"Auriga…? In Durai?" Leven asked, horrified. Rastaban and Dheneb had just returned from Taygeta, and the blonde man was now explaining to Leven what transpired there. Though his reptilian features couldn't show much emotion, his voice held grave sadness. "The Holy Lady…" he trailed off and bowed his head in silent prayer.

"Him in Durai… I can't even comprehend. It just seems like such an ugly combination." Rastaban lowered himself into a chair, looking across the room to Dheneb, who was staring out a window. Dheneb had said he wanted to teleport back to Durai as soon as he was able. Rastaban had been the one that had to teleport them to Leven's manor from Taygeta. It was the first time he'd ever teleported someone else with him, and he was little proud of himself, even though the situation was so brutal. He watched as Dheneb turned from the window, their eyes meeting.

"Leven? Where's Imre?" Dheneb asked, voice neutral.

"In a room down the hall. Orchid is in front of the door." He watched Dheneb leave with shrewd lilac eyes. "Do you think it wise for Dheneb to speak with him?" He asked of Rastaban. "He was quite angry, though I cannot really blame him."

"He's calmed down," Rastaban assured. "Just… everything's gotten to him. He's under a lot of stress and pressure." He watched as Wezn, a huge source of all his lover's stress, left the room.

"Is he okay? I can send for the best healers in Avva-Merran." There was deep concern in Leven's voice. "I do feel responsible, since Imre is my servant."

"It wasn't Imre's fault, and Dheneb knows it. And, he's fine. Or, at least he seems fine. I guess it's lucky that he was poisoned before, so he knew what to do immediately. I wish I could help him more. I wish Moroth were still here so I could ask him for advice."

"Moroth? Your hobgoblin friend?" Leven asked. Rastaban rarely spoke of Moroth.

"He always knew what to say to me, especially when the depression was at its worst. Now that I have the lunar core, and am more in touch with where my powers come from, I don't have the depression that much, but I still need him. And, I miss him. He was with me since I was, like fourteen. He taught me so much."

"Then, he was a good teacher."

"You remind me of him," Rastaban murmured, patting Leven's rock-hard shoulder.

"I am very flattered. Though, why does this sound like a farewell?"

"Once Dheneb has regained some strength, we'll be going back to Durai."

"You are thinking of leaving me behind?" Leven asked, voice laced with amusement. "Auriga is my responsibility. And, I would very much like to see Meraphar again, after all this time. I am from Durai, remember?"

"The temperature change could kill you. And, what about your responsibilities here?"

"Like I said, Rastaban. Auriga is my responsibility. Lila is perfectly capable to take care of things here while I'm absent. It's not like I'd never come back. And, if I go, I can survey the terrain, and send messages back to Lila via my birds, so she can better prepare a zeppelin fleet."

"Mind like a steel trap, you have." He smiled wearily at Leven, squeezing his shoulder again. "And, you're a good friend."

"Dheneb?"

The auburn-haired man turned when he heard his name being gently called. He was surprised to see his father slowly coming towards him, leaning heavily on his cane. "Yes?" He asked, utterly confused. It was the first thing Wezn said to him in days.

"May I speak with you?"

"Can't it wait?" Dheneb asked, looking to the door where Orchid was standing, looking imposing. Rastaban had briefly filled him in about the situation Imre was now in, so he supposed Orchid was acting as bodyguard.

"Imre is in a very grave situation," Wezn murmured, hesitantly meeting his son's fiery eyes. "He will die if he stays here."

"I know. What's it to you? Rhys said that Leven is going to exile him to somewhere on Khyth. He wouldn't be staying here."

"He's just a boy. He'd be all alone in a new continent with no friends or family, since his mother has now shunned him as a Heretic. Perhaps… you could bring him to Durai? His healing skills would be quite useful."

Dheneb stared at his father for a long time. "I'm choking on your irony," he muttered, turning his back and going to the door.

Orchid didn't question if this was wise, and just stepped aside so Dheneb could go into the bedroom that was serving as a somewhat cell for the boy. Piper was inside with him, sitting in a chair beside the bed that Imre was laying on, head propped up by some pillows. One of his eyes was already swollen shut, and his lips were crusted with scabs and dried blood. One of his arms was also in a sling. Imre's good eye widened in fear when he looked up to see Dheneb's imposing figure standing in the doorway.

"Piper, would you leave us for a moment?" He asked, putting a gentle hand on the young man's shoulder.

"Uh… sure, Dheneb." He quickly left, joining Orchid outside the door, giving her a dubious look.

There was a long, and very tense silence between them, which Imre broke first. He attempted to move, to get out of bed so he could bow before Dheneb.

"Stop," Dheneb commanded. "Don't get out of bed," he added more gently. "I…"

"Please, Lord Ahlixar. I didn't mean to!" He exclaimed weakly. "I swear, I didn't!"

"I know," Dheneb said, holding up his hands to stop Imre's pleas. "And, I want to apologize for hurting you."

"You… do?"

"I was angry. But, I want to ask you a question. And, I want you to answer me honestly."

"Of course, My Lord." Imre kept his head bowed the entire time.

"Deep down, in a place you wouldn't have reacted on, you did want me out of the way, didn't you? You love Rhys, and want him to love you back."

"Yes," Imre whispered, tears pooling under his lush black lashes.

"I appreciate your honesty," Dheneb said coolly. "I will bring you to Durai when we leave. Your healing skills are too useful to be wasted in exile."

"You will?" Imre asked, looking up. His head buzzed with the quick motion.

"Would you rather go to Par-Derrana?"

"No, My Lord."

"Fine, then." Dheneb turned, opening the door.

"I'm sorry, Lord Ahlixar," came Imre's quiet reply from behind him.

"Fine," Dheneb answered, leaving the room. "I agreed to bring him to Durai," Dheneb told Orchid and Piper. He'd already agreed to bring Piper back to Durai, as well.

"You saved my life," Dheneb had said the morning prior. "I owe you, big time."

"If you bring me to Durai, you could call it even." Piper requested baldly. He didn't feel strange talking to Dheneb thusly. Something had just clicked between them, a simpatico that made them fast friends already.

"Durai?" Had been Dheneb's surprised reply. "Why?"

"I can help you, Dheneb. And, I have nothing here. I have no money, no friends, no family."

Now, Piper went back into the room to keep Imre company while Wezn approached Dheneb once more. "I'm glad that you decided to be merciful, bringing him back with us."

Dheneb sucked in his breath. "I didn't do it for you," he hissed. "What do I owe you? And your gall to ask me for anything is staggering. I did it because I know how he feels. I know how it feels to be despised and shunned, and have to worry about losing your life every moment you're awake. And, I know how it feels to have a parent abandon you."

"If you are trying to shame me…"

"And, who said you were going back, anyway?" Dheneb interrupted.

"You aren't taking me?" Wezn asked, surprised.

"It's too dangerous."

Wezn's face now mirrored the anger in his son's. "Durai is my home. You'd strand me here?"

