Lux Adair's Story

Falke's memory of 'who was who' of the people of the group during the week and a half he'd known them mostly revolved around matching their voices to their names. And that was only because of unintentional eavesdropping, more often than not. It wasn't as if he actually started most, if any come to think of it, of the idle chit-chat that had floated around amongst relative strangers. However, some (but very few, honestly), like Xabier for instance, whom was currently coming up to his right shoulder from behind, had familiar footsteps that he recognized along with their voices and their names. And with the overly friendly Spaniard's personality thus far, he knew a expressively fond pat was likely on its way. Still, he'd have you know, it was just as confusing as the first time to receive from someone who was little more than a stranger - even with considering destiny's nonsense, and Xabier already very assured he was his friend. At the very least, the knowledge allowed him the ability to pre-wince (and hopefully avoiding the potential back-lash sometimes associated with his disgruntled expressions) at the prospect of generally unwanted contact. His eyes crinkled slightly, his shoulders stiffened partially, and a flash of a grimace parted his maw; when the hand first patted down. His face was blank by the time he shifted his weight, ducked his shoulder out from under Xabier's hand, and turned to the side to face the other boy - his blearily eyes had an air of polite, refined curiosity to them, without a trace of the annoyance touching on faint anger burning away hidden in his inner thoughts.

"Aha! We match!" Falke had to blink at that one. Even one of his eyebrow rebelliously twitched, as if wanting to break his usually stoic mask and raise high in question to the others excited statement and shoulder clapping. But the most he did, was tilt his head slightly as he pondered a meaning to the words and a response to answer the other. His first question was match what? They were both guys, okay, Europeans, yup, accents that muddled their English a bit (his more so, or so he thought, but still...), check; huh, anything else? No, not really. Personality's were apart quite significantly it seemed, and if he could see - their looks, body-types, etc - weren't a match in the slightest, honestly. The only thing that he could remotely think of as a possibility of matching was possibly their weapons, but then again it wouldn't be extremely likely for people to have matching 'spirit' warrior weapon-things amongst twelve people - similar perhaps, but matching not so much. And the second was it really all this exciting, or well, er - likely phrased better as should he put forth the effort in becoming excited himself? As far as all his emotions were concerned, ahh, nope. Well... "Humm." Falke managed to rumble out, finally, in growling hummed response. He couldn't really think of anything else to say, or ask really; that just wasn't really him, the small-talk. But at the very least he thought to be polite, he put an emphasis of light intrigue in his tone and general stance.

Because of Xabier's 'distraction' of a sort, Falke had only managed to catch a few of the conversations floating about the month warrior group in the time the warriors lingered. And even then it was bits and pieces of relative nonsense, and really, he could ignored most of Harper's interesting input in how to take care of the Airian monsters. Luckily for him, however, he didn't have to talk any more as Haru - after letting the warriors linger for a while and catch their breathe after escaping from the collapsing mound - had the group setting off for the mountains shortly. They returned to the conservation again, cleaned up camp, grabbed their things, and the horses were given away. Once again the guards asked for identification on the way out as they had when they arrived, and once again with his mangled name of "Fluke." he passed through the gate with ease.

Falke, as before on the walk to the mound in the morning, he found himself at the tail-end of the group; constantly, steadily walking forward. His primarily focus on walking, cautious of every step, and careful not to step on anyone's heels in front of him (or behind him, however that would happen, too). Lord, he missed the horses. On and on they walked, a straight, narrow road, foothill after foothill, and a break or two in-between. Once for water, he sipped lightly because he didn't want to get water-sick but gratefully for the coolness of the liquid from his own canteen; and a second, for a injured stranger named Kwasi Ihejirika (eek, he didn't even remotely want to even attempt to pronounce that, ever, he'd butcher it). Brother, Goddess Blessed, Nomansland, Monastery of the Sun - new terms that made him assume he was some sort of monk or religious man, but given that the terms were indeed new, different, and confusing, he saved his own thoughts to himself and he'd get it explained to him later if it was important to know he supposed. Haru helped him up, and brought him with them - apparently they were close to their destination, great.

He wouldn't have called a few hours passing as close to a destination, but given the technology or 'magic' as it was here in Aires, likely walking as far as they did through the foothills to arrive at the mountains was some sort of feat potentially - so, he didn't feel to complain verbally or mentally. Falke was pleasantly surprised in the knowledge that they had some cart to take them up into the mountains to this Academy, and was darn well happy to get off his feet - until, well...

It was cramped in the ox-cart, shoulder to shoulder, touching. And someone to his left kept burying their head into his shoulder. No matter how many time he attempted to wiggle away from their hot-breath tickling his neck line and long hair (he could only assume it being a girl at this point, but he didn't know) uncomfortably prickling its way through his clothing to stab his skin underneath, she/they would still be there and her/their head would still be buried in his shoulder. Or in all reality, Falke ended up just being too tired to fight anymore or care about it. He dipped his chin toward his chest with a soft sigh parting his lips, half shutting his eyes against the glint of the sun and looking for the most part falling into a fast slumber after tuning out the random babbles of the ox-cart driver. But whenever a wheel rattled haltingly over rough terrain, or someone accidentally kicked his shins given the close quarters they were in; a grimace flashed unto his maw for a few moments at a time before disappearing again, making it clear that he clearly was as asleep as he'd like to be.

Skylar turned at the sound of another voice, only to find Gwen standing next to her. The girl held a box in her hands, and she could only assume that whatever weapon she had must have been inside. Obviously destiny must have liked her better, the box appearing to be much lighter than her awkwardly large hammer.

Even so, as nice as the gesture was, she wouldn’t accept the help- it just wasn’t in her nature. Skylar was as stubborn as she was independent, refusing to show any sign of weakness. Besides, if she didn’t get used to lugging it around now, what would happen when it came time for her to actually use it?

“I got it,” Skylar replied, offering the girl a nod. “Haven’t you heard? Carrying weapons that are almost entirely your size helps to build character,” Still, she appreciated the gesture, shifting the weapon in her hands before speaking again. “Thank you though.”

As they set off through the foothills, Skylar couldn’t help but be intrigued at the scenery, her pale eyes scanning the profiles of the mountains. Florida might have had beaches and Disney World, but the tourist trap was nothing compared to what she was seeing here. It was almost enough to take her breath away, the tightness in her chest from earlier slowly fading as they walked.

To be thrust into a cart packed with everyone else wasn’t exactly her first choice of activity after nearly being crushed to death in an underground cave, but at least they were out in the open with fresh air and sunlight.
Smushed between sweaty bodies towards the middle of the cart, she was slightly grateful for the reprieve from all the walking even if she could barely move.

As they continued on their journey, the driver rambling on with almost incomprehensible stories and Kyle offering up some of his extra food, she noticed that Harper hadn’t said much. Out of the entire group she was probably the closest to him, making it glaringly obvious that something was definitely up. She opened her mouth to ask if he was alright, pausing for a moment before deciding against the action. As someone who hated having her insecurities pointed out to her, she wasn’t sure how Harper would react. He was probably just sick from the ride- it was awfully bumpy. She'd ask him later.

At the sound of an unfamiliar voice, Skylar lifted her head. Eyes widening at the male’s warning, she glanced over in Haru’s direction to see how the guardian would respond.

With the cramped quarters, the rough road underneath the cart's wheels, the random babbling of the ox-cart driver, the uncomfortable feeling of being touched on all sides (significantly more-so with whoever was burying their head into his shoulder), and hot sun high overhead; Falke had finally fallen into a travel-weary imposed half-slumber. His chin brushed his chest, eyes half lidded against the glint and glare of the sun, and easy breaths parted his lips, hardly a means of lustrous rest but it was something that the past week or more hadn't been graced of plenty with - so any little bit helped, it all honesty.

Falke jolted awake suddenly at Harper's fit of panic and the sudden shift of the person to his left, also being awakened abruptly by the screaming and sobbing out barely coherent words like he was the world's biggest two year-old. His eyes shot open, blearily confused and extremely annoyed. Was his reaction really all that necessary? Of course, he might have been more sympathetic if the person having the panic attack was someone he knew or frankly cared a lick about, and for the most part this seemed like another grab for attention, stealing the show as it would be, or just simply attempting to get his way again (which hadn't worked at all so far, you know), and so he really just did not care.

Good Lord, and Harper kept going - screaming, sobbing, and slobbering at the mouth. Agh. Someone needed to let him just pass out when his brain finally had enough of this panic attack and turned off for a bit itself without babying him through it, or, preferably, someone needed to help him along with a cognitive reset. Bah, who was he kidding? Most of them were to soft to do anything of that sort, and Falke wasn't certain how far away he was in the first place in the confines of the cart itself and his blindness made it more likely he'd hit someone else instead of his intended target. Oh, bloody hell. Something, anything? No...

"Ohk... Halt die Klappe, feiger Hund." Falke muttered in annoyed exasperation, low, under his breath and barely audible. His growling brass of a voice rumbled roughly, clearly not English, but clear enough that he certainty remembered that he really shouldn't be speaking his native tongue or let anyone hear it in a place (or around new strangers) that had never heard of Germany or the Germanic language in the first place.

Falke obviously wouldn't be able to go back to sleep with this commotion, and an hour more of it seemed an unbearable burden to bear; but he would be dammed, if he didn't attempt to try at the very least. He roughly placed his hands on either side of his head, half-covering his eyes and ears at the same time. Pulling up his knees to rest his head back on, as the cart resumed its motion, doing his best to ignore Harper and everything else...

* Oh... Shut up, cowardly dog.

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(ooc: These two riders are just ahead of the group on the cart, and not necessarily right near them. You may be able to spot them riding further ahead on the trail, or you will see them - close enough in person - upon reaching the gates of the Academy. Do with that what you will with that when replying, if your character happens to notice them. Thanks!)

An explosion of sulfurous snarls, intermittent gasps, and wailing cries, barely resembling something human and only that because it made mostly audible words; echoed amongst the mountain ranges like a dreadful song of a dead-man’s failed gambit. Interrupting the quiet, steady purpose of two riders astride their sturdy mounts also making their way up to the Academy, enough that the poor beast the one hooded rider rode chin nearly bruised itself on its own chest as the reins were snatched up in surprise, halting their forward movement abruptly. “By the one,” Came the soft, exasperated hiss of the rider as they released their grip and apologetically patted the top of the rangy, mountain horse‘s withers who snorted roughly and warily in response.

A thin fingered hand escaped the confining folds of the cloak covering the additional long-sleeved flowing dress to pull off the hood their head, revealing a lady with dark golden hair bound in a coiled bun with no signs of age upon her except in the depths of her washed-out, gray-blue eyes. Her already lean and angular face seemed rather pinched as she scowled, as her eyes narrowed as they made an idle attempt of locating the direction of the sound of the apparently ‘dying’ human being somewhere down on the mountain trail(s) below hers’ and her companion’s own position.

“Huh… I wonder why no one’s shut that blubbering idiot up yet. You’d think someone would’ve run something through his throat already, after his innards apparently with that amount of yelling and left the body for the crows. Wouldn’t you say?” The woman mused rather callously to the sufferings of whatever poor individual was currently squeaky screaming his fool head off. Her accent was odd to most Airian standards, and seemed as if she was singing a melody as she wove her words into speech, but able to be understood readily enough. She removed her attention from scanning the mountain side, and glanced back to her companion, as he remarked in turn of the retched cacophony.

