The Betrayed Marionette

~.~.~

It was almost like déjà-vu. The Princess could not count how many nights since the beginning of her unbelievable journey she had spent tearing back the sheets in a panic; wiping back the cold sweat from her forehead; pressing her ears and shaking her head if only to drown out what could only be described as the most jarring, most unwelcome memory that she held to date.

It was like a phantom. It haunted her. Followed her around like nothing else had, for it had been that single shot that night beside her destined shores that had single-handedly sent her off on this wild, riotous quest - that had led her to this life of pursuit at sea.

It was almost embarrassing - almost shameful for her to admit that she - no less than a fully-fledged pirate at this point in her life - sometimes still feared the call of gunfire and certainly she had not mentioned it. Not to anyone. But there was some small part of her that thought her fears appropriate. The panic never lasted long, after all, and, really, it was only what might come of such a shot she truly feared, not the act of firing in itself…

And it was times like this that Amu definitely thought her anxieties were warranted, for now she stood, staring out from the bow of the Shining Black, and felt her blood run cold at the thought of whatever might have befallen those she cared about the most.

Amu grasped at the folds of her skirts so as to hide the telltale trembling in her hands, though it did no good. Her skin was prickling with sweat; she was short of breath; beneath those many layers of silk and sheet and useless petticoats she felt her knees go weak as the sea-fog thickened, washed ashore by the last of the hurricane's breeze, and all about them the chill crept in as the icy touch of dread clenched round her heart. She squinted through the white-out, but, though they saw - and heard - no more, the echo of gunfire was still ringing loud and clear in every man's ears.

Behind her, Amu heard someone whisper;

"Ichinomiya?"

The assumption was clear. And Amu felt something snap inside her chest.

"It came from the west." She said at last, though how she found enough breath for it was beyond her.

There was a pause - a shell-shocked silence as every man on-deck exchanged wary looks and shivered in the onslaught of the gathering mist, wafted in across the sea. But the rush of fear was faster. As the seabirds resumed their distant chorus, having regathered about the mountainside, the last of the shots disappeared wholly into the wind and Amu tore herself from the gunwale. Her pounding of her pulse reached a dizzying crescendo in her ears. She bolted and made for the hatchway.

It wasn't until she was completely submerged in the gloom of the hold that she heard footsteps coming for her.

"Ya Maj'sty!" Yaya's shrill voice was joined by the sound of scurrying as she scrambled down the companionway, tripping over her own two feet in the dark. "Ya Maj'sty! Yaya can't keep up!"

About halfway across the topmost gun deck Amu saw the unmistakable gleam of brass and the dull glow of iron beneath the light of the hatch. In a great, lead-bolted compartment lay their Shining Black's most spacious magazine - full of arms and caskets of powder and shot. But Kazuomi had taken with him the key and never returned to secure his stock after his most cowardly escape and so now, in his absence, the door was forever left open and inside Amu had her pick of whatever blades her crew had left behind. Reaching into the darkness blindly, for their lanterns had been long extinguished and snuffed out like little candles by the spray of the storm as it leached through the gunports, Amu's fingertips met the cold kiss of metal and, as Yaya crossed over the threshold, she was left wordless at the sight of Her Highness brandishing a mighty, new-sharpened cutlass, her eyes aglow even though the gloom with a fiery resolve.

Amu felt her courage burst forth anew. "Ready the men." She commanded. "There's an old gig of some kind left between the gangways. Maybe two. Ready the crew and send them to arms."

By this time the former Princess was thoroughly distracted, darting about the dim cabin and inspecting the sureness of her blade. Yaya was left in the dust, open-mouthed and babbling;

"B-But Ya Maj'sty… Are you sure?"

Amu's glare was enough to rent the poor girl through. She stopped in her squawking and fell back into the shadow, watching with her mouth agape as she for the first time experienced the true nature of a former royal at work. She watched, speechless, as Amu tried to throw on a sword belt and scabbard. She was huffed at the enormity of it and settled for securing it over her shoulder.

"I can't just sit here," she muttered, almost to herself.

"There's danger on this isle. If Ichinomiya's here-" Deep down in the pit of her chest, something akin to anger was beginning to boil away, for the very notion that she would be content to just sit there and wait for Ikuto and the rest of their crew was no less appalling now than it had been when they'd left. It was almost a relief that she'd been given a reason to go after them.

"But, ma'am, you promised the Cap'n!"

At this Amu just laughed. "I promised I'd take care of the crew for him." She said bluntly. "And it sounds to me like they could use a hand."