Orchid turned her face away from the uncomfortable argument. But, her elvish hearing made it impossible not to eavesdrop.

"For your own safety. You want to end up like Mother?"

"I didn't even want you to bring me here! I have responsibilities there. I have my church, and parishioners that need me!"

Dheneb glared at his father, but it masked a deep hurt. "Why should I care if you die, Father? Since you never cared if I did." He turned his back on Wezn and stalked down the hallway.

Wezn angrily watched Dheneb's back until he turned a corner and vanished. He had to ball his fists to keep them from shaking. He looked over his shoulder at Orchid, but she was carefully looking away from him with the usual emotionless mask across her beautiful face. Though she acted like he wasn't there, he knew she heard everything, and it shamed him. He walked away from the scene as quickly as he could with his bad knee, his hands still shaking.

"Was he really mad?" Piper asked when he settled back into the chair beside Imre's bedside. It was the first thing they'd really said to each other. Piper had just been sitting there, wanting to keep the other young man company. He knew Imre appreciated it, since Orchid or Wezn or Rastaban were foreigners, so didn't fully understand what being branded a Heretic meant, even if they were told about the execution. Imre had been falling in and out of sleep because of the morphine, and was now staring up at the ceiling, electric blue eyes glassy.

"Huh?" Imre kept staring up, only briefly looking over, looking at Piper's uninjured hand, with his long artistic fingers and caramel coloured skin. "I dunno," he muttered. "Not really, I guess. He offered to bring me to Durai."

"Kinda... Surprising, I guess."

Imre murmured something, but since Piper wasn't blessed with elvish hearing, he didn't catch it. "Hmm?"

"It was Rastaban," Imre repeated, stroking his fingers over the sling on his arm. "I bet he talked to Lord Ahlixar."

"What do you mean?" Piper asked with a cocked eyebrow, wincing because it was natural for him to cock his right eyebrow, and that pulled his still tender scar.

"I bet Rastaban asked Ahlixar to bring me to Durai. He intervened for me."

"Are you… sure?" Piper asked, eyebrows now rising higher and higher towards his hairline.

"Maybe he still cares."

"Maybe the morphine's taking effect."

"Maybe he still loves me," Imre murmured as if Piper wasn't there, falling fully under the morphine's spell.

Piper watched Imre sleep, his good hand automatically going up to his face, touching the sore scar that had been made longer and deeper after being broken open. Piper knew he couldn't compete with someone like Rastaban in the looks department. Or with the fact that he was a Witch. Even if Imre's declarations of Rastaban's affection seemed to all be false hope. Even in this short time of knowing them, it was obvious that Rastaban and Dheneb deeply loved each other. Piper wasn't the sort of person to waste time thinking or hoping for things that could never happen, like Imre maybe noticing him. Maybe this was from being a slave his whole life. It taught him not to hope for things beyond what he knew.

Piper stroked his scar again, thinking of the Electra family. He was the only one who'd ever met the Prince Electra before he'd become Auriga. Not even Leven could claim that. Even as Orestes, he'd been remote and imposing. Every slave was scared of the entire Electra family, but Orestes was different than them. There had been whispers, even when Orestes had been a small child, that he would overthrow his father, and become a tyrant King, more terrible than could be imagined. Agamemnon had been spoiled and slow-witted, his younger son following in his footsteps. Clytemnestra had been selfish and passive to the point of spinelessness. But, not Orestes. His eyes had always held sharp intelligence, mingled with a frightening chill, like he knew everything about you. None of the slaves had known about his telepathy.

But now, it seemed foolish that Piper hadn't put two and two together. The first painting he'd ever painted as the House of Electra's artist had been that portrait of Orestes. It was an experience Piper would never forget. Not only because of his fear of failure, and the punishment from Agamemnon if he did, but because of staring into Orestes's eyes for so long, and actually conversing with him. He'd never stared into eyes like that before. So… inhuman. Years later, when he'd travelled with Clytemnestra to her favourite places in Svolvarda to capture them in oils and watercolours, he'd heard the vampiric tales that were so popular there. While Clytemnestra drank in the stories of secret societies of insane people who cursed themselves in order to be vampires, Piper had thought of Orestes, a far more real monster to him. His eyes had been like the dead, hypnotic eyes the townspeople told of in hushed, excited tones. Like dark alleys in a very bad neighbourhood.

"They must want to test your skills before painting the portraits of the real royal family," Orestes had murmured five years ago.

"My Lord?" Piper asked, looking up from the painting. He'd only just gotten the bare bones of the outline down on canvas, so there was still much work to do. The thought of spending at least another week with Prince Orestes didn't sit well with Piper, especially because this was his first task as court painter. Vol had died the week before.

"They don't want you painting them until they know you're good enough. It doesn't matter if you paint an unflattering portrait of me. At least, not to them." Orestes's words were laced with threat.

"I paint what I see, My Lord."

"Did my mother request that I not smile?" Orestes asked, flashing his shark-like teeth in bitter amusement. Orestes asked the question with an air like he already knew the answer.

Piper paused, somehow wondering if Orestes knew what he was thinking, with those hypnotic eyes that were like drills. "Yes… she did, My Lord."

"Does my smile frighten you?" Orestes asked plainly.

"There are things about you much more frightening than a savage set of teeth, My Lord."

Orestes blinked his hazel eyes, seemingly caught off guard. "You are recklessly honest for a slave." He laughed, sharp teeth flashing. "It's refreshing. Though, do you think it wise to speak to me so tartly?"

"Forgive me, Your Grace." Piper fell into a bow.

"Get up," Orestes sneered. It made his coldly handsome face grotesque. "Let's get this fucking portrait over with." He gave a dismissive wave of his hand, metal nails glinting in the sunlight that was streaming in through the open veranda doors. "So, you're frightened of me, huh? What of my father? Are you scared of him?"

"Yes."

"If you had to choose who would be King, which would you choose?" Orestes asked flippantly. But, there was a definite threat in the words. Alluding to treason.

Again, Piper's brashness came to the surface before he could stop it. "Neither."

"Neither?" Orestes asked, his smirk making him ugly. "That's not what I asked."

Piper had looked at Orestes for a very uncomfortable moment. "Your father," he then answered.

The smirk vanished like a candle going out. Orestes's eyes were sharp and dark, and made Piper's bronze skin crawl. "Really?" He hissed. "Why, may I ask?"

"You're both cruel," Piper said, his mind telling him to shut the fuck up. "But, cruel and stupid is safer than cruel and psychotic."

Orestes suddenly laughed, throwing his head back so all his sharp teeth were visible. He laughed and laughed, empty hazel eyes dancing with merriment. "I like you." The smile vanished in the blink of an eye. "Now, mix those goddamn paints. Now."

Piper started mixing the peach and pink hues he'd be using for Orestes's fair complexion. He suddenly noticed a red drop in the peachy oils. There was a second drop, and Piper realized it was blood. He reached up and touched his nose, coming back with his fingers smeared red. He'd never gotten a spontaneous nosebleed before, so the blood alarmed him.