A brief moment of mild amusement kindled to life across her fine features, as her teeth flashed in a small grin at her companions’ obviously irritated sarcasm. She hummed softly in agreement to his expressed thoughts, as her hand reached back up to pull the hood back over her head. “We should be at the gates in another 30 minutes or so, come on then.” She stated lightly, and followed her statement by resuming her grip on the reins, clicking her tongue to start the ponies’ movement forward once again up the side of the mountain.

The scrape with the mound had gone more or less... better. Honestly, Lux had hoped she would be buried under the rubble. She cared not for the magnificent statue that had stood inside, though it had brought a look of awe from her for a short while. Promptly she found her month and her weapon, contorting her face into a visible grimace at the weapon that laid before her. It was nothing but a serrated, curved blade, on a meager bone handle. It was pitiful! A dulled blade, chinks within the teeth of the blade's underside. It must have seen many battles, heck there were dark stains that could be considered blood. But still, it was small and Lux took it personally as an attack on her skills.

Most of the other warriors had larger weapons than this thing! As she endured the cart ride with the screaming, overly dramatic mess that was Harper, Lux seethed even more. She bit her bottom lip to hold in her words. Why break the silence she had put herself in? Why? Staring at the place that would be their home, she pursed her lips. Ah, so this was it? In all honesty, Lux had been expecting the Academy to not look as prestigious as its name implied to her. It was, perhaps, prestigious by the people that lived in this world. But not to her. Turning the sickle over in her hands, Lux wondered if this whole gig as a month warrior was a mere joke on her.

Lux only watched Harper's fainting spell with the stone cold indifference that she had painted on her features during the ride up the mountain in the cart. Silently, she wondered if her guardian would ever show up. It seemed rather unfair to Lux that her guardian wasn't here to greet them, or at least on its way. Then again, she never even knew if the people she was looking at were guardians. For all Lux was capable of knowing in this alien world was that they could be with the Academy! A small glare was cast towards the bracelet that delicately rested around her slim wrist. A huff left her.

Some grandiose way to fame this turned out to be.

Even if no one had told Dorian that Ryou was a part of an Academy of any sort he would have assumed that he was a teacher or, at the very least, the parent of several trouble children. It was the never-ending grace he used to deal with the more difficult members of the group, answering silly questions and fits of pique as if they were seriously asked or thoughts to be considered. It was the look of serenity on his face in that crowded cart with new arrivals, shrieking month warriors, and an insulted ox driver all packed in together like a tin of particularly rude and obnoxious sardines. Dorian's best explanation, therefore, was that Ryou had been so exposed to insanity of the teenaged and young adult variety (or of the children variety depending on which month warrior you were referring to) that this cart of chaos seemed disturbingly commonplace to the Guardian. Either that or he'd managed to procure earplugs, which was doubtful since he seemed to be privately laughing at all of them when they said something ridiculous. The only change in countenance he experienced was to give the new arrivals a cheery wave and a pleased exclamation of greeting before settling back into his spot to wait out the storm of emotions.

Dorian, for his part, tried to make the best of an incredibly irritating situation by privately pretending he was on the New York subway during rush hour, crammed in between the masses of the major city. It was about as noisy as the subway between the various conversation and occasional shouts, and with the oxen driving the cart, the foul smelling berries raining down on them as they trundled along, Harper's vomiting, and the fact that no one had had a decent bath in what felt like ages, it certainly smelled similar. Closing his eyes, he was almost able to trick himself into believing the lie and, yes, it might have seemed a little bizarre, but at least he was coping quietly and taking up as little room as possible. Well, not that it was the best coping mechanism- he hated the subway; it was just that he hated being here even more.

The eventual arrival at the Academy greeted the group with a change in terrain as bumpy dirt roads made way for cobblestones and their journey was now more horizontal in motion than vertical. A forest made itself known, looming over one side like an organic wall of the square they found themselves in. As soon as the cart came to a halt, Dorian climbed out, stretching cramped legs and generally enjoying the feeling of his personal space being returned to him. He was so caught up in alleviating the pins and needles feeling in his legs that he almost missed the arrival of two new people. They, unlike all of the strangers he'd met so far with the exception of Haru with his authoritative leadership style and Ryou who had been greeted more as a savior to the teenager than an intruder to be thrown together with, were unobtrusive and didn't seem to have the hint of trouble that seemed to follow each of the month warriors every step of their journey.

"Dear Ji Na, your confidence in me is inspiring," Ryou replied, exiting the cart with far more grace than Dorian. It was all in good fun, apparently, a light sort of joke as opposed to withering sarcasm. Ji Na, the only one of the two to speak, was like an image plucked from an ancient roll of tapestry, ornaments and fine cloth decorating her like a doll, but she walked with too much grace and her eyes looked too knowing to ever be mistaken as just another pretty ornament. The other, the stranger even to the Academy's master, was stronger looking muscular and dressed far more plainly than her counterpart, but she held her own sort of beauty in an intriguing out of the norm sort of way.

"I trust your judgement, Ji Na. Welcome to my Academy, Katarina." Ryou didn't seem perturbed in the least by the new face, accepting it as he had nearly everything else on this journey.

Soon enough, Harper had made his final obtrusive act for the day, fainting dead away before being carted away alongside Kwasi who, Dorian was pleased to see, was finally getting both the treatment and space he needed after being (un)lucky enough to find his way into the group. Little chitchat followed revealing Ji Na to be a doctor- no, healer- of some sort, and in the midst of the quiet chaos, Ryou slipped away, vanishing from the group. It was hard not to be jealous. Despite being dead tired, Dorian did his best to familiarize himself with the Academy on the tour, futilely clinging to little details to remind him exactly where to go; it wasn't his fault that he was absolute bollocks with directions. The room was uncomfortable to the New Yorker, too open and lacking in privacy to give him any sense of peace. Regardless, when he laid down that night, he fell near instantly into a dreamless world of sleep.

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The next two weeks were agonizing in a way that Dorian couldn't quite express. Yes, he prided himself on being relatively fit(well, before his solo adventure in Aires took hold of him), but this was like extending his Tae-Kwon-Dog classes to cover almost the entire day. His muscles ached, first a sharp pain that labored his every movement, before fading into a constant throb. Cuts and scrapes joined the nearly healed wounds and bruises that had just begun to fade, but at least he was kept busy and oftentimes was too tired to do anything but sleep and eat in the breaks they were provided with, which was just fine with him. The less time he had to think, the less time he remembered just how desperately he wanted to go home.

Today was no different- sweat didn't so much trickle as it did pour from his face as a mix of heat, exhaustion, and muscle strain attempted to take him down. He persevered however, heaving his bag of rocks for a last mad dash up the mountain to complete his final lap. He let the heft bag fall where it may before seating himself, holding onto just enough dignity to keep from collapsing, wonderingly vaguely what Haru had in store for them.

He had not expected a Cyclopean.

A primal sort of fear tugged at his heart, urging him to run, run, run from the creature. It was an idiotic notion, perhaps, given the cage separating them and the lackadaisical way Haru treated being so close to the monster, but, Dorian told himself, at least his fight or flight instincts were still stubbornly active. The initial fear gave way into a morbid curiosity as Haru lectured on the Cyclopean, gray eyes following every gesture, but never quite leaving the monster. The only weak point… He'd been lucky, all that time ago, that he hadn't gotten himself killed, armed with only that little pocket knife and facing down something like… that. If he tried, even just a little bit, he could remember the adrenaline pulsing through his veins, the layer of blood- mostly the Cyclopean's, but not this- coating his body like a second skin. Well, maybe he didn't want to remember that.

He wasn't particularly hungry at the following meal time, a mix of the heat still clinging to him and the lesson only a short while before making his stomach churn with disgust bordering on fear. Luckily, meal time for the beginning students was never too heavy, and today was no exception as Dorian seated himself as a table with Tallyho. Out of almost everyone in the group, he found her the most pleasant to be around in that she seemed to encourage the notion that there wouldn't be any problems if you don't make any problems. He allowed himself, between a sip of milk and a bite of fish, to glance up at the Elite's table. It was generally something he didn't do if only because he found himself irrationally irritated by the difference in treatment despite understanding and approving of the idea of improving oneself to improve your situation. Today, however, it was different.

For one, Ryou was actually there, seated in the middle of the table, just as vibrant and pleasant as ever. And, on another note, there was a new occupant at the table, scarfing down the fine food voraciously with hardly a breath in between bites. He looked, well, vaguely like a scarecrow. Tall and lean, the adjective "raggedy" seemed to apply itself perfectly to the young man, his dark green shirt a patchwork of where it had been mended many, many times and brown pants and shoes in no better condition and all of it just slightly too big on his frame. His short brown hair curled and spiked every which way, his nose slightly crooked from where it had been obviously broken a time or two before, an assertion backed up by the sword sheathed next to him. The sword and its sheath looked particularly out of place, effortlessly clean and, from what Dorian could see, without the same mended, ragged quality that the rest of the young man's possessions . But, for all that, he seemed to give off an air of friendliness- perhaps it was his wide, green eyes sparkling with mirth at something Ryou whispered, or the fact that, for all of the raggedness, his face was actually handsome in a boyish sort of way.

It was only after most of the month warrior group had started their meal, however, that Ryou made his way over, the scarecrow-like stranger following behind at an easy pace.

"I suppose I should apologize for not being around very often recently, but I'm sure Ji Na and Haru have been taking good care of you," Ryou hummed, his ever-present smile lazily spread across his face. However, he didn't offer an explanation for his absence.

"From what they've told me, all of you have been working very hard-" At least he hadn't lied and said they were doing wonderfully. "And it's come to my attention that you haven't been given a traditional Academy greeting. So, after you've finished your meals and rested, tonight we're going on a bit of an adventure. I wouldn't worry about it- all of the Academy students go through it usually within their first week of training, isn't that right, Dae?" He clapped the tall young man on the shoulder and, to his credit, despite his lean body, he didn't give an inch.

"Ta. Had me do it day two. Suppose that was my own fault, though," he snorted good-naturedly, smiling rather crookedly. His voice was slightly raspy and a thick brogue clung to each syllable.

"Indeed it was," Ryou agreed quite readily, before turning his golden eyes back to the group. "By the way, I don't suppose you've been introduced yet. This is Dae Grimm, one of our resident elites and the person you should be thanking for bringing in your Cyclopean today. Dae's been kind enough to offer to come along with us tonight. Now, the sooner you finish, the sooner we can get this done and you can head off to bed, which I'm sure all of you are looking forward to after today." It was interesting the way he spoke- not patronizing in the least, but genuinely like he understood what they were going through. Then again, given that he ran this Academy, it was fair to say that he'd seen it many, many times before.

Her muscles screamed in pure excruciating agony. She had gone through one thing to another with the group. Running up a path, away from a Cyclopean (for which she was certainly going to thank Dae the Scarecrow man for), and now entertaining the notions of the pink haired child. As the stick hit her thighs, Lux let out what sounded like a squawk mixed with a yelp. Embarrassment crept in the moment the sound left her. Hands flew to cover her mouth. Her posture now screamed "Don't look at me!!" instead of "I'm pissed off!!!!". She hung back behind the group, hoping that no one heard her.