And, determined, Amu left Yaya behind in the dark of the hold. By the time she was back in the open air the men seemed frantic. Clearly she had no reason to worry over their sense of loyalty, for they were already hauling up the remaining rowboats and lowering them into the sea. Amu watched as they produced a couple of splintery, dilapidated jolly-boats that had seen far better days and some sort of coracle made from the ruins of an old launch. It was a poor choice. A depressing choice for a former ship-of-line. Any naval craft this size nowadays would have been inundated with vessels to choose from. Fully-rigged cutters and pinnacles and plenty of longboats to spare…

But they had no such choice. As their petty crafts bobbed about on unsteady waters, Yaya had set herself to work handing out cutlasses with a couple of men who were set to stay aboard the ship.

"Yaya ain't never seen a monarch at war before!" the young girl whispered, her voice full of wonder when Amu came near. "Yaya heard that back in his day, His Maj'sty stormed a fleet o' Seiyo pirates an'-"

"And utterly crippled them? Sure. My father told me that story at bedtime. What he didn't tell me was that it wasn't true." Amu scoffed. "For the record, Admiral Yui Hotori cut down those men whilst my father sat on his ship and sipped at his tea."

Yaya's looked aghast, but Amu just breezed on.

"Stay here. Keep a weather eye out on that island. If there are any troubles I'll send someone back to the ship."

Yaya nodded dutifully.

"Cast out!"

The journey was crowded and rough on choppy waves, but perhaps eighteen men managed to stuff themselves into those unworthy crafts, paddling with bits of broken plank they'd found deep down in the hold, for anything suitable for the job had already been claimed by the first lot of crew who'd gone before them. Amu was but a touch surprised that they didn't fall straight through the hull, but it was no matter. Their damaged little boats did the job and by the time that the old jolly-boat ran aground, Amu had already leapt from the paddles, wading out into the sea and splashing through the white-tipped waves towards the beach. She cast a fleeting glance back over her shoulder towards the Shining Black, but could barely see it; could barely descry even the highest mast nor the whitest diamond through the mist. Along the beach there lay a line of longboats, abandoned, almost ghostly on the grey stones.

But it was here that Amu entered into a dilemma. In the absence of sand, she could not track which way the crew had gone along the beach. They could have gone anywhere. The Princess made eye contact with one of her men, but, startlingly, the entire party were looking to her, waiting patiently for her direction. Amu decided that she'd find time to feel flattered later. Once they were all back and thoroughly through with this place, hopefully with their former Captain in their grasp…

There was no time to lose. But then, just a few yards to her right, Amu saw a wide break in the treeline. The foliage was trampled, grass and shrub and fallen leaves squashed flat by many boots. Pale, white branches broken clean from the trunk and glistening with sap leapt out against the thick greenery, hacked clean by countless blades, marking the path their fellows had taken. Amu might have been frustrated with them, for their tracks were so glaring obvious that anyone might have followed them with ease.

But the forest was dense. And their handiwork would take her right to them.

"Swords out, boys." Amu whispered. "We'll have 'em in no time."

~.~.~

There was little of note in this forest. So little, in fact, that Amu was beginning to wonder what reason Kazuomi would've had in coming here in the first place, for, though they trekked perhaps five miles in the space of their first hour, there was really nothing of worth to be seen.

Maybe one day, when the fog retreated and the grey skies cleared, they'd find something notable amidst all the plant life. Perhaps there were interesting new creatures lurking in the soggy undergrowth; perhaps there were ruins somewhere beneath the overgrown, chaotic mess that was the brush and towers of mosses that crept from tree to tree; or maybe the view from the mountainside was breathtaking on bluer days, but, sadly, here creeping through the dim light Amu saw none of those things. There were ferns here and there that she didn't recognise and sometimes they came across a flower or two that looked like they might have been pretty fascinating in colour had they not currently been closed up tight in the cold, but, other than that..? Well, it wasn't really the sort of place a person thought of when they envisioned the stereotypical island retreat a pirate might enjoy.

Amu had heard through various writings of forests like this that seemed to soar amongst the very clouds themselves. 'Cloud forests' one dignitary had called them on a stately visit long ago and, at the time, five-year-old Amu had been absolutely enamoured, filled with a childish interest that had sparked a once pure and precious imagination. She'd dreamed of lofty stone pillars topped with mossy heads and green-leafed peaks, punctuated by waterfalls and big, billowing flowers with eyes as bright as the sun itself. She'd seen herself, with her puffy cheeks and toothy grin, flying on the backs of giant birds and floating amidst a sea of clean, white foam - not an ocean, you understand, but a sea of soft, sublime cloud. It had been her kingdom atop the world for many moons (Amu wasn't quite sure what had come after it… Some other make believe world influenced by her mother's tales, no doubt), but here, faced with what might have actually been the reality that pompous dignitary had beamed about, Amu could say with clarity that this was the most miserable place she'd been forced to explore.