He looked up to see Orestes looking at him. The look on his face was… at the time, Piper had thought it was so bizarre, even for him. But, looking back on it now, he knew the look had been cold triumph.

"My Lord, I…" Piper trailed off.

"Start painting," Orestes instructed, leaning back on the ornate jacquard of the sofa he was posing on. "Now, Piper," he muttered, voice hard.

Piper could hardly refuse, even though the nosebleed was getting worse. It got to the point that he was having a hard time breathing, and was getting sick from the amount of blood that was dripping back down into his throat, and into his mouth. It stained the front of his white slave's shift, and it was accompanied by a buzzing migraine that stabbed his eyes and made it hard for him to focus properly on the canvas before him.

He knew if he asked to stop, Orestes would punish him, and his punishments were much more creative than the beatings and canings the rest of his family preferred. So, he'd kept painting and painting, until he couldn't hold the brush from blood loss. The whole front of him had been soaked in blood, and his bare feet slipped in the puddle forming on the floor.

"You may stop," Orestes murmured, rising from the sofa. He walked over to Piper with his boneless, graceful stride, where he'd dropped the brush from numb fingers. Piper swooned, landing in a heap. His glassy eyes rolled up and looked at Orestes, who was standing over him, smirking. "Same time tomorrow, love?" He strode out of the room, leaving Piper laying there. He must not have told anyone of Piper's condition for a while, because it had been hours before anyone came to give him any kind of medical attention. Piper hadn't been able to help himself because slaves weren't allowed to learn magic.

The next day, Piper had been expecting a punishment from Orestes, but it never came. He'd just watched Piper with his cold hazel eyes as the portrait session went on in silence. Piper hadn't known how then, but he'd been certain that Orestes had caused his nosebleed somehow. The painting had almost been completed in this manner, until the last day of the sitting sessions. Piper remembered finishing the painting, and Orestes coming over to inspect it. He remembered looking into those hollow eyes, and then there was nothing. It was like he'd fallen asleep, and woken into a nightmare. He'd woken to find himself on that jacquard sofa, pinned under the Prince, being penetrated. How'd he gotten there? He still didn't know, even after years of trying to remember. He supposed Orestes had blanked his memory, making him wake up right in the middle to make it extra torturous. And, oh how it had been.

Piper had looked up into Orestes's hazel eyes with such hatred that he hadn't been able to hide it. Masking contempt was an art form with the Electra slaves, but Piper couldn't hide it then, not through all that pain and humiliation. And, Orestes had made sure it was as painful and humiliating as possible. Orestes had just laughed, biting Piper deeply in the shoulder as he'd ejaculated. He'd then left the room as if Piper weren't there at all, bleeding out from between his legs all over the exquisite sofa, alone with only the sound of the breeze through the open veranda doors. Even today, the bite mark left by the Prince was still deep and stark against his bronze coloured skin. That night, Orestes had killed three female slaves in his bed, suffocating them during sex. Piper knew that could have been him. And, nobody would have cared, just like nobody cared about the lives of those three girls. Even the other slaves hadn't cared. They were all just glad it wasn't them, like Piper was.

He'd been so relieved when Orestes had been killed by Agamemnon. Everyone in the palace was. Even Clytemnestra, who'd always tried to be closer to her monstrous son. But, she hadn't wanted it enough to intervene that day, to stop his execution. And, now he was in the Land of Witches. Dheneb had spoken of the Queen there, Deirdre. A Witch with strong telepathic powers. Dheneb's voice cooled even at the mention of her name. But, all the horrible stories about this Queen weren't nearly as terrifying as the idea that Piper may ever see Orestes again. He looked down at Imre, who was in a very deep sleep. He'd never mentioned the rape to anyone, and he vowed he never would. He knew that Imre probably felt the same as Piper had that day, for he'd been just as thoroughly raped.

"Hey there." Rastaban came up behind Dheneb, who was standing in front of the large window in their bedroom. "How did it go?"

"With me and Imre? Fine, I guess." Dheneb kept looking out the window, watching the waves lolling against the shore below the cliffs. "We won't ever be buddies, though. I told him I'd take him to Durai when we go."

"Really?" Rastaban's tone was of careful surprise. "…why?"

"Because I know how he feels right now. How scary it is to be all alone, and in fear for your life. Besides… I may not like him all that much, but I'm not stupid enough to turn away such a skilled healer. Especially when I'm about to drop us all into the middle of a potential war zone."

"I think it's crazy that you're jealous of him. He's the one that should be jealous." Rastaban put his hands on Dheneb's shoulders.

Dheneb kept quiet about the question he'd posed to Imre, about his feelings for Rastaban. He didn't want to bring it up and cause an argument now.

"My dad cornered me in the hallway, and asked me to bring Imre to Durai."

"That's why you did?" Rastaban asked, fingers slowly kneading circles into Dheneb's shoulders.

"I… I don't know. I think it was when I looked in his eyes, and saw how terrified he was. It just really pissed me off that my dad asked me that, like I would be doing him a favour or something." He huffed his breath out angrily. "I don't know why it's making me so upset. I should be used to this bullshit by now. Why should I care that he seems to care more about some kid he just met than he does about me? Or, that he didn't even ask me if I was okay after just getting poisoned."

"Every boy wants his father to be proud of him," Rastaban murmured into Dheneb's hair, still massaging his lover's shoulders.

"This is the most time I've spent with him… well, ever. Maybe I hoped that… gods, it's stupid."

"That maybe he would see that you're not the monster Deirdre makes you out to be?" Rastaban kissed the nape of Dheneb's neck, his shoulder muscles feeling knotted and stiff under Rastaban's fingers.

"I can't let him get to me," Dheneb chided himself. "I have to relax. I do have added luggage for my trip now. I need to relax," he murmured again.

"This helping?" Rastaban asked, letting his breath wash over the curl of Dheneb's ear. He massaged more firmly, until he felt Dheneb's muscles relaxing under his hands.

"Mmmm. Rhys?"

"Yeah?" Rastaban let his lips slowly trail over the warm flesh of Dheneb's neck.

"Why do you think Auriga went to Durai?"

"Because he's a psycho," Rastaban murmured. "I think he's happy so long as he's causing trouble."

"I've also been thinking about the other Tsiiva. They all couldn't have been born telepathic. That means Auriga taught them how. That thought's terrifying. I mean… how? He must have a radically advanced understanding of the functions of a human brain."

"I dunno," Rastaban murmured. It's not something he really thought about, but the idea did give him chills.

"Maybe he did something like regression hypnosis. You know how you can unlock parts of your memory. Maybe he unlocked a dormant part of the brain, letting it use its abilities for the first time. Like he's shaping evolution. Like he thinks he's a god."

He grinned into Dheneb's shoulder when a small moan of pleasure escaped the other man when Rastaban's thumb found a tightly knotted spot. "You don't really want to keep talking about him, do you?"

"About who?" Dheneb murmured dreamily. He grinned when Rastaban's arms came around him tightly. "Maybe you should teleport us to Durai."