Or at the very least did not know that the sound came from her. That was enough to cause the actress to lose her control in trying to calm down her breathing. She didn't do much in the way of running, she preferred the lights and grandeur of the stage than sweating on some hot day underneath the unforgiving bright sun. A hand ran through the rat's nest that was now her once well kept hair. She didn't like this at all; however, her thoughts were, for once, pulled away from herself to the person she had ended up walking next to. At first, it took Lux a while to remember the blonde's name. But the moment she remembered, an uncharacteristically soft smile curled against her lips. With the clear sign's of Autumn's body language, even a person not so well versed in the art of body language could tell that she was insecure about something.

Heavily insecure. Walking just a bit closer to Autumn, the December warrior finally spoke up to one of her teammates in a while. "Don't let what that pink haired brat said get to you," she murmured hoping to keep the little girl from hearing the conversation. "I'll probably make a bigger splash than you, Autumn."

Harper ate quickly, burping loudly when he finished, despite the somewhat meager serving.

He had eaten worse.

He wasn't sure what to think of the supposed outing tonight, but hoped that it wouldn't be much worse than running rocks up the mountain. He stuck around the cafeteria, hoping to hear snippets that would give it away, but didn't have much luck.

He caught up with the group--on time for once!--and followed along, trying to keep his spirits up and praying they wouldn't do anything height related. The pink-haired girl, Karma, ran around hitting everyone's legs with a stick.

The wood stung against his leg, but there was only so much force a small girl could have, and thing stinging didn't last long, and in a minute was forgotten. Some of the others squeaked and squawked, and he rolled his eyes. Babies. It was just a little girl. Albeit, a bratty little girl, but a little girl nonetheless.

Harper had always had a soft spot for children, even if they were snot-nosed little terrors. Kids were simple. They could be sassy, snappy, and stuck-up, but there was always an honesty about them. Like there wasn't a second agenda behind their words. And the world was so easy for them, that they never thought twice.

Karma was, admittedly, harder to get along with than someone like his sister, but in the past two weeks he'd been here, he still smiled at her, laughed at her retorts and offered some of his own in response. Even when she pointed out his vomiting and nausea, those first few days, he'd taken it in stride. After all, it wasn't like the other warriors had any kinder words, if they had anything to say to him at all. At least Karma said what she thought.

"A splash?" he repeated, and his tone brightened up, "Are we going swimming?" he asked the little girl. The thought of it raised his hopes, and his smile grew in anticipation. "If that is the case, than being fat doesn't necessarily mean bigger splashes. It's all about entry. I'm bigger than you are, but I'd make a smaller splash than you if I dove in and you just belly flopped." He moved his hands about in front of him, outlining an invisible square. "All about the surface areaa..." he drew out the A for a while before putting his hands down. Still grinning, he announced in a louder voice, "By the way, I'm a certified lifeguard, so if anyone's worried about drowning, I've got you covered!"

Autumn paused for a moment, a bit surprised that someone was speaking to her. The group had always kept to themselves, especially around the other warriors. She looked over at the person next to her, remembering her as the girl who complained about everything. Lux, if she remembered correctly. Not that she blamed her. The blonde would complain as well if she felt a compelling desire.

So it was rather strange that Lux’s words were comforting. Autumn didn’t expect it in the slightest. Her expression softened and she smiled.

“Thanks.” It was all she could think to say. Even though she wanted to say more, to spark a friendship, she wasn’t quite sure where to begin. She was far too tired to think clearly. Still, her warm smile remained. Maybe it wouldn’t be so lonely, after all. Even Harper seemed to be in a better mood, offering help to those who needed it.

She took a deep breath, unfolding her arms and doing her best to look ahead. Whatever was coming couldn’t be that bad, right?
Nope, it was bad. Jumping off cliffs was very bad. Even Tallyho seemed concerned. More than concerned, actually. Autumn frowned. She had always thought of Tallyho as the bravest member of the group. If Tallyho was worried, so was Autumn. After all, the girl was from Aires. She knew better than anyone what was or wasn’t dangerous. Before she could side with the other blonde, however, Ji Na spoke.

It was comforting to know that it was simply an analogy. Autumn let out a small sigh of relief. In fact, teamwork was what she had been hoping for. Brotherhoods, sisterhoods, teamwork, family, whatever it was called it was what she wanted. As long as no cliff jumping was involved, it seemed like a brilliant idea.

Xabier felt tired. He was sure he looked it too.
It was all he ever felt nowadays. He hadn't expected to be so weak after working on Abuela's farm for most of his childhood. Still, his limbs ached and the minor cuts on his arms multiplies as he unknowingly brushed past sharp rock.
He didn't want to admit it but his chest hurt more than the petty injuries from mountain climbing.

He missed home, Bilbao that is, not his father's house in Madrid. He missed his mother and his brothers and his little sister, Amaia. He even missed the ridiculous religious holidays.

Ever since the training started, he found himself more and more contemplating running away. Maybe it was loyalty or maybe it was cowardice -he was sure it was the latter- but every time he was about to take a chance and run for it he ended up pathetically retreating like a puppy with his tail between his legs.

And then the leader woman had mentioned jumping off of a cliff.
Bad idea! Bad idea! His head screamed. He had dived off cliffs into the ocean every summer with his friends ever since he was five.
Still, this was different... He'd have to remove his shirt in front of the others.
He could walk about stark naked in front of his friends with ease. But with these people... He couldn't bear it. They'd stare. Or worse, use it against him. Just the thought of it niggled in the back of his head like a snake.
Xabier hated distrusting people. He'd have to just keep his shirt on and hope no one would notice.

And then- relief!
They wouldn't be jumping in after all. Instead they'd be doing something to do with "brotherhood", whatever that word meant.
He wondered what they were going to do. Since they had arrived at the center Xabier had kept to himself. As much as he enjoyed the hustle and bustle of many people together, he wanted to watch from the sidelines. That and the fact his English kept failing him every time he wished to speak.
It was annoying because he longed for some sort of family. He knew that he'd have to participate wholeheartedly.

He would try his best. As long as it didn't involve going shirtless or dealing with fire of any kind, he'd deal.

"Okay. What are we doing?" He asked the pretty leader woman.

No, he wouldn’t. First, it would ruin his coat. Second, he would be completely soaked and it would take forever to dry his hair. Third, he just plain didn’t want to. There was no way he was going down there. At least, that’s what he wanted to say.

Kit let out a small sigh of discontentment, making it clear enough that he really didn’t want to do this. Ryou was his friend, however. Not that he would ever admit it, but he would do almost anything for the man. That’s what friends were for after all. As long as he got to complain afterwards, that is. And boy, would he complain later. He would complain a lot.

“Alright.” The redhead replied. He took his coat off first, carefully folding it and placing it nearby. He adjusted the sleeveless turtleneck carefully, making sure his neck was completely covered. Then he removed his hair tie, certain that if he didn’t place it with his coat he would simply lose it in the water. Finally, he removed his boots. It would be easier to swim this way, and he would just get them later.

“Are you ready?”

Kit didn’t give her a chance to respond before he grabbed her and dove. He made sure to hold on tight, only releasing his grip when they hit the water. His long hair spread out like paint, getting in his face and obstructing his vision. Swimming away just far enough to let Lux stretch her limbs and swim on her own, he adjusted his turtleneck once more. His hair was the least of his concern. In fact, he was used to it. He casually brushed it out of his face, checking to see if the warrior was alright. “There, you see? That wasn’t too bad.”

They made it to shore safely, much to his relief. Though, he was fairly sure he looked like a drowned rat. His wet hair clung to his body stubbornly. Ryou owed him big time. It was then that he saw the Xabier’s scars. At least he wasn’t alone in that department.

“New rule. No one else is allowed to drown, or even come close to drowning.” He said, wringing his hair out.

Autumn sighed with relief. Harper was safe. She walked over to him, making sure that she would be there when he woke up. If he needed emotional help, she was sure to be there for him. She smiled at Dorian and Xabier, “Nice save you guys.”

Lux listened to Kit and nodded gratefully. The rush of the air through her hair during the plunge made her almost want to scream. But she didn't, for the sake of the man jumping with her. Impacting with the water, Lux watched the redhead as he went through the motions. Following him wasn't hard, after all she did train to join a swim team. She oddly felt at ease with this. Lux pulled herself onto the shore.

Watching as Harper woke up some odd distance from her, the brunette gave off a nod. It seemed that the group around him was the ones who revived him. That was something. Her hands wrung out the soaking mess of her hair. She'd worry about the wet clothes later. Approaching the man that jumped with her, Lux gave off a small smile. "I'm sorry..." She said before backing off to walk over to Autumn. She had a girl to congratulate.

Smiling lightly towards the blonde, the brunette let out a small chuckle. "Autumn... you were brave enough to make that jump, and you helped someone even after..." Another small chuckle left her. "You... did great." Her attention was then taken from Autumn to the sack. It looked like something out of a survival plot, really. Flour, dried goods, or something preserved would definitely be in that. Perfect for a night out camping; especially camping on the beach.

“Not too many.” Autumn replied, her voice gentle just in case. After all, Harper had almost drowned.
“I think they should be coming down soon. But, in the meantime, are you alright? I mean, I know you’re saved, but are you ok?” She asked, scooting away slightly to give him some space. “Maybe you should rest?”

She smiled as Lux walked towards her. “Thanks, but it’s not like I did all that much. I still needed help, myself. You did great, too! Asking Kit for help is pretty brave!” She chuckled.

“Yes, it is. Don’t do it again.” Kit huffed, brushing the sand off of his pants. “Well, as fun as this little get-together sounds, it’s warriors only. I’m going back. If anyone needs me for anything else, reconsider.”

He walked down along the trail for a while until he was sure he was out of sight. It was then that he transformed, as it was much easier to walk along a forest trail as a fox than it was to walk along a forest trail without shoes on and soaking wet. He shook his body violently, trying to rid himself of the water that desperately clung to his fur. And so he continued until he made it back to the cliff, becoming human once more and putting his coat and shoes back on. His hair, he decided, could wait until it was dry. It was too much of a pain trying to gather the wet mass into a ponytail.

Autumn glanced over at the sack and sighed. “Whatever is in there probably isn’t that good, huh?”

She would have checked herself, but was still certain that Harper required more attention. In fact, it was rather rude of her not to try to help him through his phobia in the first place. Just what was she thinking? Helping others should have been first priority. Just because she was busy didn’t mean that could change.

Dorian Roberts, for all of the trials and tribulations he'd experienced in the past three years as well as the admittedly difficult cards he'd been dealt in early life, considered himself to be a very lucky young man. He was alive, for one, which was more than he'd expected at the beginning of this journey. On a less broad note, he wasn't too terribly lonely either, even if he still longed for figures that now only existed in his life by virtue of a thin piece of technologically advanced plastic. He was fed well, training was still hard but no longer to the extent where extracurriculars meant trying not to fall into an exhausted sleep on his dinner, and outside of his duties at the Academy, he had free reign so long as he didn't manage to wander off the mountain again(no one had quite believed him when he'd said his sense of direction was bad until he'd ended up in a village some two miles from the mountain the Academy was located on).

That was not to say that bad things didn't happen to him. He might have been attempting to see things in a kinder light, but he was a realist at heart and there was no simply writing off the bad, even when considering the good. He was still on a foreign planet, still trapped into a destiny he still didn't quite believe in, still had no choice but to fight or die. But, still, he had some luck in that everything could be much worse. So maybe it wasn't luck? Maybe it was just the absence of terrible luck that left him alive and relatively well?