Beneath the trees the air was colder. The earth was saturated and worn by previous feet so that certain paths were near impassable and a man not much heavier than her would start to sink into a muddy deluge if he stood still for too long. Above their heads, they were attacked and pestered by relentless, icy drips falling from the treetops with every passing second.

In fact, Amu was so cold and her crew's morale so low, that she was just about to order them to stop and pause for a moment to rest when the air was rent anew by a distant crack of fire.

Amu inhaled audibly, but her voice was drowned out by the cries of many seabirds billowing into the air. They passed overhead not five seconds later and their shadow cast a dreadful chill amongst the crew.

She turned to them with urgency, her breath but a hiss; "How many shots?"

There were many whispers, but no definitive answer.

"Three at least!" one man whispered back. He reached for his blade and gestured off towards the path they'd been following. "Westwards! A mile at most!"

"They're close by…"

Amu's heart thudded so dreadfully that she could feel it in her throat. She swallowed forcefully, her cutlass at the ready. "At the ready, boys."

And suddenly all displeasure for this place was shoved aside, replaced by the heat of her own heart. Amu was the fastest and most able to slip through the rough-hewn path with care, but she cared not for slowly tip-toeing through the forest path. Mud splashed up along her skirts; leaves thwacked and slapped at her cheeks; tangled knots and barbs of bramble-like vines assaulted every inch of her skin, but she didn't care for them, didn't even blink as she led her men at a sprint into the gloom. They were slipping up a sliding slope; now hauling themselves headfirst over fallen longs; now hopping breathlessly over the roaring voice of a mud-ridden river when they reached a shadowed clearing.

No sign of their men. Nor of any enemies. But what they did find, as clear as day, was the sign of their struggle sunken deep into the mud. Even in the damp, the unmistakable tang of powder was in the air and, most alarmingly, one of the crew was examining what looked disturbingly like a splash of blood smattered across an upturned root in the earth.

"Which way did they go?" Amu turned uselessly on the spot, disheartened. Whatever trail they'd been following… It had vanished. "Impossible!" She shook her head. "Where've they gone?"

But, apparently, her company were just as stumped. Amu paced the clearing, flabbergasted.

"Eighty men don't just… Just disappear!"

"Aye, ma'am," the nearest pirate knelt down next to an impression in the mud, as if trying to convince himself that the longer the looked the quicker a solution would appear. "But there's powder in the air alright…"

This was not a welcome reminder. "Find them." Amu said. "Search this place. Search in the bush. Dig through the mud. They were here."

There was a chorus of 'aye, ma'am's and Amu watched, at a loss and uncomfortably restless, as the pirates scattered, on the lookout for any more tracks left abandoned in the flora. She looked back down the well-beaten path, wiping the tickling dribbles of blood from her cheeks, barely caring for the damage the greenery had dealt upon her fair complexion-

And that was when they heard it.

Amu near leapt to her feet.

But only a few feet away, the foliage was rustling.

Yet the wind was still. The birds silent. The entire company stopped dead in their tracks as they heard it up ahead. There were branches snapping; mud was squelching; the leaves where whispering and with an impending sense of dread, every man reached for their blade.

Cutlass in hand, Amu braced herself.

It was getting closer - nearer - with a heart-stopping cry a roosting seabird mere inches away was disturbed from its nest and leapt to the sky; the branches burst forth-

"Amu?"

Her heart nearly faltered. "Utau?"

There was an audible round of relieved breaths as their quartermaster hacked mercilessly through the trees and emerged, blades drawn and all, into the clearing. The tension was broken. Blinking and drenched in sweat, Utau's bright hair and violet eyes were like beacons against the dark wall of the brush. Behind her, a mix of several similarly bemused and thankful faces were slithering out from the trees. Red-faced and puffy-cheeked, by the looks of it they'd been running over the rough forest terrain for God knew how long before they'd stumbled upon their meagre party.

Utau cursed, trying in vain to catch her breath;

"What are you thinking?" Her words were brusque, but lacked much of their usual bite. "I could have shot you!"

Amu could have laughed aloud out of sheer relief to see such a familiar face. "Oh?" She slid her blade back into the makeshift baldric over her shoulder. "Where did you get your hands on dry powder? Lend us some, will you?"