"Don't get ahead of yourself." Rastaban slipped his hand up under Dheneb's brightly printed shirt, massaging his bare skin.

"I could tell you were proud of yourself."

"Are you sure you're okay to do it?" Rastaban asked again, resting his chin on Dheneb's shoulder, looking out to the bright sunshine.

"Yes," Dheneb answered, a little exasperated. "I am. Really."

"Okay, okay. I'm just worried, is all." He nibbled on Dheneb's earlobe. "To be honest, I don't really want to go back. There's no sunshine there. There's no warmth. Being duty-bound sucks."

"At least you'll get to see Florian again." Dheneb's face clouded with worry. "If he's safe."

"I'm sure he is," Rastaban murmured with complete certainty, kissing the left side of Dheneb's face. "You don't really want to keep talking, do you?" He asked teasingly, hand moving up under the front of Dheneb's shirt, stroking a thumb over one nipple. "I'm kinda looking forward to having make-up sex with you."

"Is it really a fight when it's that one-sided?"

"You were still mad at me. It counts." One hand still stroked Dheneb's nipple, while the other began unbuttoning the front of his shirt.

"It would have been nice if our first sort-of fight had been about something stupid, like if you ate the last piece of cake or something."

"Still talking, are we?" Rastaban murmured, hips now pressed firmly against Dheneb's buttocks. He slid Dheneb's shirt off his body as their lips found each other. Theirs so far was a relationship with a lot of bumps, mostly because of outside forces. So with each kiss, and each caress, they treated it like it would be their last one. This kiss could be their last. This could be the last time that their tongues moved together. This could be the last time that they ever got to touch each other's bare skin. This could be the last time that Rastaban would ever feel the heat that flowed under Dheneb's skin, the way it tingled his fingers and made his own magical energy flow in him in a way that was still so new. This could be the last time that Dheneb could run his fingers through Rastaban's long hair, and whisper his given name as those strong arms wrapped around him, made him feeling wanted and loved in a way he'd craved all his life.

Dheneb turned to look at the other man, looking at the way the sun shone on his hair, bringing out the rich gold and cool silver that mingled together. He looked at Rastaban's clear blue eyes, like the sky and sea here in Pleiades. The glow of Xarastar's deathly energy hung under his skin, and within his eyes. Eyes that were lively and bright, but that had some… opaqueness creeping into them as Rastaban became more and more confident in his powers. Like the eyes of a dead body. People here superstitiously didn't like to meet Rastaban's gaze, but Dheneb could have looked into them forever.

He twined his hands around Rastaban's neck, kissing him soundly and fiercely. His hands moved down Rastaban's chest with purpose. He knew all the planes and lines of the other man's musculature. He knew exactly where to touch to elicit small moans of pleasure, or hitched intakes of breath mingling with his own as their lips and tongues moved together. He shed clothes away from Rastaban's body, Dheneb eagerly touching bare skin. His hands moved down, quickly finding what they sought. Rastaban murmured incoherently as Dheneb's warm hand strongly squeezed his genitals through his pants. Dheneb broke their lips apart, his mouth now moving down Rastaban's throat, across his broad shoulder. He nibbled, sucked and licked a trail down the swell of one of his lover's pectorals, stopping to pay particular attention to his left nipple. Rastaban had to use the wall for support when Dheneb practically ripped the front of his pants open, and nearly swallowed him whole. Dheneb's mouth was so hot and wet around him that it made Rastaban feel faint. He should have been used to it by now, but he was glad he wasn't. His own magic and lust thrummed through his body, his pulse so loud that it drowned out all other noise in his ears. His hands pulled at Dheneb's hair, hips doing a slow grind.

When Dheneb's tongue sought out the veins of his penis, and flicked across the sensitive, swollen head, Rastaban groaned, pushing Dheneb's shoulders so all that delicious wet heat slid off him. He didn't want Dheneb to stop, but it just felt too fucking good, and he wanted more. He wanted to go farther. He gripped Dheneb's biceps and yanked him to his feet. His eyes were alight and his cheeks were flushed with passion, and his hair was mussed in a sexy way. He grabbed Dheneb up in his arms again, practically eating his mouth. He could have kissed Dheneb like that forever, but sometimes the urge to just plain fuck was too large to ignore, so Rastaban turned Dheneb around, pressing his body against the wall, no air between them.

Clothes slowly shed to the floor, and Dheneb's head rolled back on Rastaban's shoulder as the opening to his body was stroked. He ran his hands down the sides of Rastaban's body, over his haunches and the strong muscles of his thighs, around his buttocks, pulling Rastaban's hips closer to him. He wanted all of Rastaban to be closer to him. The sun streamed through the window, permeating their skin with warmth as Dheneb placed his hands on the wall as Rastaban entered him. It was a feeling that was still so exciting, yet had complete familiarity - their bodies uniting. Dheneb's fingers curled against the fine brown and gold wallpaper, panting and quietly urging Rastaban to go faster, harder. Dheneb found it amazing how much he wanted pure sex after a life threatening experience. It made him feel like he was still alive. He knew he would be sore afterwards, but he wanted that. He wanted to feel the memory of Rastaban's penetration long afterwards.

Dheneb threw his head back, moaning without abandon as he reached orgasm. He groaned as Rastaban thrust in and out of him, smiling as his whole body shivered with delight. Rastaban's hips slammed against his buttocks, and his arms came tight around Dheneb's waist as his body was filled with more than just ejaculate. It was filled with the cool magical release of Rastaban's energy. Rastaban was still quietly moaning into the side of Dheneb's sweaty neck as he came down from his high.

Rastaban lazily looked up at Dheneb's face, the sun highlighting his cheekbones and chin. His smile was weary, but content and carefree. "You haven't done that enough lately."

"Hmm?" Dheneb questioned, closing his eyes with contentment. "What are you talking about? I go down on you all the time, and I definitely spread my legs just as often."

"Smiling," Rastaban corrected quietly. "I wish you'd do it more often, especially when you look so beautiful when you do."

The smile wilted at the edges. "Haven't really had much reason to smile lately."

"We'll fix that," Rastaban said with such confidence that Dheneb couldn't help but believe him. "But, for now… could you just smile for me? Just for right now?"

Dheneb couldn't help but chuckle, the smile that graced his mouth not just because he'd been asked to do so. "You know I can't refuse you."

"That's always good to know," Rastaban teased, letting out a very masculine chuckle, his hands firmly stroking up and down Dheneb's muscular chest, enjoying these moments in case they were the last he could have.

Auriga stood before the ruins called Sku'lava Gallows, a former fortress, now falling into the windswept earth. He'd spent his time wisely since teleporting through the Libra Pass. He'd carefully delved into the consciousness of people he met, getting an idea for the current situation in Durai. He also read every newspaper that he could get his hands on, which had raised some amused eyebrows when he'd used his glamour to disguise himself as that small girl. Luckily, the Durai tongue was very similar to Merranese, so Auriga only had to muddle through geographical names, and some slang terms.

