A piece of heaven had once been carved upon this lifeless rock floating through the endless abyss. A small glimmer of green, a tiny dot on the map, growing ever so large.

Then, came the tests of time.

Oceans pouring from the sky, mountains piercing the soft earth and staining the serene plains - rains of ice, conquests of grand continental glaciers.

The many people who tried to tame these lands either failed or were wiped clean off by the ones who wanted them to bow not to Mother Nature herself, but to their authority.

The otherworldly invasions. A thousand year long battle. A sky of bright lights and algorithms - the false vision of a beauty once lost.

These lands cowered in fear, only for the endless winters to envelop them in their loving embrace. To calm the worried mind, protect from any and all that tried to harm the remnants of these plains once so bright.

Dead, everything utterly dead.

Frozen wastes, void of life or mercy. Pristine, untouched and untamed.

And yet, again came the wary travelers, the watchers, keepers of peace. They respected the land, wishing for its boundless longevity and prosperity.

They came not to harm Mother Nature's creation, but to protect.

And as they sat, gathered in a hut of wood and rock, a gentle song rang out through the calm, obedient seas of snow - A song to soothe one's mind. To put the worried head to rest.

"Oooh, comely…

I will be with you when you lose your breath,

Chasing the only,

Meaningful memory you thought you had left, with some pretty bright and bubbly,

Terrible scene that was doing her thing on your chest,

But, Ooh, comely…

It isn't as pretty as you'd like to guess,

In your memory you're drunk on your awe to me,

It doesn't mean anything at all…"

The timid bard's instrument grew silent as the last of their joined vocals resonated in the warm cabin's air. A glimmer of sunshine escaped from outside and found its way into the feather-haired boy's eyes. His fingers, nothing shy of a set of a maestro's tools, slid along the strings, to eventually rest in his lap. He gave a shy smile to the tiny audience.

"... Y-Yeah. It's a bit simple, I know."

"What? That was amazing, dude!"

On the floor sat an angelic boy, struggling with a sweater two sizes too large. His head perked up, grinning from ear to ear. He's never been picky when it came to music, especially not when it was Isaiah working his magic.

"... I'm glad you like it, Andy. Means a lot."

"Mmm! It's great, really. You sing like a…"

His eyes narrowed, staring at his light brown feathers.

"... I wanted to say, "a nightingale", but, you know."

"Ah. It's alright. It's better than "fowlboy", that's for sure."

They both exchanged a quick chuckle. A calm moment spent in good company always managed to divert their minds from the mundane reality of military life. How long has it even been? A good couple of months without even a single devil showing up. Andy had already started wondering whether he'd even get to see what a sarkaz looks like up close at all.

"Fowlboy. "Fowlboy, bring me more chocolate!"

Isaiah snickered and joined in, mimicking their large friend's booming voice.

"Yeah, Nuffer, go club that guy for me and get me a newspaper! Oh, and my asthma meds, while you're at it."

Andy froze in confusion.

"Oh? Droz has asthma?"

The bard shrugged.

"Does he? I don't know, actually. Have you ever seen him with an inhaler?"

"No. I think he's just fat."

"Y-... What?"

He let out an amused snort, followed by a stifled laugh coming out in bursts of cackles. Andy couldn't help but grin even further at the sight.

"What? He IS! You ever seen him dig a trench? Ten minutes pass, I turn around and he's already sprawled on a pile of snow, panting like a dog!"

"O-Oh my Law, stop! If he hears you…"

"Oh, I tell him that all the time. No worries."

Isaiah kept giggling like a girl for a few moments more, to Andy's surprise. He's never seen him this giddy and jolly. It was a stark contrast to the usual, reserved mute.

"Isaiah? You alright?"

"A-Aha… Yeah, yeah. Just needed a breather."

"You sure? Never heard you cackle like that, before."

The bard dismissively flicked his hand, accidentally hitting his instrument which rang out in annoyance.

"I'm sure, Andy. I don't really get many occasions to laugh at anything these days, you know? Not with my squad, at least."

Right. Those grown up pricks.

"How're things looking, anyway? Wasn't Ricketts supposed to talk with them about it…?"

"Oh, he did. He did, but about something completely unrelated. He gave them a lecture about racism against the liberi of Laterano and… And yeah. But it's not that, as I tried to tell him. It's just… It's about perspectives."

"Perspectives?"

"Uh-huh."

He gave a sigh and let his eyes linger on the falling snow outside.

"... Not everyone wants to "give their life for peace" or whatever they're here for. Not everyone wants to even be here in the first place."

The two locked eyes, feeling a tinge of seriousness seeping through the cracks in the floorboards.

"Am I a bad person for doing all this for money, Andy? Is it really so terrible that I want to secure myself a better future? To move out of the country as fast as I can? That I want to create, not destroy?"

The boy shook his head at once.

"No. I'm not here to uphold the Law, either. Just needed cash for a decent university."

"That's why you get it. Droz… Droz somewhat gets it, too. But the rest? No. It's either Law or shunning, with them."