This vain attempt to lighten the tense mood was quite obviously unappreciated. Her pistol in one hand and a tarnished powder flask in the other, Utau let out a breathless sort of sneer - a twitch of laughter devoid of all mirth. "Unfortunately for you, we're fresh out." She tossed the flask unceremoniously in Amu's direction, who caught it in one fell swoop of the hand. "What are you up to? My brother asked you to remain on the ship."

Amu ignored this. "Where are the others?" She regarded Utau's small group with concern. "Which way did they go?"

Utau frowned. "How should I know?" Utau snapped irritably. "Ikuto sent us off to scout along the cliffs! The rest he took with him. They should be miles into the interior of this place by now!"

"But did you pass them?"

"I could ask you the same question. I don't know where they are, but…" Their quartermaster hesitated. Utau lowered her voice until it was little more than a whisper. "But there's someone else here." She said urgently. "We caught sight of something along the treeline on our way to the cliffside. It disappeared. We tried to follow it down here, but, well… Here you are."

"We're not alone." Amu agreed. "We heard shots from the ship. They were here, but now I don't know-"

"We have to regroup." Utau cast a dirty look about the clearing, her eyes settling on the many scuffs and steps in the dirt. "If Kazuomi's really here he could pick us off in these trees. He'll have us running about like rats."

The insinuation was uncomfortably familiar. The Princess thought back only briefly to that night they'd spent stumbling in the labyrinth back ashore in pursuit of him, but shook the memory away just as quickly. It was time to focus.

"Go back up to the cliffs." She said. "Take some of us with you. I'll have to try and find Ikuto if we're going to hunt the dog down properly."

It was a tactic that, in her mind, seemed most straightforward, but, perhaps predictably, Utau just looked offended.

"What? So you can get yourself shot? I don't think so! If anything happens to you-"

Utau stopped herself just in time, but it was too late.

"What?"

There was a pause. In the background, the pirates looked on, wordless. Utau folded her arms stubbornly across her chest, her face turning crimson. Truly it must have been quite the effort to keep her flaming personality to herself, but Amu didn't care.

"Go on." Amu bristled. And, just for good measure, she lay her hand on the hilt of her cutlass even though, at nearly a head shorter and weighted to the ground under a multitude of sodden petticoats, she felt dwarfed in the older woman's shadow. "Say it. So what if anything happens to me?"

"There's a reason my brother wanted you to stay on the ship."

"It's funny," Amu spat. "You'd think by now he'd have known me better."

Utau scoffed.

"You know," the heiress went on, slow and steady, her fury blossoming pink beneath the soft skin of her cheeks; "I am not as useless as you and your brother take me to be." There was a pause. A sharp hiss of breath. Amu's knuckles were as white as snow as she seethed; "I am just as much of a victim of this as you are. I am the rightful owner of half of the fortune he is chasing. I am the reason your stepfather finally set you and your brother free in the middle of the night with my Lock in his hand…"

Ire smouldering, Amu stood flush against her rival.

"And I am going to kill him."

Utau blinked down in obstinate silence.

"Do you understand me?"

There was a pause. A breath of air. Amu slowly shifted her sword so that it's scabbard clicked open in a deathly warning that echoed deafeningly across the empty space of the clearing…

But Utau wasn't looking at her anymore.

For a brief second, Amu felt only anger - outraged at such a display of disrespect. Until she heard it.

'Snap!'

Something was beneath the trees.

"Take cover!"

They'd been ambushed. Utau dragged her out of the line of fire just in time and the two of them shielded their heads as the 'whoosh!' swept through the clearing. There was the splintering of wood and a smattering of sawdust and when Amu opened her eyes she came face-to-face with the still-shaking fletchings of an arrow unlike any make she'd ever seen. It shaft was glistening as the forest's lifeblood leaked slowly and stickily down its spine. Arrows were stuck deep in the surrounding greenery, but her men were unhit. They were scattering, ducking and diving behind thick trees and fallen trunks, shielding themselves behind weaves of moss and vine and reaching for their weapons.

The first the pirates saw was the shifting of the shadows as the forest around them seemingly came to life. She heard whisperings. Mutterings and commandments and the odd demand in a tongue she couldn't understand. Amu did not know how many there were - only that they were surrounded.

Utau crept noiselessly to shield herself behind a rotten-looking tree trunk. She hissed;

"Hold your ground!"