It was that luck-not-luck that apparently found him staring at the burning Academy from the tree line, lured back from a nightly stroll to the higher peaks in a fit of insomnia by flames visible even from a great distance, licking at the sky and the overwhelming stench of smoke polluting the clear air. He didn't know what he expected as he hurried back- a bonfire, perhaps, or a stupid mistake by one of the students that would be taken care of in a flash- but it wasn't what he found. The Academy was burning, no building spared by the merciless flames that continued to spread, eating hungrily away at anything that wandered too close. The smoke clogged his lungs, but his reactions were broken and too slow, memories shared not only by himself but millions of other New Yorkers and visitors and volunteers bubbling to the surface. It was never the sight of fire that bothered him, nor the intense heat that it exuded, a threat of pain and more than mild discomfort, but instead the way it invaded the other senses so thoroughly.

The smell- oh, the smell of burning wood wasn't too bad, but the intense stink of burning flesh and hair that intermixed with the fumes invaded his nose and settled on his tongue leaving a macabre taste to cling and coat the inside of his mouth, intermingling with the wood smoke. The noise was the worst, however, the sound of crackling flames promising the collapse of buildings, shrieks of agony, of panic, of fear, of anger from humans and animals alike intermingling into an all too familiar audio that had haunted his childhood dreams for weeks and weeks.

"Move!" Dorian was forcefully jolted from his reverie as a strong hand gripped his shoulder, launching him out of the way as part of the library collapsed on the area he'd just been standing in in a flurry of flickering flames now dancing across the grass and splintering wood slowly transforming to ash beside his feet. His gasp of surprise transformed almost instantaneously into a coughing fit, but the hand never left his shoulder, moving him steadily away from the burning building, never once letting him stop. It was easier to breathe in the courtyard, but being surrounded by the flaming buildings, held in the eye of the storm with sobbing, wounded people trying to comprehend the same shocking sight was no easier mentally. His rescuer- a random male student with thin blonde hair left him there, shoving through the crowd towards a similarly unfamiliar student, a girl clutching her bleeding arm, that he pulled gently into his arms. The girl collapsed almost instantly, clinging almost violently to Dorian's unknown savior.

This was a sea of strangers, strangers he'd lived with for three years but never managed to meet or know apart from the month warriors dotting his surroundings and the few familiar faces, elite or otherwise, moving around. They'd lived here, learned here, eaten here, trained here for longer than Dorian himself in most cases and now it was burning around them when mere hours ago everything had been as calm and tranquil as a night at the Academy could boast. It occurred to Dorian that he was in shock, trying to pay attention to small details instead of the whole picture because there was simply nothing he could do for anyone. The Academy was a lost cause, a thought that hit him with some force, and it would soon be wholly engulfed, eaten away by the ravenous inferno. It wasn't his home, not really- he was a visitor, a guest having long since overstayed his welcome, but grief still welled up within him because he still felt like it was his in some way, shape, or form, or at least close enough that seeing buildings crumble, hearing the shrieks of pain from the ox's stables, seeing tears streak down the faces of people he considered far stronger than himself was like a physical pain.

"March Warrior." Only one person in the Academy still stood by that formality, the magician battling his way through the crowd to appear at his side, a struggling Mori held in a tight grip by the wrist. They were transformed in the trauma and the light of the flames devouring their home. Liam's face held none of its usual amiability, tightlipped, face streaked with ash. Mori was no better, tracks of tears that still flowed as he struggled in his older friend's grip staining his cheeks, white cheeks uncharacteristically red due to the sheer heat surrounding them.

"You will watch him. You will not let him go. He is not to leave your sight." The order was hissed, only barely audible in the commotion as the young genius was thrust into his arms. Dorian grabbed him instinctively and, while Mori was not physically strong, still grimaced as the young man thrashed.

"Liam, no! No, I need to come with you! Dae, Ryou, Ji Na, Ben- they're all still out there! It's not fair, I can-!" The protests were cut off by a sudden flurry of movement and the sharp and distinctive noise of a hand meeting flesh. Mori stopped his struggles, one hand going to his stinging cheek as Liam- polite, cheery Liam- glared down at him, harsh and unrelenting.

"You cannot!" He snarled, each word ferocious and biting. "You will get in the way and get yourself killed, so stop being selfish and stay!" With that, the magician disappeared, throwing himself back into the fray of the few people still struggling to save the Academy, or if not the Academy, at least one more life. Mori started sobbing again, the shock of the sudden blow wearing off, and it occurred to Dorian- horribly and suddenly- that the youngest elite had a photographic memory. This was now burned into his mind, never to leave, never to fade but to stay as vivid as it was right now. He pulled the sobbing child to him, blocking his view as best he could. It was the least he could do, even if all he wanted to do was cry as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ryou was by no means an overly modest man- he took pride in many of his accomplishments, real and imagined(all real, he'd argue, until someone reminded him that he couldn't really be Lord of the Dance or King of the Jungle, even if he did tend to introduce himself as such when drunk). But if you caught him in an introspective moment and asked him what exactly he was most proud of, it would be his children. He adored all of the students that passed through his Academy, young and old, but he held a special place in his heart for those that he'd raised personally. His beloved Ji Na, as delicate looking as a porcelain doll and twice as beautiful and with a strength and knowledge that made her so endearing. Ben, gruff and tough as a bear on the outside, but, to Ryou, as sweet as honey on the inside. Now Karma with her endless energy and endearing antics. They were flawed- of course they were(if Ji Na ever though he didn't notice the distinct odor of her brand of relaxation in her room, she had another thing coming). Still, they were his children, brought up by him for better or for worse, his pride and joys proving themselves every day to be the greatest things that he'd ever done.

Which is why no one, absolutely no one, could imagine what went through his mind as Ji Na and Ben slowly approached the bastard who'd burned down their home, who'd caused the deaths of their students, friends, classmates, and his cast of monsters, not to kill him, not to attack, but to join him alongside Kat- independent, beautiful, amazing Kat- faces emotionless, without pain. He froze mid run, caught in the shadows of an already toppled building. Their words were lost on him, lost in the hurricane of thoughts flickering through his mind, lost in his own internal screams. He'd lost his home, his students, and now his children, his children in the same night. Where was the Ji Na he knew, who'd scolded him gently every time he leaned over to boop her nose during a meal even as a child? Where was the Ben whose every boo-boo and scrape he'd taken care of as a child with a bandage and a kiss?

'Help!'

That wasn't them. It couldn't be them, that was ridiculous. Ji Na and Ben and, yes, even Kat, would never just… Do this, whatever this was. They were proud individuals, strong and true, they would never- they could never-

'Help!'

This wasn't happening- it was a nightmare, it had to be. Academies don't just burst into flame, super villains didn't just stream out of the woodwork, children don't just betray their parents-

'I need Help!'

It was a trick, wasn't it? Yes, that must be it. Any moment now, Ben would pull the string of his bow, Ji Na would unsheathe some hidden blade and strike, avenge their home and their family.

'Goddess, please!'

But they stayed there, mouths moving in some incomprehensible language, hidden by his shrieking thoughts. His home was gone, his family- his family was gone. Gone, gone, gone- they left him, they weren't dead, they just left him. Was it his own fault? Had he done something? He must have done something, that had to be it because people don't just- They don't just-

"RYOU, HELP!"

That plea wasn't in his own mind, it couldn't be. He turned suddenly to see the last of the Girl's dormitory begin to crumble under its no longer solid framework. Stragglers flooded out of the door, infinitely less secure because a beam had already fallen, flaming like the rest of the structure, and was being held up as the last girl ran to the relative safety the grounds provided, held up by… By Dae. The flames licked at his body, burning cloth and flesh alike, but he was stuck in the trap of his own making while attempting to let them free. It was his bellowed plea that had broken the spell.

He was torn, only for a moment. He could go now, could untangle these lies and confusing revelations by demanding answers from his children, or he could save someone already struggling to save others, who hadn't left their compatriots behind. He hated himself, oh, Goddess, how he hated himself. He turned and ran, to save the person that he still knew, who hadn't just become a stranger.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sometimes, the light of day is more of a curse than a blessing. The fire had finally died out, consuming all that it could before vanishing into smoldering ashes and into the ruins of the buildings that they all had once visited, walked through, slept in, lived in. The cruel sun exposed the reality, harsh and unrelenting without the darkness and the pale, more merciful glow of the moon and stars to hide away the worst of it. It was still quiet, however, the natural noises surrounding them all but gone. No birds sang, no animals made their way through the foliage, no pleasant and inconsequential chatter among the students. Prayers rained supreme and quiet, solemn conversations intermingled with sobs from those that still had tears left to shed and still other's tiny sounds of pain, gasps and light whines.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Dae, stop."

"Dae, please. You're already injured."

"So?"

"So? So, my dear, you're making it worse by sifting through the rubble."

"No, they're making it worse."

"They?"

"Them. Didn't you see them? Trying to- trying to find bodies and- and take care of everyone. They're making it worse. They don't even know any of their names, and they're acting like-"

"Like they care about them?"

"I know it sounds selfish, I know- Liam, I just… I just want our friends to be found and taken care of by people they know. We owe them that, something personal. They're not corpses to be found- that's Camilla, she was going to marry that baker's son. I found Tai earlier, in the library. All of them deserve to be mourned because the world lost amazing people, not just because they happened to die."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dorian, while not medically trained, spent his time trying his best to patch up wounds, wrapping bandages around the least severe of the injuries. Without searching, his immediate fears for his teammates were alleviated simply because none of their bodies were displayed with the others, and their wounds were either mild enough or their pride too powerful so that they never made their way over to the impromptu medical station. Mori had stayed by his side, uncharacteristically quiet, not that Dorian blamed him, apart from occasionally rattling off medical advice absorbed by reading and observation in a dull, hollow sort of voice. It wasn't until the rest of his trio returned did he finally perked up, racing over to Dae and flinging his arms around his middle. Neither of the elites looked themselves, for very different reasons.

Dae was covered in soot and ash, already rough hands covered with streaks of blood and dirt, and although his body was wrapped in Liam's cloak, blistering burns were visible creeping up his neck, otherwise hidden away by the fabric. Liam, on the other hand, finally exposed what had always been beneath the cloak- black pants and a black tank top revealing large, swirling, black rune-like tattoos covering the entirety of his torso, stopping only at his wrists and curling partially up his neck.

"Haru's called for you," Dae croaked, tired green eyes settling firmly on Dorian, already raspy voice gone to Hell in the aftermath of smoke inhalation and screaming. Dorian nodded, not trusting himself to speak, as he followed behind the three. It felt wrong to see them like this, to look upon the picture of a broken family- and, indeed, they were a family if Liam and Dae's interlocked hands and the tender way Dae stroked Mori's hair with his free hand meant anything.

They joined the exhausted group, some holding up quite well and others teetering on the edge of a meltdown. Some were injured, apparently having found medical help elsewhere, and others were fine or as fine as they could be. The solemn gathering was ultimately shattered, however, with Harper's arrival, spitting out angry words that had no place being heard by these people who had just been betrayed. Dorian liked Harper, of course he did, and maybe this was just his way of dealing with trauma or something, but he wasn't stupid, he knew it was without tact.