The biggest news was the war with the country of Rhianonuit. In the High Capital, the first place he'd visited was an archival library that sat in the shadow of the looming palace of the Queen Deirdre, who called herself the High Cassiopeia, a Durai word that Auriga had to practice the pronunciation of. He found the archives to be oddly incomplete, with only recent history available, from Deirdre's lifetime. He'd asked the librarian about this, and was informed that there had been some kind of disaster long ago, probably an earthquake, that destroyed all the old records. Auriga had just smirked at such a convenient story, though a little disappointed. Though he wasn't vain enough to deny his insanity, he did have a 'normal' passion for history, so the lack of it here seemed kind of sad.

He'd learned that Durai was a continental nation, all under the rule of Deirdre, save the small country that was mostly populated by elves. Auriga found it extremely lucky that elves were all there, and the ones in other parts of Durai were being rounded up in internment camps and prisons, because they would have been able to see through his glamour, and noted his scarred mouth, sharp teeth, and lidless black and hazel eyes. Though, there were small beings here that seemed to sense he wasn't what he seemed. There were no sprites in Pleiades, but they reminded Auriga of the woodfey and mariposa of Svolvarda and Khyth, though they lacked the butterfly-like wings and antennae of their seemingly distant cousins.

After Dheneb had maimed, and nearly killed him in the Palace, Auriga had started to transform his appearance further. He thought the High General of the Tsiiva look had been one that worked for him, and now that he was away from home, it seemed appropriate to leave Orestes behind. But, he was also practical, and knew some of the mutilations would be a hindrance, so he improvised. Blacking out the whites of his eyes was actually a spell to keep his eyes moist and free of dust, now that he didn't have eyelids to do so. The crown and collar of bone also would have been hard for sleeping, so instead he'd created a removable crown attached with tanned human flesh that greatly resembled the fused Tsiiva headdress. But, since it wasn't attached to his head, he'd been able to add some embellishments with gold filigree to make it a true crown of strange and horrifying beauty, and the bone collar worked to keep his head balanced and brace his neck when he wore the headdress. He hadn't removed his lips, because it would have been too hard to eat and speak.

He'd heard about Dheneb and Rastaban here, to be sure. Mostly that they were wanted criminals, particularly by the Gold Knights, the Queen's personal guard. They were led by a lady knight named Nebula, but it was Lady Fomalhaut that Auriga was interested in, and that's why he'd come out into the bitter, windy cold to her home of sorts. He'd read in the archives about how Rastaban had branded her a traitor with a curse called the Hand of Naarel. The inability to perform curses was one of Auriga's few magical weaknesses, so he didn't know what the curse was, but the vague description piqued his interest. Whenever Fomalhaut was photographed, she wore a serene mask over half her face. Nobody in the general public of the Capital knew what she looked like under there, but there were talks of a horrid smell that surrounded her wherever she went. Auriga very much wanted to see Lady Fomalhaut unmasked. He wanted to see what Rastaban's hand was truly capable of.

Normally, Sku'lava Gallows would have been deserted. It was a place of ill omen, and the people here said it had been cursed and haunted for millennia. That long ago, there had been a Witch who lived there, and killed people for amusement, for all Witches were evil and cursed, no matter what the Knights of Ahlixar said, according to the people he'd asked about the place. Auriga knew the old tale of Rahva, and wondered if this 'evil Witch' story could actually be about Xarastar's acolyte.

But, today there were visitors of sorts, though Auriga was the only one of them actually breathing. The Gallows once more were full, corpses swinging in the strong wind, some in advanced states of decomposition, some relatively fresh. There were also impaled heads on the spikes of the old wooded walls that once served as the fortress's barriers. Quite a few looked to be elvish, though there were more than a fair share of human heads. Enemies of the crown. Rhianonuit sympathizers. Members of the Knights of Ahlixar. Supporters of the Black and White Knights. People who asked too many questions.

Through telepathy, Auriga knew that Fomalhaut was not here, and that there were no guards. There was a magical barrier protecting Fomalhaut's domain, but apparently her stench and mania were enough to keep people away regardless. But, Auriga sensed the place wasn't completely deserted. He could feel thoughts, deep within.

With happy curiosity, Auriga walked through the open gates to Sku'lava, awed by the impressive architecture that still survived through years and harsh weather. The wind picked up and chilled Auriga, who was used to much warmer temperatures. He'd immediately discarded his fine gold and teal robes, which were too thin for Envanya's cold breath. He'd been given some fine, warm garments by a shop keep who would never remember Auriga as a customer. The pants and short jacket were of a thick, fine brown leather, with matching boots that were lined with a very soft fur. He also wore a black cashmere turtleneck sweater underneath the coat. A thick sweater was something he'd never worn before. He also had a travelling cloak made by the humanoid, bipedal bear type creatures that were native here. But, even with these, he still felt the cold right in his bones.

The magical barrier around the Gallows wasn't particularly challenging to someone as skilled magically as Auriga. Most people wouldn't have even bothered, for natural disgust and fear would have kept them away. Auriga considered himself lucky that he had neither of these things, so he lowered the barrier, and pushed open the great, stone hewn doors like someone who belonged there. Inside smelled musty and dank. When the doors closed behind him, it became very dark, so Auriga summoned up a small gold flame, cupped in his palm. The shimmering gold light flickered against the crumbling stone walls of the tunnel that sloped downwards, leading deeper into the earth. It was very cold, and Auriga's boots echoed against the cobblestone floor. Auriga noted that once upon a time, this place would have been rather impressive looking. He came to an open space, where the ceiling vaulted way upwards into a dome. There were the bones of a spiralled staircase that led upwards, probably once a guard tower. The wall had crumbled in places, letting the cold wind whistle in through the dome. The echo made it even louder, and the claps of thunder were almost deafening. All the rooms around this open area were disused and the ceiling had fallen in on one of them. The Lady Fomalhaut must have kept quarters deeper within.

As Auriga kept walking deeper into the bowels of Sku'lava, he thought upon Fomalhaut. Rastaban's curse apparently made her go crazy, made her feared and reviled in Durai. As much as if she were a Witch. If you listened to the people who sympathized with the Knights of Ahlixar, they said that Talia VanHorne betrayed her friends for money, and that it hadn't taken Lady Nebula much convincing, either. An easily swayed woman with an unquenchable thirst for revenge was something that Auriga couldn't resist. He slowly walked down a long, long staircase, his gold flame the only light, until he finally came to the end of the stairs. There were torches burning in wall brackets. He closed his fist around the flame, extinguishing it in a cloud of shimmering gold dust. He could feel threads of thought nearby now. It looked like he'd come upon the old fortress's dungeons.

There were thought processes coming from within some of the cells, and some distant screams of agony. Most were filled with dead people in various stages of decomposition and torture. One person was dead, tied up on a spit, slowly rotating over a dying, crackling fire. Auriga found that while there were a few people alive, only one was even close to being coherent. He stopped in front of that cell, seeing a man within. He was thinking of a woman and children. Family.