But it soon became apparent that their ground was not going to be enough. The 'twang!' and 'whoosh!' of arrows as they buried themselves into the trees was deafening. Amu narrowly avoided another oncoming shot, and in good time too. She cursed, desperately wondering why her own crew was so devoid of archers as she crouched behind a thick veil of mossy growth, sinking to her knees into the mud. Utau's powder flask was still in her hand, but there was enough moisture dripping from it's rusted surface that Amu knew whatever was still inside would be too sodden to put to use. She threw it to the ground in frustration. The clouds were rolling in, choking them with thick, wet air, shielding their vision as they squinted to catch sight of their ambushers crouching in the forest. Guns were useless; firepower was futile; and all she or any of her pirates had for defence was the cover of the forest and the quickness of their courage. As the volley of arrows rushed through the leaves, there was little hope even that they'd be able to creep close enough to their opponents for a proper fight. Not yet at least…

Something silvery flashed in her peripheral then. A young pirate was coming to take cover beside her, armed to the teeth with more knives and daggers than she'd ever thought possible. And, with that, an idea flourished in Amu's mind.

When the next round of arrowheads speared through the air, Amu lunged for the pirate's dagger.

Before she could even register what she was doing in her own thought, Amu had leapt to her feet. She had the dagger in one hand, her cutlass in the other; she was almost full in the clearing; somewhere in the background, Utau was shouting for her-

Straight ahead, a figure robed in black stepped into the path. He raised his bow, but Amu was fast - fuelled and pumped into life by adrenaline - and before he'd so much as reached for his quiver her dagger was flying through the air, clipping the leaf and vine.

Amu had already run for cover by the time it landed, but she heard the blade reverberate off the man's helmet. Unconscious or dead (she didn't know), he dropped to his knees and slumped back into the moss. The figure's companions cried in outrage and another assault was launched on the crew, but their return was more deadly than before. They truly were surrounded. Arrows were flying in all directions. Behind her, men who had been apparently safe found themselves launched upon by unknown hands and dragged kicking and shouting off into the darkness. As Amu fought to pursue one such pirate, Utau was dragged bodily into the open peril of the clearing by her pigtails and thrown roughly to the ground.

Though the man clearly didn't know who he was dealing with. For all his plated armour and swift, silent skills, he was quite obviously (and laughably) unprepared for her retaliation. Utau's cutlass shone keen and true - a mere flurry of light even here beneath the trees - and the man was soon sprawled out on the ground, blood spurting profusely from his side. Their quartermaster leapt to her feet, her boot digging into his chest and her blades dripping. She turned to the path from whence her foe had come. Whoever he was, his comrades had been provoked.

"Come on."

Swords drawn, warcries bellowing, the shadowed figures were either out of arrows or too frustrated to use them. Whichever it was, Amu thought that Utau was just too bad (or good, depending whose side you were on) an influence when it came to a fight. The blonde was soon at the centre of an almighty clash of steel and the pirates had become brave enough to emerge from their hiding places, encouraged as the arrowheads became few and far between. Amu hoped to high heaven that her fire wouldn't falter as she uneasily brandished the sword in her hand. Rapiers were one thing, but she had never used anything much heavier in the few, minor battles she'd been a part of.

Amu had no time to think of it, for her first opponent had found her.

A metallic figure burst in an almighty clamour from the thick of the trees, his sword glittering above his head, then shuddering with a bone-shaking force as he swung it to the ground. Amu just barely dodged him. There was an awful jolt in her stomach as she watched him tug his longsword from that gigantic dent in the ground, but there was no time to give in to fear. His voice was muffled beneath his mask - his face covered by a glittering, obsidian cloth - but Amu heard him yell with effort. He swung, her skirts fluttering as she swooped and swerved from his path. At last he served, but through some sheer miracle Amu parried and, though the exertion damn-near finished her, fought him off. Meanwhile, nearly every one of her men remained locked in combat, their curses and jibes and cries of determination creating an almighty crescendo for all to hear. To her left, Amu was faintly aware of the 'whoosh'ing of arrows again, though there was perhaps one bowman left, for she was certain she'd caught sight of one or two buccans wrestling a pair of archers to the ground. To her right, she heard someone screaming-

"Amu!"

Again;

"Amu!"

It was Utau. It was Utau calling her name.

As the figure's steel scraped against the blade of her cutlass, Amu felt the indignation boil away in her chest.

'I'll handle this myself!'