Dorian's eyes flickered to his three guides, noticed the way Mori scooted further back as if by surrounding himself by the knight and the magician, he'd be safe, how Dae shut his eyes for just a moment too long, how Liam's unblinking gaze set firmly on Haru, unwilling to waver form the man with a plan, as his grip tightened on Dae's hand to the point of appearing painful. Kyle was the only one who moved to do anything and he was stopped by the appearance of his own guardian, a newcomer untainted by the night's events. Dorian couldn't look at her, didn't really want to look at the casually amused way she took them all in as if bodies weren't lined up in the ruins of the dorm, ready to be buried or sent home to their families. Again, no tact, but now without the excuse of an emotional night to chip away at sensibilities and courtesy that Dorian had given Harper's outburst. Dorian coughed and for once he didn't know if it was his own mild attempt to clear away just how awkward he found the situation or if it was form the smoke inhalation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"As long as students wish to learn at my Academy, I see no reason for it to be shut down." The sudden appearance of Ryou was enough to surprise even the most taciturn member of the little meeting. He looked like he'd gone through Hell, body streaked with sweat, blood, and ash, golden eyes without their usual mirthful glint, clothing tattered from a lack of attention as he'd spent every waking hour busying himself with something, anything to help. But he was solid, together as he cradled Karma in his arms like a delicate flower, one hand idly combing tangles from pink tresses.

"Mr. Vo… Kwasi…. I would be honored if you would help to rebuild and restart the Academy. I can't think of anyone I'd rather have here, building our home." His tone was solemn, respectful as if they had just offered him something sacred. He clasped hands with each of them, even pulling Mr. Vo into a tender one-armed hug, careful of the small body in his arms.

"I've already talked to the students- some will be heading home, but most want to stay, so you'll both have more than enough help. And so will we." He glanced at the only remaining elites who nodded their heads. Their home had been burned down, their friends and students killed. Their place wasn't here, not right now, but with their leader to find answers and hopefully revenge.

"Haru, I'm ready to go."

Ondine was restless as she approached. She had taken down many a trading ship such as this in her pirating days. She hadn't seen her own ship in too many years to count. And boarding any ship without being in command of it always left her uneasy.

Harper, while starting the voyage off with his usual grumbling and conversation with Skylar, peppered with the occasional pirate joke in reference to his bad foot (which had required all of Ondine's willpower not to amputate the leg in question on the spot), had dwindled off into uncharacteristic silence. He had also slowed in pace, and indeed, the two were some of the last to board. However, it was clear from his labored breathing and grimacing with each step that Harper's hesitance and silence was from pain, rather than any past nostalgia. Ondine nearly had to carry him the last few rungs of the ladder onto the actual ship, and by then he was looking very pale.

"Who knew...that...tridents..." Harper wheezed out, "would make....such bad...crutches..."

"Why don't you sit?" Ondine suggested, worried that he might pitch over. The way he was holding the trident suggest a possibility that he might accidentally stick himself with the prongs.

"And miss...the grand...tour?" Harper asked through breaths, and somehow managed grin. He stood up straight, stretching his back, "I'll sit...when I find the beds..."

Ondine hovered, making sure he didn't fall and keeping an eye on him while she herself examined the ship with judgmental eyes. Fancy handiwork, but in the heat of battle, she was certain her own ship would crack through without much issue.

When they finally reached the sleeping quarters, Harper was first to claim a bed, hobbling over to the farthest corner, dumping his trident unceremoniously between the wooden trunk and the wall and pulling himself in a most ungracious manner onto the netting and rolling onto his back. There was a brief moment of uncertainty in terms of whether he would fall off or not, as expressed in his very wide eyes and arms clinging either side, but the moment passed and the netting ceased its swinging.

With a shake of her head, Ondine left her ward to his own devices, which no doubt included a nap, and returned to the deck.

In the days to come, the deck would be where most would find Ondine, if she wasn't in the water as a dolphin, jumping and diving in and out of the water and tossing up any fish that she herself didn't want to eat. Occasionally she would also mention any large rocks or boulders to be wary of, though she always did this in an offhand, casual manner. Heaven forbid she report anything to any captain but herself.

Harper spent an equal amount of time above and below, though whenever he was above deck he was always looking out at the water wistfully, his envy of Ondine's ability undisguised. Being on this ship quickly turned into a sort of torture, being surrounded by water, but never able to swim in it. It was only a matter of hours after taking to water, though, that Harper lighted upon a compromise and hurried under as fast as his limp would let him. Pulling out his knife, he sawed away at the wooden trunk under his bed. After about forty minutes, with little progress than several scratch marks that totally marred the wood, he resorted to just jabbing with his trident. After another half hour of stabbing, he managed to slide the prongs under the bottom and, through the use of basic physics, levered the trunk up from the ground after a good fifteen minutes.

"Success!" he exclaimed, hoisting the trunk above his head, slats of wood still connected to the bolts dangling from the overall box.

With a confident, excited hobble up the stairs and onto the deck, he placed the block top down near the front of the ship, the sky a deep orange. With some effort, he raised a water pillar from the sea and hosed the ocean water into the box. He then proceeded to strip off all his clothes, with the exception of his underwear, which was still the same Speedo he had been wearing when he was first brought to this world (meticulously cleaned and maintained, mind you), and with a small splash of water, lounged in his newly-fashioned mini tub. The sight was perfectly ridiculous, the water only coming up to his upper abs, with most of his body out of the tub than in it, and the wood was scratchy and not quite smooth, no thanks to his knife-work, but if there was ever a moment when Harper would start caring, it certainly wasn't now.

In fact, as the sun set, and the melody from Titanic whistled from his lips, the ocean water still cool as a breeze swept through his fire-burnt hair, Harper felt pretty fucking majestic.

When most people, particularly as children, imagine life on a boat, certain thoughts and ideas tend to interlock to create a vivid, imaginary experience. Among these common themes are the salty sea breeze wafting gently over your face, dolphins and/or whales swimming companionably by, Disney approved pirates who would whisk you away on some adventure or another, and the not a word “Arr” and the most likely a word “Matey” being spoken in excess. As a child, Dorian had been subject to these same delusions, drinking in stories of sailing adventures with gusto. Sailing, he’d convinced himself, was the ideal sort of life.

However, that little boy had grown up and now that a “sailing life” was being temporarily inflicted on him, he couldn’t help but realize that his childhood dreams had been more myth than reality because, simply put, being stuck on this ship was less like a pirate enthusiast’s wet dream and more and more like being on a New York subway. The quarters were cramped and personal space was an illusion granted only every once in a while, the boat, much like the Subway, was in a constant motion that was either calm enough to lull you into a state of security or rickety enough to make you think that you’d die in the next five minutes, and there was the constant stink of the unwashed masses who either did not believe in bathing or did not have the opportunity to do so (although, to the crew’s credit, at least they didn’t try to wash themselves in Axe body spray). Perhaps the worst part of the comparison, however, was the fact that you could not leave. No, you were stuck in the same space with the same nearly overwhelming amount of people who you had to deal with whether those be street performers on the Subway demanding payment from their captive audience or the ever judgmental eyes of Nikita and her crew every time he got wrangled into actually helping with something (which wasn’t that often because he was pretty damn good at making himself busy enough to avoid just about every non-essential chore), there was little to no privacy to keep you sane.

There were, however, little things to be done to keep what Dorian had privately dubbed “Ocean Madness” at bay (an affliction he’d diagnosed in several people so far including Harper who had a new tendency to disappear somewhere and alternatively was around too often with a far too gleeful smile on his face for the situation). Taking advantage of each and every single stop they made, for one, if only to stand somewhere that wasn’t constantly rocking, keeping a rather large personal bubble for once, and taking a dip in waters that he could see the bottom of. Another was finding his own refuge in the form of the ship’s crow’s nest, which doubled as a good hiding spot when everyone became far too, well, present.

It wasn’t the height that he found soothing because God knows climbing to the uppermost point of the ship with nothing to catch him if he fell was a less than comforting experience. No, it was the feeling he got when he reached the top, more or less secured in his perch, where even on the most mild days he could feel at least a strong breeze to wash over him or, during one memorable storm, the feeling of a gale pressing over him, which should have been terrifying but instead lulled him to sleep where he was perched. His control of his powers was spotty at best in the beginning, but here with long days filled with little distractions apart from menial chores and the occasional social interaction, and he was able to focus on the mellow or harsh winds of the day, could feel the air swirling around his body. It was there that his powers began to take shape, starting with little things, little gusts of wind on a still day to keep the heat off until he no longer feared the strong winds when he climbed up to the crow’s nest, instead felt an almost cocooning affect as they twisted around him. On days when the wind picked up, truly blowing against the sails, you could find Dorian on his perch, glowering down at the ship below him like a particularly disgruntled gargoyle. It was, as Mori saw fit to inform him, severely disturbing to look up and find Dorian glaring at you with his sharp, soulless eyes (Dorian had simply replied that Mori didn’t get a say in the matter after he and/or Karma had tried to spread a rumor that Dorian had literally sold his soul to Oblivion among the more superstitious sailors).

Those were the things that Dorian filled his otherwise tedious days with- evenings and the occasional nights spent in the company of nothing but gusts of wind and the visual splendor that was the sea unfolding before him like one of the paintings hoarded away on his phone (to be fair, that same sight was also captured via his camera much like the many places on Aires he’d managed to capture without arousing suspicion about the sleek, black device), mornings spent doing whatever menial chores he was assigned without grumblings but also without any pleasure, days of trying to enjoy other’s company, which was becoming more difficult as the days moved on for the most part. On one hand, spirits had risen since they were first whisked about by Nikita; Ryou no longer appeared to be ripping at the seams and could even be found laughing, if you caught him at the right moment, or simply existing as he listened to Haru spell out plans and throw around ideas, only occasionally offering his own suggestions or gently pointing out the rare flaw. Mori ultimately played babysitter to Karma and was far more resilient than any child should be with the events of that night etched forever into his memory- although that did raise the disturbing idea that he’d already learned to deal with horrendous images being part of him forever even at his young age. Dae healed after a time and took to the distractions of seafaring life like a fish to water, fitting fluidly into the crew with all of the charm and enthusiasm that he could muster. Liam was the only one who didn’t seem to enjoy the experience, and Dorian only thought that because he frequently spotted him in Dr. Rose’s quarters, politely asking for and receiving seasickness medicine. However, at least he had finally gotten his cloak back because the bold runes now hidden away had unnerved many a crewmember.

The other Month Warriors, however, were in varying states of normal. He still enjoyed the company of Tallyho and Falke, forever the pillars of sanity to his mind. On some stormy days he’d join Tallyho on deck, a time when their respective elements intertwined in a chaotic way that only a rare few could enjoy (the rest, he assumed, were trying not to vomit below deck), and others he’d find his own little hiding place to listen to the gales wailing outside the ship’s walls. Some of the Warriors rallied magnificently, like the aforementioned Harper who Dorian was still relatively sure should be diagnosed with Ocean Madness, but others seemed to have a constant drag on their emotions, like Autumn whose smiles never seemed quite as bright and her energy was forever dragged down.

It was after one of those nights spent high above the deck, safely ensconced in his wooden nest that he awoke to a view vastly different than any of the ports they’d stumbled upon before. There had been ships in other beaches and towns, of course there had been, but nothing could compare to the spectacle that lay before his eyes, a veritable feast to the senses. Here were bold strokes of color painting the horizon in the forms of sails and boats of all different sizes, shapes, and occupations. Music, real honest to God music, filled the air as well as the chatter and laughter and shouting only a short while away, exposing the port to be teeming with life, like how he’d imagined New York’s harbor ages ago or, and he was beginning to get this impression even before setting foot on land, more like the Italian ports during the Renaissance era or the harbors in China back when spices were the most important commodity. Even smells, almost none that he could identify, rang true setting his mouth to water for something other than the plain provisions of the ship. It was glorious.