"Y… you're not a Gold Knight…" the man stammered. His voice was shaking so hard that Auriga found it hard to understand some of the words. He was horrified at Auriga's appearance, but he came forward anyway. "Please… please, help me."

"You're Fomalhaut's prisoner, yes?"

The prisoner frowned at Auriga's strange accent, and at the flash of sharp teeth from between his scarred lips. "Yes. Please… please! Please help me!" The man reached out through the bars, and grasped Auriga's wrist. "She's insane!" He whispered, terrified.

"You fear my appearance, don't you? But, you're more afraid of her." Auriga squeezed the man's hand, his voice all rich velvet.

The prisoner nodded, squeezing back as Auriga leaned forward.

"Well, that's a big mistake on your part." He telepathically delved into the prisoner's mind, seeing Fomalhaut torturing the prisoners that now lay dead in their cells. This prisoner had witnessed her trying to use curses, but failing at them. She would become so angry that she would beat her prisoners mercilessly, and torture them in the most vicious ways she could think of. She would demand answers about the whereabouts of the fugitive Black and White Knights. She asked about Mizar, her hot breath washing over this man's face. She cursed Rastaban, and sometimes referred to her victims by his name, so lost in her hatred that it warped her reality. He could see her horrible face, a garbled and melted mess. When he extracted everything he wanted, Auriga mentally touched various spots in the man's mind, giving him a massive stroke. He collapsed in a jerking heap, blood and liquid gold trickling from his nose. Auriga left him there, flopping and dying like a fish on a fishing boat's deck.

In the next cell, where the screaming was coming from, there was a woman inside, tethered to the wall by a thick chain and iron collar around her neck. Her body was covered in ugly, swollen pustules. They were big, fluid filled boils that ran and burst. She left smeary trails of blood and pus when she moved, her weight popping the sores. Perhaps this was one of Fomalhaut's few curse success stories. The woman was in so much pain that she didn't notice Auriga watching her with detached interest. He stood silently, watching her suffer. When he got bored, he moved past the cells into a large room that seemed like a library or office. There were maps posted to the stone walls, and strewn about the large table that was the central focus to the room. Auriga used a new gold flame to ignite some half-melted candles that sat in gold candlesticks. They shone brightly compared to the decay of the rest of the surroundings. The desk also looked new. Most of the maps seemed to be of the country of Rhianonuit, which was made up of one large city that spread across some islands. The notes were about the last known whereabouts of people. There were also a few random 'die Rastaban's scrawled here and there.

He began leafing through some discarded books, until he felt a new presence in the Gallows. He felt Lady Fomalhaut's thoughts long before he could smell her. She was thinking of a tall, large man with very dark brown skin, and strangely pink eyes. He wore black armour. One of the fugitive Black Knights that she was so obsessed about? Their mysterious Captain, Mizar? Auriga stood in front of the desk, waiting patiently for her to find him. The smell of her wafted ahead of her arrival. He found he had to breathe out slowly so he wouldn't become overwhelmed by the cloying, choking stench. He'd seen her vision in that prisoner's mind, but in person, it was much more vivid and grotesque.

Fomalhaut sighed at the loss of Mizar. He'd been in her clutches, and he'd escaped, all thanks to that traitor Bella, and stupid Vega. Now they were hiding out again in Meraphar's palace, where the Gold Knights couldn't reach them. She went into her study, with the intent of going to sleep after a long week of being in command of the Rhianonuit forces. Let Cygnus deal with those elvish cunts for a few days. She looked up and saw a man standing in her study, before her desk.

"Well, hello there," he greeted in a strange accent.

She gasped, staring stupidly at him. He seemed like some strange trick of the mind, with his rather strange features and large crown that cast a horrific shadow behind him. His eyes were hypnotic, all black with a ring of hazel that looked like fine amber. The fact he had no eyelids made them more so.

Auriga couldn't help but stare, and he started laughing. He couldn't help it. "Oh my," he breathed through his chuckles. His sharp teeth were bared, looking vicious.

"What are you laughing at?" Fomalhaut demanded, unsheathing her sword. Her shock and wariness of this strange man were being eclipsed by anger. "And, who the fuck are you?"

"Forgive me, Lady Fomalhaut." He swept his arm out, and gave a graceful bow. "My name is Lord Auriga. I am the heir to the throne of Electra, across the Libra Pass. I very much wanted to meet you." His voice was warm and silky. He could hear her thoughts, how she wondered if he was using glamour, but then thought of the anti-glamour wards she had up. She wondered if he was a spy from Rhianonuit, and then processed the idea of adding him to her dungeon of horrors. But, he couldn't help the laughter again. "He really did a number on you." Auriga admired Rastaban's capacity for cruelty.

"Stop laughing at me!!" She screamed, lashing out at him with her sword, which he deftly ducked from. "Give me one reason I shouldn't separate your head from your body? How did you get in here, anyway?"

"My Lady," Auriga soothed, spreading out his hands to show he was unarmed. Little did she know that he didn't need weapons to be deadly. "Please forgive my reaction. I sought you out because we have a mutual enemy."

"What enemy?" She hissed. He saw that within her mouth, some of her teeth were rotten. Her face really was extraordinary to look at. The right side was completely hideous, melted and rotten flesh oozing cloudy pus and fluid. As she panted in her fury, the collapsed nostril flared and made a low but audible sucking noise. But, the left side of her face really was quite pretty. She had large eyes the colour of the Obella Ocean, and fine, milky skin. The blue eye was the only part of the ruined side of her face that was untouched. It made the eye look stark and mad, surrounded by such decay.

"Rastaban," Auriga said.

The single word echoed in the study, then Fomalhaut lunged at him again, her sword at his throat, pressing into the skin just above the spiked bone collar he wore. "WHERE IS HE?!" She yelled. Her breath smelled like mint, but there was a musty undertone, like an opened, ancient crypt. "WHERE IS HE?!" She demanded again, digging the blade in further. A thin line of blood welled up under the blade.

"I can help you destroy him," Auriga whispered, holding her gaze.

"Why should I believe you?" She hissed.

"Trust me, Lady Fomalhaut," Auriga murmured. Despite his freakish appearance, she felt something curl in her stomach. "I can help you kill him."

Fomalhaut narrowed her blue eyes, and slowly pulled the sword away from his throat, but kept it at the ready. "You better tell me what you know before I gut you, bub."

"I know where they've been hiding," Auriga murmured, never breaking eye contact with her. "Him and Dheneb."

"Dheneb…?' She echoed bitterly. "My so-called friends turned their backs on me for him," she muttered under her breath.

"I heard. It's awful," he lied smoothly. He only gently pressed into her mind. If he outright brainwashed her, that telepathic Witch Queen would know immediately.

Her thoughts were a roar of suspicion that warred with her anger. Auriga kept eye contact with her, which was fairly easy since he couldn't blink.

"How do you even know them?" She asked sceptically. She took a few steps back towards him, sword against his stomach. "And, don't lie or I'll gut you."