Unbidden a mighty cry burst from her lips and a newfound boldness fuelled her to the fight. She shrugged off his sword, then swung again - again and again until the world fell away and the clash of metal and the heat of the moment drowned out all else. Sweat was dripping from her brow. Her arms were aching. But Amu's fury was fierce. She lunged, going for a jab to the stomach, but he caught her blade and turned her wrist so that she fell flat on her side. He would have rent her clean in two then, but the Princess rolled just in time, leaping to her feet, circling her opponent like a lioness stalking its prey.

For the first time, the figure spoke;

"Sit down, little one," said a muffled, yet oddly playful voice; "I think you've had enough."

Amu bristled, but bit her lip. Instead of answering back, she swung at the bastard. Her moves were off-balance and she nearly fell back on her ankle, but the warrior was caught off-guard. The blade bounced off his shoulder plate, narrowly missing the bundle of cloth at his neck. By the way he stilled, she knew he was shocked. She took her chance. As he stepped forth to apprehend her, she circled once more and slashed as the back of his helmet where the green, ornate-looking fabric beneath stood out like the light of day. Again and again she proved her worth - light on her feet, quick to dodge, trying in desperation to avoid the blades and projectiles flying all around them. In the confusion, an arrow just caught the side of his helmet, ricocheting off into the trees where it barely drew blood, but it was enough that the warrior was thrown off his feet. Amu saw her chance. With a quick flourish she kicked his ankles from beneath him and struck him on the back of the head - hard and true with the hilt of her blade, the force rattling her wrist bones. He slumped to the ground, his sword clattering away and slumping into the mud, and, as he fell, the figure was unmasked.

There was little for Amu to say about that moment, for she was light-headed and breathless, spots starting to appear in many colours in her vision… But she remembered his face well enough. Indigo irises shone clear through the fog - as entities of their own, as the blue-lit wisps her mother warned her lured travellers from the road, reflected and illuminated in their brilliance by the gleam of her blade.

Overwhelmed by adrenaline, Amu drew her cutlass beneath his neck.

But the warrior just shook his head.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

His gaze darted behind her for but a split second. Foolishly, Amu followed.

In the midst of the forest, the fight had stopped. Utau's cutlass had been knocked from her grasp and lay half-stuck in a dip of mud as she struggled, digging her boots into the dirt, her screams muffled by the hands of her captors. Their pirates were spent - either held at point of bow or spear or otherwise face-down in the dirt, held fast and gagged by the shadows of the forest.

And no less than three of them were at her back, their arrows drawn taught. She could hear the bowstrings creak; could feel the hiss of their breath on the back of her neck…

Reluctantly, Amu lowered her sword.

"Not bad," said the blue-eyed warrior. "For a woman."

Amu's knuckles whitened around the hilt of her blade. "I'll have your tongue for that-"

The creaking of bows set her back into silence. There was naught she could do but watch, seething, as the unmasked man rose from the ground, an air of of triumph radiating from his being, a smirk spreading across his smug little face.

"These ones put up a fight! Lay down your arms, pirates." He said. "You've been bested."

~.~.~

Fire… That was the first thing he was aware of.

Firelight? Torches..?

He'd only known this once before… That flicker of flame. That smell of smoke and the echoing of his own two feet as he stumbled helpless from the light of its source. For a moment - for one fleeting, frightening moment - the Captain of the Shining Black thought he'd gone back. Back into the heat of the fire. Back to the docks. It was all so vivid in his head - so ever-present in his nightmares…

But no… This was no cell, nor was this any market in any corner of Seiyo. Slowly, Ikuto opened his eyes. His head was pounding in protest. In fact, just about every inch of his body appeared to join in. There was a burning about his wrists; a dull ache in his back; his chest felt heavy and tight as he wheezed in the quiet darkness. Confused and dizzy, Ikuto squinted and tried to turn to catch a glimpse of the place only to end up sprawled on his back and it was only then that he discovered that he was lying on a hard, cold floor made of reeds and odd, woven mats bathed soft, orange glow.

And there, stood resolute in the corner of the room, Ikuto caught the glitter of the firelight dancing in the eyes of his captor.

He was like a spectre. A shadow. A suit of medieval metal; draped in oriental robes; as sentinel as a warden in plated mail - a gleaming, still-smoking spirit having stepped just out of the forge, for the shine and flicker of flame rebounded like living, breathing embers amidst the cold, ashen-obsidian of his armour.

But he said nothing. Did nothing. Just watched, observant and patient and silent as the grave as his charge came to at his feet.