"..."

Andy couldn't quite grasp his struggle. A young man against the world, a poet among knights. Such was his fate, a sensitive soul thrown to the hounds.

"... That sucks, dude."

"It does, yeah."

"..."

"... Wanna try, Andy?"

"Try? What, playing?"

"Mmm. As I said, it's simple. All cowboy chords."

"Cowboy chords…?"

"Yeah, it's…"

He fiddled with his hands, trying to materialize his thoughts into existence.

"... Nevermind. I'll just show you."

Isaiah hopped down from the bunk and sat down next to the boy on the floor. The tune spewing instrument now laid comfortably in his lap, peacefully snoozing and waiting for some virtuoso to send a symphony of warmth off into the freezing air. The bard softly grasped Andy's hands, his slender fingers leading his onto the frets and strings.

"We start with an E chord, like this."

The nickel serpents bit into the boy's fingertips, stretching his skin in an unpleasant, painful way.

"... Kinda hurts."

"O-Oh? Oh, right… You wanna stop, or…?"

"What? Hell no! No pain, no gain, right?"

He flashed the bard a cheeky grin. Isaiah giggled.

"Right! Right, that's what I used to tell myself… Anyway."

His right hand lifted the boy's fingers into the air.

"And now we just… Strum."

Just.

Strum.

With each stroke of the old nickel came a sound strangely pleasant and calming. Slightly messy, yet as warm as a lover's embrace, yearned for restlessly during the cold, Kazdelian nights. Gone was the hut, gone was the ocean of snow that was Northern Kazdel.

Two lost, wanted souls sat by a fire lazily consuming a few pieces of dead, desert drywood. One of them, with a ring of light above his weary head clutched onto a relic from the past.

His nails struck the strings in a set tempo, not too fast, but not too slow.

And his tired voice echoed through the desert air.

"Ooh, comely…

All of your friends are all letting you blow,

Bristling and ugly,

Bursting with fruits falling out from these holes, Of some pretty bright and bubbly Friend,

You could need to say comforting things in your ear.

But, Ooh, comely…

There isn't such one friend that you could find here,

Standing next to me, only my enemy,

I'll crush him with everything I own…

Say what you want to say, hang your hollow ways,

Moving your mouth to pull out all your miracle,

For me…"

His finger slipped. A note had been cut short, stopping the flow of warmth escaping into the cold, night air. The angel clicked his tongue and tapped his fingers against the ancient instrument in annoyance. The substance enhancing his playing capabilities must've already been running out from his system.

He took a long drag from his pocket flask, enjoying the burn.

"Aw, man. The action on this thing's terrible."

The little swordsman sitting on the opposite side of the fire tilted his head in a curious manner.

"Action?"

"Yeah. The space between the, uh… The fretboard and the strings."

"... That's very confusing, Andy."

"Right? I mean, I don't even know how to play anything else on this thing."

"It's nice. I think I like it."

The only member of the crowd gave a tiny nod of approval. His tail kept lazily drawing eights behind his back.

"... Right. Glad you're enjoying yourself, bud. I once saw this one guy shredding a sick solo on an electric… Or, I think I did, at least. Might've been a hallucination, I don't know. I was high out of my mind back then."

Seven's empty eyes filled with a hint of confusion at the very end of his incomprehensible rant. A little head tilt followed, as always.

"You were high?"

Now, that little question got Andy thinking. So, this little rascal knew what drugs were, but had never seen a lizard before? This junkie...

"Yeah? But not voluntarily, it was-..."

"But you're already taller than me, Andy."

"... What?"

"You're tall. You used to be even taller?"

Andy stared at him in disbelief for a good half a minute or so. Seven stared back, his eyes locked on the merc's without a hint of a smile or any other indicator of irony. The flames kept happily crackling, munching away at the wooden carcass.

"... Nevermind. Just forget it."

"Okay."

With a small nod, the boy turned back to the fire, mesmerized by its wild nature. He was an utter and complete mystery to the merc, someone unlike anything he's seen before. At first, he's been treating him as nothing more than a tool for survival, some leverage for the darkest hour, even though it never came. Never bothering to ask much, not even about the absolutely mind boggling bounty on his head. Now, though, after having been living side by side with this strange creature for a few weeks, he's started getting curious about this weird little critter.

"Seven?"

His eyes perked up, immediately locking onto his companion.

"Yes?"

"Where are you even from? Some tribe? You don't really look tribal, though."

"I'm from room eighteen."

This was the thing with the boy - every single answer just produced a multitude more queries.

"What?"

"Room eighteen. Second floor."

"Okay, I get that, but… Where? Where is that?"

"On the second floor."

"But where IS the second floor? What building are we talking about?"

"..."

His expression shifted. A hint of guilt glimmered in the endless abyss that was his ever so present sight.

"I don't know. I apologize."

And the apologies, again. Children his age were usually complete loudmouths, rebellious and so overly, annoyingly assertive. Andy knew, because he, himself, used to be exactly like that. Or so he'd like to think.

"You don't know where you're from…?"