"Rastaban and Orchid went through the Libra Pass, and were hiding in Pleiades. Dheneb came after them only recently, when he escaped from Envanya."

"Envanya?" She echoed with a snort. It made her sunken nostril flare in a way that Auriga found fascinating.

"Your High Cassiopeia," he said, tongue tripping only slightly on the word. "Your Witch Queen."

Auriga had to leap back to avoid having his intestines spilled on the cold stone floor. "Blasphemer!" She shouted, lunging at him again. "You're with them, aren't you?" She slashed wildly at Auriga, who as a very skilled swordsman, could see her maniacal attacks coming a mile away even without using his telepathy. He reached out and twisted her wrist as she made a downward slash, and wrenched the sword out of her hand, twirling it so it was now pointed at its owner. She gave him a half-rotted sneer as he tapped the blade's tip under her chin.

"If I'd truly been a member of the little resistance, you would have been matching the screams of your little sore-covered guinea pig in there. Or, I could make you eat this sword." He pressed the flat of the tip harder against her chin, making her tilt her head up so she was looking into his eyes. "But, I don't wish that," he said in a very gentle voice that was incongruous compared to his appearance. "Unfortunately, you've been swindled by your Queen. She's a Witch, and has kept it secret from all her subjects."

"You come in here and claim to be from beyond the Libra Pass, then you claim that the High Cassiopeia is a filthy Witch. Why should I believe your lies?" Her blue eyes blazed with angry mania.

"Because I'm the one with the weapon pointed at you," he said simply. "Where do you think Rastaban could be hiding for so long, without you or your flunkies finding him?" He asked rhetorically. "Or, how do you explain the wind? How do you explain her long life?" Auriga may have just arrived in Durai, but these were questions that were woefully unanswered, especially to an outsider. "I think deep down, you know the truth."

"Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!" She screamed, knocking the sword away. The blade nicked the marbled, rotten skin. It oozed black and rank blood. "Tell me where Rastaban is!" She pulled out a hidden dagger from within her boot, stabbing it through Auriga's shoulder.

He only winced slightly, and chose to laugh instead. "He should be coming after me right about now," Auriga whispered. His voice sent warmth down Fomalhaut's spine. She twisted the knife in his shoulder, but didn't get the reaction of pain that she wanted. He smiled wider at her, showing more of his sharp, animalistic teeth.

"And, why would he want you?" She asked, turning the dagger again.

"I… may have tried to kill him a few times, and kind of started a war or two." He kept out the whole fact that he destroyed the magical barrier around the Libra Pass, and that he killed the ancient consciousness of a goddess. "We aren't the best of friends." Auriga cocked his head, reaching up and touching under her chin, where he'd held a weapon to only moments ago. "Look what he's done to your lovely face."

"If what you say is true, I could keep you here as a prisoner, and use you as bait." She tried to ignore how nicely he actually smelled. Masculine and spicy.

"Yes, my dear, I suppose you could." He leaned forward. "Or, I could help you. I came all this way to meet you, my Lady. I could help you get your revenge. Against all of them. Against Rastaban and Dheneb. Against everyone who looks at you in disgust. Like you're a monster, when you're the real victim. He's the one that ruined your face, and you're the one that's shunned. You did your civic duty in capturing Dheneb, but the other Gold Knights hiss about you behind your back. Lady Nebula is the one that gets all the credit," he breathed, their noses almost touching. If she hadn't been standing so close, she wouldn't have been able to hear his silky words. "Deirdre looks at you like you're a freak, too. I know you've noticed how she wrinkles her nose in disgust whenever you're around. You should be the one looking at her in disgust. She's an abomination," he whispered, scarred lips now very close to her own, which were trembling.

His words hit so close to home, and brought up all the fears she'd been living with and repressing since Rastaban had cursed her. Maybe even before. She'd always felt like the outcast out of her, Bella and Orchid. She'd been the tag-along. And, she was the tag-along again, compared to Nebula and Cygnus. And, his voice sounded so warm, inviting. This was the closest any man had willingly come to her since the curse. Maybe because he knew what it was to look like a freak. It only distantly occurred to her to wonder how his face got like that, and she didn't even consider that he might have done most of it himself.

"I can help you kill them all," Auriga said again. "If you'll let me." Her hand trembled around the dagger hilt that was still in his shoulder. He leaned down and licked up the rotten side of her face. The skin and decaying muscle squished and shifted under his tongue, the fluid tasting like rotten fruit and ashes. She gasped at the contact, shocked beyond reaction. Her hand dropped from the dagger, and she stared into his lidless black and hazel eyes, her own wide and moist with welling tears.

Auriga reached up and pulled the dagger out of his shoulder. "Damn, I just got this coat," he said, touching the ragged hole in the now bloodstained leather. He let the weapon clatter to the floor. "Will you let me help you?" He asked again, once more breaching the gap between them. She stood like a statue as his long fingers stroked through her auburn bob. He then kissed her, the rotten parts of her lips squishing against his own, oozing black blood where his sharp teeth broken the skin. Auriga smiled into the kiss as she pushed her tongue into his mouth, blood filling their mouths because of his teeth. The spiked bones of his collar clashed against the metal of her gauntlets as she reached up and touched the sides of this strange man's face. This strange, frightening, beautiful man who was actually touching her and kissing her and wasn't recoiling. He wasn't recoiling. He wasn't wrinkling his nose in disgust. He was actually kissing her back. And, he would help her kill Rastaban.

"No," she suddenly said, breaking the bloody kiss. Rivets of red were trickling from within her mouth. "I'm not some whore who will just jump into bed because a man touches her! I'm not Bella!"

"Forgive me, my Lady." Auriga humbly bowed his head. "But, you know I'm right." He made steady eye contact with her again, breaching the space between them. He stroked her hair again. He carefully soothed her thoughts of suspicion. He leaned forward and kissed her again.

She pulled away suddenly, and he wondered if he would have to give her a little more encouragement, but she started to pull at the thongs of her armour with a quickness that amused Auriga greatly. As she began to separate the gold plates, he took off his crown of bone and horns, and gently placed it on Fomalhaut's desk, as well as the spiked collar. He watched as she undressed herself from her fine armour and the cotton garments she wore underneath. The rotten blackness dribbled down her neck like the wax that dribbled down the candles on the desk. It was spotty across her shoulder, but the rest of her body was untouched, and fair of flesh. She had round, firm breasts with perky, rosy nipples, and a taut stomach.

She stepped towards him, looking up into his strange eyes. He reached out and touched her stomach, then grabbed her and slammed her into the nearest wall. She groaned as the wind was momentarily knocked out of her. He pushed her smaller body up the wall, and thrust into her without any notice, loving the gasp of pain she let out. He slammed her against the wall with each roll of his hips, his metal nails digging into her ass, smearing blood on her milky flesh. He once again licked the cursed half of her face, digging the sharp edges of his teeth into the skin. It was like biting into a rotten orange, pus oozing down her cheek and into her hair. He bit her neck, and the mound of her breast. Though he knew he was hurting her, she thrust back against him, moaning as her fingers raked up the back of his coat.