Catching the distinct edge of the shadow's blade, glowing bright and brilliant as the setting sun at its side, Ikuto became quickly aware that the burning currently ravaging the skin of his wrists was the rubbing of rope and that he was tied and bound to the mercy of this wild island man, for a chain had been cuffed to his ankle and shackled to an iron bolt in the ground. Faintly, he was aware of the blood sticking to his hair. Awake and alert, another pang resounded in his head at the memory of his capture. A rumble of discontent left his throat, in time with the clank of his chains;

"Was that really necessary?"

His voice sounded hoarse and strained with fatigue and so it was no wonder that the man in the corner ignored him - dismissed him as an idle threat. In frustration, Ikuto took a tug at the chains. At first he was hopeful that with enough struggling he might come free, for the entire reed carpet seemed to shake and shudder and creak dangerously beneath him, but the bolt in the floor held firm and a searing pain shot up through his ankle at the force, shackling him back down to the ground. Ikuto snarled.

And then, at last, the shadow spoke;

"A fighter?" His voice - for, if there had been any doubt in the first place, he was definitely a man - was low and steady as a flowing torrent, thickly accented by an eastern tongue that Ikuto could not name; "About time. We have been awaiting you, Captain." They uttered brusquely, as monotone as Ikuto had ever heard. And, at the interruption of more metallic clattering; "Please, do not mind your bonds. I wish to speak with you. Alone."

Ikuto slowly rose from the ground, dragging himself up onto his knees and ignoring the familiarity of the entire situation as best he could because, if there was one thing he dreaded, it was to appear ignoble in the eyes of the formidable man before him.

"Couldn't you have asked a little more nicely?" He sneered tauntingly. "By all means, the privacy of my cabin would have been much more comfortable."

There was an unexpected flare of flame. A chord had been struck. The sword was drawn accompanied by a burst of anger; "I will not set foot on your ship!" The shadowed figure barked - spitting as though to rid his tongue of poison; "And I shall not stand for her to sail so close to this isle!"

'Natives,' Ikuto thought to himself. He had encountered few in his time, for many ancient and far-flung tribes well known in their day had been all but eradicated under the spread of Seiyo's influence. The empire had consumed them - flushed them from their homes under fire of gunpowder and robbed them of their spiritual grounds nigh on two centuries ago - until now all that was to be heard of their existence lingered in fireside stories and age-old legends steeped in the illusion of colonial glory. Those that remained - that had evaded naval interest and lived in archipelagos not long since claimed for foreign lands - were almost as few and far between as legitimate pirate myths themselves. But, then again, though they persisted, Ikuto and his crew had never expected such an… Advanced breed of indigenous men to spring upon them on their travels. The southward seas were riddled - positively awash with whispers and romantic rumours drifting across the waves of little peoples living like the true wild men of old in the undergrowth; hauling sticks in lieu of weapons; running foreign men down within an inch of their lives and flaying them still-alive on the shores. But these men… These men had iron and wooden huts. Their armour was inlaid with silver and precious compounds of many colours. They had bows - fire-forged arrowheads and keenly-wrought swords as black as the endless wall of night. And Ikuto did not know in all honesty who they were or how they might escape with their skin in-tact (for he assumed that, however far from stereotypically barbarous they might have been, there were plenty of civilised men in the world alone who still had a taste for such ancient acts) because the malice and sheer organisation with which he and his men had been ambushed did not bode well for them. As it was, Ikuto could barely sneak away from the lordly warrior's piercing gaze; could barely shift from beneath the firelight and back into the shadows where he often felt he still belonged.

But, in the absence, of retreat or weapon (he thought for a moment about the blade sheathed on the inside of his boot, but there was no way he'd be able to reach it), Ikuto was forced to do what he (thanks to his dearest stepfather) did best: think fast; stay light on his feet; and try against all hope to save his sorry skin.

"We did not intend to encroach on your land," he began slowly, trying to breathe through burning ribs, ignoring the discomfort as his throat went deathly-dry under his captor's gaze; "we did not know men dwelt here-"

"Do not attempt to deceive me!" the warrior burst out, hot and dangerous; "For you have already answered to the title of 'Captain' - you have already claimed ownership over that sordid craft!" And he took his charge by the scruff of his collar and hauled him up to his knees;

"That Diamond has sailed our seas before!"

And, all of a sudden, it clicked.

Ikuto caught a flash of something in the man's eye - a flash of fear he'd seen before. It was the same fear in every honest sailor's heart - the same fear that he'd beheld in every man and woman that night they'd chained him to the spot.

It was the same fear that followed Kazuomi wherever he went.