He shimmied down his makeshift ladder to the deck, less groggy than most of the others who’d just now escaped from the confines of the ship, to hear Haru speak. The words held a weight that dampened his excitement that their time on the sea was finally, finally over. They’d gotten away with what Ryou had once politely dubbed “Earthy shenanigans” at the Academy and the town below the mountain, but now with the fact that even mentioning what they were could send them to the gallows… He could only hope that the others would heed Haru’s words as well.

He followed along as the group was let off the ship, still clinging to Haru’s every word. As a stranger in a strange land, it had occurred to him early on that any advice that actual Airians provided, every scrap of knowledge, was to be cherished and remembered if he was to survive on his own. He took a moment to stare openly at his surroundings, looking for glimpses of what Haru mentioned, like the military academy that apparently made knights? He looked over at Dae, standing peacefully among the port’s controlled chaos.

“Did you go to Daniel’s?” He asked because for as long as they’d known the elite, he’d gone by that title.

“What? Oh, no, not me. I’m a, uh, whatchamacallit, a discount knight. Home grown and whatnot, yeah? No fancy education, just good old fashioned training at the Academy,” Dae replied quickly, grinning almost sheepishly. Liam tapped his shoulder kindly (and, really, the two were acting far closer than they had at the Academy, or perhaps it was just that neither were nearly as busy without lessons to teach).

“A freelance knight, dear,” Liam corrected gently to which Dae nodded helplessly.

“Yeah, that’s it. Freelance. S’not like they’d let me in anyways, yeah? I’m not exactly what they want.” Dorian, who couldn’t see any good reason to not let someone who’d openly bested Ryou at swordplay before, let it slide if only because Dae seemed so distraught about it and Liam was giving his own version of the evil eye (very similar to his normal expression, but the smile was a little creepier).

The advice to get new clothes sounded excellent to Dorian who had started to hate his few pieces of clothing with a passion simply because they all reeked of salt and were permanently marred from spills, sweat, and, on one memorable occasion, blood. However, even as he started to follow the three Academy students, who quite understandably seemed eager to part from their company if only for a short while, Ryou pulled him to a stop.

“Here, Dorian, I need to go into town anyways. Let me pick you up some new clothes. The fashion here is kind of, ah, weird for outsiders.” Dorian agreed readily because Ryou had acted as his informal fashion guide for the entirety of his stay on Aires and he wasn’t about to change that now and gave him some of the money he’d saved up from his stay at the Academy. With nothing else to do but wait, he settled down next to Tallyho, content to play his usual role of observer until he noticed Tallyho’s new fashion statement.

He blinked for a moment, trying to figure out what she’d tried to do with that unlucky shirt, before it sort of clicked.

“Any reason you’re wearing a scarf?” He asked mildly, tucking a part of the fabric sticking up at an odd angle back into place to give at least some credence to the this-shirt-is-now-a-scar illusion.

This was perhaps the first time on Aires that Dorian felt as if he had the advantage, which was an entirely depressing thought because who wanted to be an expert at standing in lines and warding off people trying to sell him things? Still, a life lived in New York had prepared him for this, all of those collective hours spent waiting to see movie premieres of just trying to buy a cup of tea from the local coffee house, all of the far too numerous people on the streets trying to force their wares one him, shouting excitedly or being quietly insistent. He was ready…. Ready to ignore everyone around him who wasn’t an immediate threat and/or Haru who was walking down the ranks of Guardians and Warriors like a military sergeant examining his men and finding them particularly lacking.

Time wore on slowly, even if the line was moving at a relatively fast pace for a line of people marching to their possible deaths. The imposters, and they had to know they were imposters which made all of this the more ridiculous, ranged from the commonplace to the bizarre, some dressed like mighty heroes and heroines from grand fairytales, others in outfits coordinated around their particular gemstone, glittering brightly even indoors. He couldn’t understand what would drive a person to do this, to attempt a lie that had never been successfully told, and he didn’t know whether he should feel pity for them or disgust.

Suddenly there was Haru again, stopped behind Dorian so suddenly that Dorian stumbled in surprise. The following conversation and the vendor hurrying away was all very confusing until, somewhere in Tallyho’s indignant sputtering shed some light on the situation. Oh. OH. He grimaced slightly, searching the perpetrator out in the crowd for future reference just in case he wandered this way again.

But his attention was drawn back to Haru who looked as close to a mental breakdown as Dorian had ever seen the man, sweaty, stressed, and like he was going to snap in two with all of the tension pulling on his body. While he’d been assured that the Guardians were immortal, that didn’t stop him from watching Haru as he walked away with some worry in his gaze because, with the way the day had been going, he was more sure than ever that Haru was either going to kill someone or his heart was going to give out. Ryou seemed concerned as well, from what Dorian could see, golden eyes never once leaving the pacing redhead as he continued walking his lap up and down the line.

Things settled back down with Haru gone and it was all Dorian could do to pat Tallyho’s shoulder reassuringly and then they were waiting again.


The trepidation grew with each movement forward, anxiety welling up in Dorian in a way he both hoped wasn’t happening for anyone else, for their own sanity, and wished upon ever single damn one of them because he didn’t want to feel alone in all this. Things would change, after this meeting, in ways that he knew could never be described as “good”. They could be executed like that group they’d heard about some months ago, or they could be accepted which could only mean more trials and tribulations ahead. Not that he would be complaining because, you know, he would be alive and this much closer to not only saving two planets but also to going home.

Suddenly they were there, standing before the double doors that opened with a blast of stale air, too warm, too still for anything good to be happening in the room. The woman who ushered them in was so blasé about it all, joking like she hadn’t sent plenty of imposters to their deaths before and held no qualms in sending a few more. Well at least she seemed to be having fun in her job. That was more than anyone else could say lately. And then, quite suddenly, they were inside, the doors closing forcefully behind them.

The room was stuffy, the still air only moved by the occasional inhale and exhale of the room’s occupants, but it was beautiful in that reverent, powerful way that all churches held. This room in particular reminded him of cathedrals he’d visited with the gorgeous stained glass windows surrounding them. He looked around, looked at the others, looked at the floor, looked anywhere but ahead until a great booming voice called them forward. Gray eyes rose from their last line of sight- Ryou’s tense face- to the men before him, staring at them like a jury who’d already made up their minds about the defendant and the verdict would not be pleasant. The Harbinger himself sat before them, position so casual that Dorian was filled with an unsettling wrongness. That was the last glimpse he took before his head snapped down quickly in a bow so as to mimic Haru like a child playing a game. A life or death game of follow the leader, if you will.

Haru was calling them up now and Dorian moved forward quickly before slowing his pace, trying not to look too nervous, too eager as he fell into a bow that he’d never done before, pausing there only a moment too long before retreating back into the relative safety of the line. A hand pressed softly against his back, a reminder that Ryou was here and looking out for them- perhaps even for him especially. Then they all fell into a bow again, marionettes moving as their nervous puppet master guided them.


‘Little man?’ Ryou eyes flickered upwards, a deep frown fighting to squirm its way onto lips more accustomed to grins and smiles. He could see Dorian fidget in front of him before stilling again- good boy- because those words rang sour notes through the room. Haru didn’t deserve this, not after everything he’d done, after all that he’d been through. If the world had any decency about giving people their due, Haru should be the one judging them, snorting at old fools whose holiness even a man as sinful as Ryou could call into question. He wanted to stand up, to set them straight because none of them would have their jobs without Haru, without the original month warriors Haru had assisted to many victories. But he didn’t, staying frozen in his bow, because that was the kind of leader Haru was, the kind of friend, the kind of person Ryou would follow to the depths of Hell and back. Then again, a trek into Hell might seem like a picnic in comparison to this.


”Show me something first.” The words echoed throughout the room with all the weight and heaviness they deserved, settling like a physical object over Dorian. What was going to happen now? He glanced around carefully, waiting to see who Haru chose, which is why it took him a minute to realize that Haru was looking right at him. Oh fuck.

He stood up stiffly, shuffling slightly as he inched forward before realizing that, even if he moved as slowly as a snail he’d still have to do this at some point, which was when he decided to pick up the pace, stopping directly next to Haru. The hand on his shoulder seemed to hold all of the weight of the situation in a single touch even without the whispered warning.

He was alone now standing before the Harbinger and his Cardinals, all eyes more or less on him. It was like the was the only other person in the room because he wasn’t going to get any help from anyone. Oh, God, what was he supposed to do? He wasn’t sitting on mountain peaks, wasn’t playing gargoyle in the crow’s nest where the wind was abundant, whipping and swirling around him like a puppy begging to be played with. This room was dead, the air stale and still to the point where it was stifling him. He forced his eyes not to glance backwards, not to make it appear like this was a ruse or like he was signaling anyone. No, his back faced the real Month Warriors and Guardians behind him, helpless to do anything for him. He closed his eyes and then inhaled.

Meditation, he’d learned three years ago, was a nice thing and relatively simple once you found your own method to do so. So, as he had done since the day he realized mediation was real and not a bunch of mystic nonsense that involved belief and a oneness with nature, he delved into memories. He recalled the days when he’d first even realized that his powers existed, the way that a gust of wind had nearly knocked him off his feet when he’d thrown his hands up in the air in disgust. The way it had coiled around him in the crow’s nest before trailing away to press against the sails. This was that same air that same wind, just still and ready to be guided.

The air was moving in the room now, first tiny breezes to cure the painful stillness and to breath life back into the coffin-like room. Then it morphed, elegant gusts flowing through the room. Hair fluttered in the wind, robes were moved as if tugged gently by intently by invisible hands, and it all concentrated around the boy in the center, his black clothes billowing, short strands of hair dancing ecstatically as if the air was rejoicing to have something to do, something to play with. It held for a moment, then two, then three, before it vanished suddenly, the room still and but still somehow more fresh from the air’s movement. Dorian’s eyes fluttered open as his body collapsed into a bow for lack of anything better to do, unwilling to make eye contact as he singlehandedly managed to save or, more likely than not, damn those behind him.

Harper, for one, quite enjoyed life on the ship.

In fact, he quite enjoyed life in general. Especially considering how life in general was going at the moment.

Oh yeah. Things were going great.

Of course, it had taken a while. There'd been three days of confusion, hurt feelings, uncertainty...three days where smiling was hard, where everything was hard. It didn't help that he had still hoped. That almost made it worse...trying to tell himself to let go, but refusing to because what if, just in case...

Not to mention his ass still hurt from the beating Ondine had distributed. For someone who was supposed to be looking out for him, she certainly didn't hold back with the paddle.

Dorian had been one of the few to notice and care about his funk. In fact, the third day, Dorian had actually tried to tell him jokes to cheer him up. Very stupid jokes...popsicle stick jokes. But Harper had laughed at each one, especially the last one. Just the thought of Dorian trying to be funny was funny. He had mentally approved his friendship with Sadie for the umpteenth time afterwards.

And then, lo and behold. On the fourth day, He emerged. And after that day, Harper had a difficult time NOT grinning like a stupid idiot.

Not that he'd tell anyone why. They had both agreed that this thing between them had to stay secret. Besides, they both had very different circles of friends...Harper didn't even want to know what Kyle might do to him if he found out...he definitely knew the blond would hit him. At the very least.

