you certainly have a strange way of doing so."

He smirked. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"If I were a delicate of a flower, I'd have marked your cheek with my hand."

"If you were one, I doubt you'd even dare to cross my path."

She tilted her head. "How so?"

"Hmph. Has it ever occurred to you that I am no more than a dangerous man to cross?"

Polaris eyed him, as if to perceive the validity of his statement before she turned her gaze to the now darkened sky.

"And what of your sins, Tybalt," she said. "What warrants your reputation as a dangerous man in the streets of the capital?"

At this he frowned, contemplating on what to say in turn.

"Are you always so upfront with your curiosities, Polaris?" he asked.

"I am what I am," she shrugged. "Call it a habit, as it was the only means to cut through a person's intimidating words."

"Then does that mean I intimidate you?"

"I'm saying that to call yourself dangerous is but a means to steer people clear from what's really troubling you."

He scoffed. "Is that the sort of mindset all Gildaarians have to make such a conclusion?"

"…Is it? Doesn't everyone think like that?"

This time it was his turn to laugh, shaking his head as he replied. "Polaris. When a man says he is dangerous to a woman, he is warning you of the terrible and vile things he could do onto you."

"And if I say that some women like the danger?" she retorted with a grin. "I won't be surprised if some Neo Veronians of the fairer sex had already been beguiled by your handsome charms."

"Then they'd be fools to think so."

He didn't miss the part where she had complimented his face, but decidedly chose not to think of it too deeply.

"Alas, in all sincerity, Tybalt. Thank you." Polaris gave him that warm smile as her eyes, though red from her tears, no longer glistened. That alone was enough for him to feel relieved.

"It is a pleasure."

And for a moment, a still silence fell between them. Nothing but the wind and the rustling of leaves filled its gap. The sudden confession of her past made everything seem profound, as if he was the only one whom she had told him of it. It was then Tybalt began to feel that she was his secret. He had many secrets for himself to keep, but this particular one was something he was not willing to share. As if this time spent between them was a haven from all matters regarding the shadows that dwell within Neo Verona.

"I've been curious about this for a while," Polaris then pointed at the white blooms that covered the grass. "What is the name of these flowers?"

Juliet.

"Iris," he replied, his memory now returning to the night of the Great Descent. His mind's eye recalling that dark day of Romeo's death and Juliet's sacrifice. A part of him envied this woman beside him, for he was more or less prudent on matters of speaking out about his own past.

"Iris," she said softly. "How strange a bloom these are."

"The iris is the sigil of house Capulet," he said briefly. "The noble family who once reigned all of Neo Verona."

The nomad blinked, then stared at the flowers.

"Capulet, you say?"

"Yes, what of it?"

"…But then…" she murmured. "What is the name of the tyrant you speak of?"

"Leontes Montague."

Her expression stilled, eyes agape at him as if a lightning had struck her.

"…Then this place. This land. This world," she muttered. "Was this all a tale of fiction?"

So... a bomb dropped. I hope you enjoy :D