Ikuto's heart dropped like a weight. The shadow's grip on his collar was shaking - trembling with uncontained rage. His head was starting to spin again and the sweat dripping from his brow was starting to wash blood into the corner of his eye. "Untie me!" Ikuto burst, exasperated, his chest heaving; "I'll show you - we're not the crew you're thinking of-"

"Do not think you are in a position to make demands, Captain!" The figure snarled. "You are on our soil now - no other! You are fortunate - oh, so fortunate, for that is what they call you, yes? That is what they call your breed? True 'gentlemen of fortune'."

Ikuto frowned. He shook his head. "No… No, we are not that crew…"

Unexpectedly the warrior released his grip and Ikuto slumped back onto the reeds, his head light and his vision swirling. There was a scrape of metal and a flicker of firelight and, before he could even think there was a blade to his throat, icily cold and stinging even in the sweltering heat of the hut. There was a moment of uneasy silence. And then, calmer now;

"The Diamond sail… You have stained our shores before." The warrior said. "And I cannot allow such carnage once again."

Ikuto swallowed slowly and as the blade bobbed against his skin the glow of the firelight reflected menacingly in his eyes. Fighting the overwhelming sense of déjà-vu, he blinked up at his foe.

"You are under our observation now, Captain." The figure said. "And you shall answer me…"

There was an uncomfortable pause. A lull. The figure drew himself up to truly fulfil his lordly stature, his grasp still keen on his blade;

"From whence have you come?" said the Lord with what sounded like a forced sort of patience. "And from whence did you hear of this blessed isle unless you truly are those whom you claim not to be?"

His tongue was stilted and archaic, steeped in a blunt, unfamiliar eastern lilt that swept like sand across the dunes. Ikuto drew for breath. The shimmer of spark upon metal was still dazzling his vision and a wave of uncomfortable sweat prickled hot at the base of his neck in anticipation. And now, remembering the nights on end spent within his cabin; overwhelmed as the phantom scent of dried and ink-blotted parchment filled his nose; seeing the swells and scribbles and all the intricacies of every inkblot swim before his eyes (for truly they'd invaded his head; they looked before his vision; they danced behind his eyelids when he slept), he answered;

"In the first," he said with caution, for there was no mistaking the dwindling patience left shaking in the warrior's grip; "I am truly not that who you think I am. And by my life I am not aligned to him."

There was something much like a scoff beneath the layers of cloth, but Ikuto didn't comment.

"I should not place such a bet so lightly." They said. "For I am not a patient man."

"No," Ikuto replied and his voice was nearly but a breath with tension. Yet he was earnest. "No, I would not. And I would not play my own life without reason."

The warrior looked down upon him with a blank sort of expression that Ikuto could only put down to curiosity, but he said nothing. He took his chance - spurred on by the welcome silence - went on.

"For, you see, the man you are thinking of has wronged me too." He swallowed. "He is a scoundrel. A devil. A curse upon whom I and my crew have suffered dearly…"

"Your kind often are." The warrior said. Ikuto ignored him. His chest was heaving, his breath light, catching uncomfortably at the back of his throat;

"What if… What if I told you… That we come in search of him? That our mission - our reason for coming here - was to follow in his footsteps? What if I said that our purpose here was to find him and hunt him down? Because he has wronged us too…"

There was a pause then. Had he not been so preoccupied judging how close that sword was to his neck, Ikuto might have missed the slight shiver that swept down it's spine, for the figure faltered unmistakably then, but there was something else - a hestistance; some sort of trepidation…

Ikuto knew then that Kazuomi had wronged them almost just as deeply. He waited.

After an uneasy, drawn-out stretch of silence, the figure spoke.

"And," the Lord began; "This you can prove?"

Ikuto held his head aloft and, swallowing drily, met his captors' eye;

"By every bruise on my body." He said. "By every scar on every inch of my skin and every dark space in the souls of my men."

Naught but quiet followed this oath - solemn though it was. For a moment, Ikuto wasn't even sure his plea had worked.

And, finally, the warrior withdrew his blade.

"Then you would have our allegiance."

~.~.~

A/N:

I'm a fool. I almost published this fic without making Amu act like a badass. My girl deserves better than that. Didn't quite manage it this time, but Amu will be stepping up her game, I'll make sure of it.

This might be the quickest I've updated recently. I know, I'm as shocked as you are. I'd revise this chapter, but I'm exhausted. I've been having a sort of crisis lately. I thought I knew how this fic would end. But now I'm not so sure. Either way, this fic should have about thirty chapters? Idk I have a lot of loose ends to tie up in this plotline.

Thoughts + favs appreciated!