Still, Harper was happy, even with the arrangement. In fact, it was kind of exciting. Trying to find pockets of time and space to be together, the adrenaline rush whenever they kissed in a location that wasn't entirely hidden away, the tightening in his stomach whenever he stole away to their secret room. And then whenever they were in public...the glances he'd slide to him, small innocent inside remarks that were actually inside jokes to something racier...the semi-flirtatious jests, which he had always done before, to everyone, but were now more prominent than ever, and masked the deeper implications whenever these were targeted at Xabi...yes, it was like a delicious game of tension. Of pushing boundaries. Trying to see what he could get away with before anyone caught on. And then doing something else to completely confuse everyone.

Yes, life on the ship had grown interesting indeed.

Whenever he wasn't teasing Xabi or chatting up his friends, he'd practice his abilities. Already fairly advanced in them, at least compared to some of the other warriors, his practice sessions were less about getting actual results and more on refining the results he did get, as well as amping up the scale. Besides the usual drills that Ondine would put him through, he'd experiment, working on waves, and then shaping the waves. On one stop, about a week after his leg had healed, he'd managed to successfully surf a few of his own creation. In the latter days of their travel, he'd been able to keep up with the ship, the waves rippling and pushing beneath his feet as he skipped and ran across the surface, Ondine diving in and out next to him. His newfound transport usually resulted in rocking the ship more, an unwelcome thing to the seasick.

The storms, when they happened, still proved too much for him to control. One night he had tried to tame the waves, but had nearly fallen off the ship instead. Ondine had grabbed him by the collar, pulling him back from the angry sea and dragging him back under. She had thrown him into a spare room and screamed at him, the angriest he had ever seen her. He hadn't tried it again.

~

When they finally reached land, Harper for one wished he could still stay on the boat. Well, maybe not this boat. But another boat. Just to stay on the ocean...away from other people, free to swim every day. Just him and Xabi on a yacht. Or a little house boat. In the middle of the ocean. A man could dream.

During Haru's "welcome" speech, Harper couldn't help but feel that the guardian was specifically talking to him, especially during the "please do not be a selfish ass" bit. Harper could have snorted. He'd lived in big cities his entire life. If there was one thing he'd learned, it was that people tended not to care if it didn't affect them specifically. If this was New York, he could announce to everyone that they were month warriors, and the worst he'd receive would be a few judgmental glares.

Still, he wasn't very keen on hanging. And after Ondine had pulled him aside to reiterate everything Haru had said (something that the other guardians didn't do with their wards...at least that he noticed) he decided to behave...for now.

Harper actually had been one of the few guardians who had taken on jobs. Granted, they were odd jobs, that never really lasted long, and the whole working thing was mostly Ondine's idea, but he had enjoyed them. Mostly delivery things...a few metalworking gigs...blacksmith assisting and such. Being thrust below the poverty line of his own accord years ago had given him a rude awakening to just how much a dollar was worth, and he was actually quite frugal with his money. For the most part.

As such, he was able to buy his own clothes, and with some guidance from Ondine, settled on an ensemble that looked a cross between Mozart and a New World colonist..

"Aren't you getting something for yourself?" he asked Ondine as they returned to the others. She shook her head.

"Eventually," she allowed, but added under her breath, "The fashion of the Rose Kingdom has never been one I fancied, to say it politely."

Travelling to the city was a bit like travelling through time. He felt like he had somehow blue-skidoo-ed into an art history textbook...with the chapters melded together. Sadie, he knew, would love it. She actually knew the different styles. He could see her now, pointing out the Renaissance, Tudor, Rococo...

Ve Marie would have blown her mind for sure.

When they reached the inn, Harper had immediately changed into his new clothes. "I look like I belong in the Met!" he exclaimed to Ondine as he strutted about in his new garb, jacket and all. She didn't look too impressed, but he repeated the joke to everyone at dinner, particularly Dorian, who he knew would appreciate it. At the table he'd channel his inner Amadeus, acting the ever-pompous sort, and whistling small bits of Mozart's various works intermittently throughout dinner. Every so often he'd interrupt people's conversations, an urgent look on his face, only to say that the British were coming.

Although, if you asked him, he would prefer if it were the Spanish who came that night...

~

Surprisingly or not, depending on who you were and what you thought of the curly-haired ruffian, Harper was very well-behaved the next day. Haru had stressed so much on maintaining the best appearances, and Harper knew that he in particular was cause for worry. So, in an act of seeming goodwill (although, in all honesty, it was more out of spite to prove naysayers that he just chose to act like an uncivilized bum) Harper drew from his roots and acted the perfect upper-class youngun...old enough to be noticed, but too young to actually be taken seriously. When you grew up in Upper Manhattan with a corporate lawyer for a father and an heiress for a mother, with a party every weekend at least, old habits were hard to forget.

As they reached the cathedral, Harper was no longer just Harper. He was Harper C. Fields, who could tell the difference between Armani and Vuitton and took his coffee black, thank you very much. Even Ondine seemed surprised.

Harper couldn't help smirking as he stood in line next to her. "Betcha thought I'd have screwed everything up by now," he whispered to her out of the corner of his mouth.

"It had crossed my mind," she replied quietly, hands folded in front of her dress, loosely fitted and flowing, barely appropriate, but not obnoxious, like some of the other dresses he'd seen in the audience and in line. While her voice was soft, her tone was still sharp as ever.

"Hey now," he murmured with a smile, "When Harper C. Fields needs to clean up, he stands and delivers."

"Careful now," Ondine warned, "You might have spoken too soon."

"Please," Harper said with a shrug, lifting his chin and straightening his shoulders, "I know more about this game than you think."

That was all it was, really. A game. A game of appearances, invisible walls and lines, of dos and do nots, and endless rules. He hated the game, but he knew how to play, and play it well. Haru's advice the previous night? He had lived it. For seventeen years.

When he stepped inside the large structure, it almost felt like home. The home he had run away from.

~

Harper would be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little nervous during the ordeal. His nerves, he would say, were mostly attributed to the fact that everyone else seemed so damned nervous. He could feel it in the air. When Dorian was called to perform, he held his breath the entire time.

There was also the matter of staying focused. More than once he had found himself zoning out, or zoning in too much on a distant pillar. Much as his cool outward demeanor came easily, so to did his old tricks of not being bored out of his mind during the endless and dull dinner parties.

He snapped back to attention when Tallyho stood up. He followed suit. His eyes widened when he watched the Harbinger walk by, holding a small crystal. As the man passed by, Harper couldn't help realizing just how mundane his own stone was. Everyone had had such personal connections and stories with theirs...family heirlooms, prized gifts, personal treasures. Whereas he...he had found the ring in a public pool, the day he'd been whisked away.

To think he'd wanted Sadie to have it...

He tried not to imagine her in his place, standing before an old man with a glowing stone, surrounded by strangers. Well, except for Dorian.

It would have been better if he hadn't kept the ring at all. If he'd dropped it back into the pool, dramatically reenacting the last scene in Titanic...or perhaps Lord of the Rings.

Even if it meant he'd never get to know Dorian, or SKylar, or Xabi.

Well, Dorian he was certain he'd meet eventually regardless. And Skylar too, maybe. But Xabi? He hadn't been with them in the beginning...

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Talk of the flock brought him back. As collected as he seemed, though, the more he heard of what the flock entailed, the more worried he grew. Yes, he had fought cyclopeans before, but only singularly. And in a contained environment. This was true for all of them. How the hell...

And then this talk of wards of the state? He thought they believed them! What with the glowing stone and...had he missed something while he was zoning out?

His face stayed a mask, albeit a cracking one, as they were ushered outside, Haru assuring everyone to trust him. Right.

If they were going to end up hanged, Harper was going to sue.

Travelling on a boat was definitely something Jason was not used to, but after what had happened at the academy, he really didn't care that simply walking across the deck tended to feel like he was walking drunk.

In only a few seconds, the entirety of his time at the academy and the event that devastated their group would occasionally flash through his mind. It started all the way from when he received his twin daggers with black hilts and long curved blades. They seemed to match his ring as they somehow reminded him of scorpions, though that didn't make sense to him because the last time he checked, Jason was a Leo... not a Scorpio. Letting that little fact pass without much thought, his mind would drift to their journey to the academy. Well, to Harper screaming bloody murder during their cart ride. Personally, he thought it had been hilarious, worrying, and annoying all at the same time. From there his mind would skim through meeting Ji Na, Karma, Kat, and everyone else at the academy. He remembered the first time he "trained" with a Cyclopean during a cage fight, gaining a smidge of understanding regarding Harper's panicked reaction to the cart ride.

The flashes continued until the night of the event. That night he'd been woken up by screaming, opening stinging eyes to a black cloud of smoke. With a sense of urgency, he and his two doppelgangers tried to get as many people safely out of the flames as possible. He arrived at the field where his fellow warriors and the rest of the survivors were gathering just as Amber revealed himself. Then his comrades, some of the friends he'd come to trust during his time at the academy, betrayed them. Chaos. Everything had been chaos, and he could almost hear the 'switch' in his mind that signaled him disconnecting and distancing himself from the situation and general reality.

For a while afterwards, the warrior didn't know how to respond to the others; With the apparent mental and emotional shock of the event. The academy being destroyed, being betrayed by people he'd thought of as comrades and friends, the physical wounds and death, seeing the other warriors and guardians distraught... This wasn't something he could brush off as nothing. He couldn't tell everyone not to worry, not to take everything so seriously, that things weren't really that bad, because they really were that bad. He couldn't ignore the reality of the situation this time. Worse, he couldn't help but feel he could have done more, should have done more, to prevent some of the injuries. Some of the deaths. His way of coping with life, however, was never taking serious things very seriously. Emotionally disconnecting from heavy situations, and sometimes people. He was simply confused about how he should react and respond to the others and to the situation as a whole.

With that in mind, training with his doppelgangers and with his long twin daggers became somewhat of an obsession throughout their voyage. It wasn't a secret to anyone that Jason wasn't the strongest or most aggressive guy in the group. He'd never been too keen on any of the training they'd done back at the academy, so his sudden obsession would appear extremely radical and out of character to anyone. It helped him put his thoughts into order, though, and after the event it's an understandable change. Balance, control, speed, fluidity, stealth, aggression, agility, coordination; He wanted to improve on everything so that maybe next time, he wouldn't turn out to be so useless. Maybe next time, the sufferings and the deaths... they wouldn't be so great.

At the same time, though, the past was the past. What happened happened and that would never change, no matter how much one dwelt on it. Life had taught him that when you can't control particular events, all that's left is to move past them as best you can. With his way of thinking, Jason opted to stay optimistic in front of the other warriors in an effort to lighten the mood on the ship. His efforts didn't seem to have much effect, though. Other than training, he'd spend the days doing anything he could to keep himself occupied and to keep the despairing atmosphere from affecting him too much. Conversing with whoever would give him time became a normal part of his day where he would bring up any random subject that came to mind. When no one would talk to him he'd simply talk to one of his two doppelgangers or play his own little games that more times than not got him into trouble. Apparently, using the ship's railing as a tightrope hadn't turned out to be his best idea. Watching Tallyho and some of the guys dance, however, turned out to be a "safe" distraction where he wasn't bothering anyone or doing something stupid.
---

Listening to Haru's spiel about the Rose Kingdom and how they all needed to behave, Jason shrugged, interested in whatever cultural aspects came up, but otherwise not caring. He could avoid causing trouble. He thought he could at least. His eyes slid to the loudest of his companions. Harper, however, he supposed could and maybe would land them on the chopping block.