The boy shook his head, sending his long, messy hair flying.

"Room eighteen. That's all."

"Huh. And what was it like, this "Room eighteen?"

A gentle shudder overtook his shapeless body. A stream of memories, all intruding his tiny mind like a syringe filled with burdenbeast tranquilizer.

"Small. And cold. This is better."

The flames flicked and played whimsically in his eyes, washing away the white, surgical hallways. His voice was nothing but a faint whisper in the night's ambient wailing.

"This is better."

"Alright? If you say so."

"..."

Silence. Only the grand feast happening before their eyes dared break it, the flames savoring each and every little piece of bark and wood, spitting out piles of white ash. At the sight of such a banquet before him, Seven's stomach unwillingly produced a low grumble. Andy's followed suit, being filled with nothing but some lukewarm alcohol.

"You hungry, Seven?"

He gave a tiny nod.

"... Just try to sleep it off. We'll "go shopping" tomorrow."

"Okay. And you?"

"I'll take the night watch."

"Okay. When is it my turn?"

"Not tonight, that's for sure. Need you in tip top shape tomorrow."

"Okay. Thank you, Andy."

His head lowered onto the cold sand below. He had a habit of covering his entire face with the conical hat when falling asleep. To protect his eyes from the morning sun? The wind? The cold? Andy didn't know, didn't care enough to ask. He put the acoustic guitar to the side and stood from the fireplace, taking one last swig from his flask. How awful it felt, ravaging his empty stomach.

The empty, endless desert stretched for miles on end, enveloped in the night's cloak of darkness - There weren't many people out there who'd dare to tear through its fabric with some feeble, little fake lights.

They've been on the run for a few weeks now. With no way of legitimately earning or spending money, they've been creeping across the land with their tails between their legs (metaphorically for Andy, quite literally for Seven) and heads downcast.

Half a million shekels. Enough money to buy oneself a ticket out of this place and a nice house abroad. Did any other countries even recognize this strange, blood-soaked Kazdelian currency as a legitimate one? Andy had no idea. He couldn't be mad at the boy for dragging him into this wild game of cat and mouse, where the cat happened to be the entirety of Kazdel itself, though. The tiny swordsman had barely any idea about his own situation. About the world as a whole, it seemed.

Still, there was a hint of mistrust between the two. From Andy's side at least.

These little night watch shifts were an excuse for the merc to watch over the sleeping mass murderer - to make sure it was him standing with a weapon over the snoozing boy, not the other way around.

As much as his mind cried and wailed, begging him to let it return to the world of grand marbles, crimson hallways and warm embraces, he knew it wasn't time for playing a lovesick teenager pining for a girl who had most likely already forgotten he ever even existed. It was time to sit around and watch the sleepy devil.

"..."

His breath stabilized. That expressive tail had finally ceased its movement, lying still amidst the soft sands. And as his chest kept rising and falling, a tiny, white haired troublemaker awoke from his nap, yawning and stretching, eager to give Andy some devilish wisdom.

"... You know, you can just stab him and take the seventy hundred 'kay bounty, right? Why not just pay off yours and ditch? That's still a quarter of a million left."

"I know. I've been thinking about it."

A flash of light tore the night sky, welcoming a worried do-gooder on his other shoulder.

"Drew..."

"Oh, not this, again..."

"But he trusts you! Look at him, he clearly trusts you."

Her breath was uneven, as if she had just outran a pack of starving hounds.

"Besides… Wait, wait."

She kept clutching onto her tiny knees, waves of blue hair falling over her familiar face. Some serious exertion kept tearing her lungs apart, as she kept panting and panting.

"It's okay, Mosti, take a breather."

"... Right. Right, I'm good. Anyhow, you can't just kill him and dump him!"

"Why not?"

"Why not?" Because! We've talked about this, Drew…"

"You don't exist, though."

"And neither does this moron!"

An accusatory finger flew towards W on the other shoulder. He simply shrugged.

"I'm dead, don't bring me into this."

"See? And I'm not, Drew. Or, at least, you hope I'm not."

"Uh-huh."

"So be a good boy for once and listen to what I say. Had you taken my advice four years ago, we wouldn't be even having this conversation."

Ouch.

"You can stop rubbing it in, already."

"I won't. Promise you won't do anything stupid?"

She gave him a stern look, eyebrow raised. Andy sighed and took one last glance towards Seven, sleeping peacefully by the campfire. Something about the sight stirred a strange sensation deep within the merc. A glimmer of pure, childish innocence, something that needed to be cherished and protected. Immediately, Andy crumpled the thought up and threw it away.

"... Sure. Promise."

"Good. Good, and don't ever listen to him."

The blue haired girl pointed at W, who stuck his tongue out and flipped her the bird.

"I won't. For now, at least."

At the moment, there was nothing else on his mind but the dark, empty desert.

The danger lurking within. Rows of steel, arrays of bolts and rains of arts, all eager to claim that half a million shekels.

His stomach rumbled.

Hopefully their "trip to the store" goes well.