Jason felt himself becoming almost giddy at the eccentric styles some of the people adorned themselves in. It was, to him, a comical sight, really. He had enough money for clothes, since he tended to help with chores and such at the academy, but definitely didn't have enough for anything too fancy or eccentric. He honestly didn't see what was wrong with what he was wearing, ya know, other than a few tears and stains, but he did as Haru suggested anyways. He ended up with an outfit he thought to be clown-like, but that seemed to fit in with what he saw others wearing.

Afterwards, on their walk to the inn, things were quite uneventful. Seeing the Harbinger's entourage, though, was quite an event. In his mind, quite an exaggerated event. Wasn't the guy supposed to be the religious leader or something? With how they carried themselves and with how the people responded, it seemed more like he was an emperor-king dude. Jason had in his mind to give an exaggerated flourish of a bow when they passed, but restrained himself with the thought that the others, mainly Haru, the other guardians, and Kyle, would more likely than not pummel him for stupidity. Plus he had an obvious feeling that being sarcastic towards the Harbinger would land him and the others in deep trouble.

"Nah, dip, Sherlock," he said to himself when the carriage was up and moving again. It wasn't too much longer before they arrived at the Yellow Rose, the inn they apparently were to stay at. Jason lingered in the commons area for a while, aiming to try and approach Tallyho to talk about Airian culture and such, but finding that task impossible after a loud groan escaped the girl. It probably wasn't the best response, but Jason couldn't keep a small laugh from escaping him before Lillian appeared, saying something to Tallyho, followed up by Haru. Apparently everyone was to come down for dinner. Because he was already down, Jason opted to simply join the cat guardian in waiting for the others.

Dinner was nice. Though, Jason couldn't help feeling that Haru had an ulterior motive behind the finer-than-usual dining, but shrugged it off as the cat guardian briefly said something about how tomorrow would go.

Then came the oh-so-dreaded-test-day. It didn't seem to start out too well in Jason's mind with all of Haru's picking and such. He even flinched from the cat guardian a few times. Jason really wanted to get this test over with, despite whether they passed or failed. He hated the tense and jumpy atmosphere. Haru needed to loosen up. Seriously.

Putting his hands behind his head, Jason glanced around at the ridiculous amount of people standing in line, adorned with jewels that imitated his and the rest of the month warriors'. What was even more bizarre were the vendors selling fake stones, and people actually buying them! Jason usually thinks 'to each his own" but these people were crazy. None besides his crew were true warriors, so he imagined they would all end up dead. Hundreds of people, simply for trying to imitate them. Of course, if they somehow failed, they'd be joining the fakes.

Finally, it was their turn. Jason automatically gravitated close to Kyle, who he viewed as one of his best friends since arriving in this other world. The August warrior's relaxed, somewhat annoyed demeanor shifted to something uncomfortable and bothered in the presence of the Harbinger. He felt something... off here, though he couldn't put his finger on it. He glanced around quickly before following Haru's example of bowing his head. Jason found himself becoming fidgety in this place. As the others hurried forward, Jason followed suit. He could feel scrutinizing eyes, and it took everything not to glance up at them again. Before he could entertain the thoughts of Haru choosing him to do anything, Dorian stepped forward, his powers activating as gusts filled the room. Jason held his breath until the show ended. He stood as the others stood, and kept his eyes on his ring as it glowed, apparently passing the stone test.

The August warrior felt relief, his relaxed demeanor returning, only for a moment though. He stiffened as the flock was mentioned and explained. Woah, woah, woah. Hold on, partner. Sure training had become an obsession for him in recent months, and he wasn't bad at fighting those monsters, but they were talking about, what? An army of Cyclopeans?

Yeah, pretty much. Ha! We won't have to worry about a hangman's noose if we failed this one. I'm sure the Cyclopeans will take care of that, though I don't plan on failing. If we do fail, however, there's nothing we can do about it. But we haven't failed yet, so we can do something, right? Unless the something turnsout to be the wrong something rather than the right something and we ended up failing anyways, or maybe... Wait...

Jason shook his head, clearing away his advancingly confusing thoughts. He decided to go with his usual stance of 'whatever happens will happen.' Still feeling uncomfortable, he fell in line between two knights just as the rest of the warriors had.

The journey to their holding cell was unsettling to say the least, walking through the rows of dirty, pathetic prisoners. Arriving at their temporary home-away-from-home wasn't much better. The POW cell, from what he could tell was in much better condition than the ones below. However, he realized very readily that their group seemed alien compared to the rest. Especially in the sense that half of their group were the only females present. This wasn't a safe place, but there wasn't really anything they could do about it beside being careful.

Jason didn't really sleep much, but the little sleep he got was more than enough. He was quieter than normal, watchful rather than engaging once he awoke. He pretty much sat on his cot, observing things and making notes in his head until a person he automatically noted he didn't like appeared with two knights.

The man stepped into the cell confidently, the rest of the prisoners besides the month warriors shrinking back. His dislike for the man increased as soon as his mouth opened in speaking to Haru... Then Falk... Then Tallyho...

What the hell!? Jason was beyond annoyed. Mocking his companions... Calling Tallyho a prostitute! Jason wasn't one to be very serious about things, but he wasn't passive either. If you did it right, it was fairly easy to annoy him, and this guy was pushing it. Jason didn't have a guardian to advise him like some of the others, and was about to do something stupid, but Harper beat him to the punch. Now Jason didn't particularly like or dislike the guy, but right now, he definitely loved the annoying guy. Jason frankly didn't care about any possible consequences, and was even going to step forward to join Harper in his show, but wasn't given a chance to with Dorian's harshly barked, "Harper!"

Jason cleared his throat, not sure how to go about anything, so figured he'd introduce himself as if the Harper thing was no big deal. May as well. With a shrug, and a kind of small grin, Jason somewhat exaggerated a flourish of a bow (mostly to turn attention from Harper), kind of like what he'd been tempted to do two days ago on the streets when the Harbinger's entourage had passed them. This time he obviously didn't suppress the urge, though his voice he made contrastingly pleasant, even, and respectful, something none of the warriors or even the guardians had heard come from him. The tone sounded strange coming from Jason, especially with his slightly grinning expression.

"I am Jason of Solace, the warrior of August. I humbly ask you excuse my friend, Sire," and then he may possibly have ruined it by adding, "However, with all due respect, Sire, making assumptions and judging one's ability and value based by appearances and nationality tends towards a poor judgment, no?" With that, the unnaturally even and respectful tone could easily be identified only by those who knew him as being something purely mocking, highlighting his distaste for the arrogant jerk of a dude.

An invalid and a prostitute.
Prostitute? It finally triggered what the word meant.

Prostituta. That cabrón of a general had called Tallyho a prostitute.
Xabier was a mild person most days, he wouldn't pick fights or get involved in childish squabbles.
However he had an ingrained sense of honour and loyalty from growing up in a large, close-knit, stereotypically spanish family.

There were many things he would put up with, if the General had insulted him instead, there would have been no problem.
Xabier wasn't as bravado macho as the other men but he would willingly fight for his family.
The one thing he could not stand was someone dishonouring family.
There was a line and General Cress had crossed it.
Tallyho and Falke were like family.
He had the right mind to snap right there and then. Call out the hijo de puta with dramatic hand movements and puffed out chest.

Become the father, protect the family.

But it was obvious from the painful silence that if he said anything out of place, it'd end up hurting them instead.
This was what was keeping him from doing anything.

Dorian didn't comment and just introduced himself coldly.
Good. Good. Let's just get through this without screwing up.
It was like building a house of cards, one wrong move and the whole thing comes crashing down.
Up came Harper for his turn.
Don't say something reckless Harper, he tried to magically communicate across, keep it polite and short.
Alas he wasn't Falke, so Harper didn't get the message.
His introduction was rude and insulting and completely blunt.
It was so stupidly reckless, Xabier could've killed him. Or kissed him.
One or the other depending on what condition they were in in the end of all this. If they weren't dead, that is.

He watched in silence as Dorian once again held the peace. It was getting increasingly harder to dislike the guy. Xabier had started to waver a little. He had started to be a little nicer to him and it wasn't just because he was Harper's friend.
Dorian had done a good job keeping the team safe in the first test, Xabier would remember that.

Jason was next and he added a little more pressure to the house of cards. Any more movement and they'd crash.

He decided to go next to get it out of the way. Pretending he hadn't noticed any of the others he took one step forward.

"Xabier Sanchez of Constance, Sire. October Warrior."
He knew that his accent was still pretty strong so he kept it brief. While it was popular with pretty girls, he knew there'd be trouble if this General noticed it. As proficient in English or the common tongue as he was, Xabier still thought in Spanish. He still talked to his Iluntasuna in Basque.
It was as clear as anything that he wasn't from around here.
He could only hope that after the other more obvious personalities, it wouldn't be noticed.
General Cress was a proud man, that was easily noticeable.
Hopefully he'd ignore Xabier's presence and concentrate on his wounded pride.

And then everyone started yelling at him.

By everyone, of course he only meant Kyle and Autumn. And Ondine, who was screaming at him from above to get his ass in gear. As if he didn't already know that.

He didn't necessarily ignore them, but he didn't respond either. He was already nearly to his feet when Kyle pulled him all the way up before running off to the platform, saying something about trees and forests. Honestly, what even...

The trident grew slippery, and he pulled the sweat into his pressure jet, increasing its size and speed. Get your head back in the game he tried to tell himself, clutching the trident with shaking fingers. It's not over yet...not even close...can't stop swimming now....

He could see the second wave (only the second??) rising up like a tsunami, and he looked around him wildly, doing a mental head count. Everyone else had been doing fine, right?

Yet when he saw Xabi, shaking to his feet, a Cyclopean lumbering zig-zaggedly towards him, Harper's stomach sank. No. Not everyone else was doing fine.

The monster widened its jaws and brought an arm back.

It was like flipping a switch. Suddenly the trident didn't feel as heavy. The pressure jet revved up, spinning faster and faster. Both hands gripped at his weapon, and his foot pressed off from the ground and he was running. Cyclopeans in his way were jabbed at or gunned down and he saw red and black and white flashing like a strobe light.

And then he reached it. And he was behind it. And he brought his trident back. And he stabbed it down. And he did it again. And again. And again.

"DON'T!"

TOUCH!

MY!

BOYFRIEND!"

His last stab sliced directly into the ground, clattering against the black scales. He blinked, throat raw from screaming, shoulders heaving. He looked at Xabi. His face was bleeding. And dirty. And wet. His armor was ripped. Yet somehow his hair still looked perfect.

He managed a smile as he grabbed the October warrior's hand. "Hey babe," he said as he pulled him up, "Sorry I'm late."

Screeching could be heard growing louder. The second wave was upon them. Still holding Xabi's hand, he turned to face it.

"200. 400. 600. 800," he mumbled to himself, "Free. Relay." He gave the Spaniard's hand another squeeze before letting go, grabbing his trident.

Inhale. Exhale. Control the breathing. He whistled and tensed. Fingers clasped on the edge of the pool. 200. 400. 600. 800. Free. Relay.

Beep.

Beep.

Beeeeeeeep!

"Let's kill these motherfuckers."