He watched her monstrous face as he fucked her. With each thrust, he knew that she was falling deeper and deeper under his spell. She would commit treason against her Queen and fellow Knights, simply for another caress, another appeal to her lost sense of vanity. She would do whatever he asked.

Everyone stood in a clustered sort-of circle centred around Dheneb. Aside from Rastaban and Orchid, they were looking at the Fire Witch nervously. Leven was nervous about winding up outdoors, and how it would affect him. Going to such a cold temperature so quickly could kill him. Dheneb had assured him earlier that he could teleport within Rhianonuit's borders, and he trusted Dheneb, but it didn't completely banish Leven's concern. He was also nervous about going back to Durai after such a long absence. He looked at Wezn's face, which was stony and remote, and at Imre, who kept his bruised face cast downward. Piper was the only one who looked remotely excited. After being an Electra slave, even the harshness of Durai must have been a dream come true for him. Piper, Leven and Dheneb carried packs with a few supplies in them, in case something went horribly wrong. Not to mention that Imre and Wezn were still injured and may need medical attention. One of Leven's birds sat on his shoulder so he'd be able to send message back home to his wife.

Dheneb only looked to Rastaban. Looking to anyone else would have made him too nervous to concentrate. Rastaban was dressed in full armour, his frightening helmet tucked under one arm. The silent nod the other man gave him made Dheneb's nerves calm, and made him feel at peace. It made him feel like he wasn't alone. All it took was that one single nod, and it worked such wonders. He gave Rastaban a very small smile, and took his hand as he closed his eyes. Anessirra's barrier may have been gone, but the Libra Pass was still a great geological wall, and teleporting this many people through it would be taxing. He slowly let his breath out, and felt Orchid's strong hand come to rest on his shoulder as he found the threads that connected him to Durai. One moment, they were in Leven's foyer, with the clean and salty smell of the sea air, and then their noses were being filled with the acrid stench of smoke.

Orchid's hand squeezed his shoulder hard, and Dheneb didn't need to open his eyes to know that something was wrong. He'd teleported within Rhianonuit just fine, but Rhianonuit herself was anything but. She was burning. She was under siege.

"Oh, Goddess," Orchid murmured, looking down to the islands of Rhianonuit. They were one of the Palace courtyards, the silence oppressive.

Everyone looked out to the blackened treetops, the smoke trapped within the elvish glass, making their eyes burn. Everyone looked at the once-beautiful city. Everyone except for Rastaban. He looked up towards the Palace, a very ugly feeling hanging in the air. "Do you feel that?" He asked Dheneb.

"Feel what?" He asked sadly, looking over his shoulder to his lover. "Shit," He swore lowly under his breath. "Rhys…"

"Huh?" He narrowed his eyes at the strange way Dheneb was staring at him. "What? You mean you really can't feel that?" He asked with mounting worry.

"Your eyes," Dheneb murmured. Wezn looked over and jerked in surprise. Rastaban's blue eyes had turned completely opaque. It wasn't the slight deadness that had shown through in Pleiades. His pupils constricted when he looked towards a light source, but his irises looked like he'd been dead for days.

"Get towards the palace," Orchid suddenly snapped, drawing her rapier. "I hear footsteps."

Imre looked up when he heard them too, not long before a loud mortar explosion rocked through the chilly silence, a stone fountain exploding behind them.

"Orchid, Rastaban, you too," Dheneb commanded, watching as Rastaban put his helmet on. The mourningstones roared louder than they ever had before. Durai was a dying land, Rhianonuit a war zone, and it put Rastaban's powers into overdrive. Another explosion rocked the courtyard, just ahead of where Dheneb was standing. With the whispers of the mourningstones all around him, Rastaban could feel the ominous presence in the air even more clearly. He only briefly checked to see that Dheneb had everything in hand, and then tore up the split stairs that led up to two grand doors. He barged through them, into the quiet of one of the palace's solariums. It was deserted, and there looked like there'd been a grand battle here. Part of the glass ceiling was shattered, and there were dried pools of blood on the floor. He climbed a wide staircase, only distantly hearing Orchid and Leven calling after him. With each step, he knew why Dheneb hadn't been able to feel this strange magical energy. It was a ghost, and he couldn't feel that stuff.

"Stay back!" Rastaban shouted, climbing the stairs faster. Something Dheneb said earlier to him was now echoing in his mind. Why Deirdre wanted to keep Salius away from her. Because he was possessed by Morutsuyo.

"Halt!" Two elvish guards commanded as he came to what looked like a blockade.

"Get out of my way," Rastaban commanded. The way they looked at him with complete confusion and horror made him wonder if he was speaking in the language of the dead. Though they'd never be able to understand it, elves were more in tune to things like that than other races. "Now!" He shouted. They jerked and parted for him, holding their weapons tightly and staring at him like he was some mythical monster suddenly sprung to life. He'd never felt such a malevolent force from a spirit before. He could also feel the pull of a great magical presence. A Witch, and it was a cool, unfamiliar feeling. It wasn't Dheneb.

"Halt!" One of the guards cried again. They began to chase after Rastaban, but were stopped by a command in the Rhianon tongue. They looked over their shoulders to see the sight of Lady Orchid running towards them, trailed by a small group of people. They saw with shock that one was a menacing looking riikarra, and one was the father of Dheneb Azi-Daehar. Both their pictures were plastered all over the burned out city by the Gold Knights, father and son both wanted by the High Cassiopeia for suspicion of treason.

"My Lady…!" One of the guards exclaimed, dumbfounded.

"Stop right there!" The other guard commanded to the riikarra, drawing his blade on the large creature.

"You will lower your weapon. Now," Orchid's cold steel voice cut over them.

"Yes, My Lady." They did, but looked at the riikarra warily.

"Where is Lord Meraphar?" She asked.

"Oh… Oh, my Lady Orchid." The guards looked at each other sadly. "Lord Meraphar is dead."

Orchid let out her breath like she'd been punched. "Dead?" Leven echoed, horrified. "Oh, Anessirra…"

"Lady Hraza is on the throne now."

"Take me to her," Orchid commanded. She looked over her shoulder as Dheneb came up behind them, looking disgusted with himself. She knew he must have had to kill those men, lest they prematurely give away that he was in Durai again. She was certain that even though they would have meant Dheneb great harm, he would have made their deaths instantaneous. One spell to ease them to death, rather than make them suffer as they would have made him suffer.

"Where's Rastaban?" Dheneb asked. When the guards gestured for Orchid to follow them down a different hallway, Dheneb halted. He could feel something in the air. "There's another Witch here," he muttered.

"You mean besides Rastaban?" Piper asked, looking down the quiet hallway that Dheneb was now staring so intently down.

"Is it Deirdre?" Orchid asked, getting her blade ready.

"Don't follow me," Dheneb said sternly, walking down the hallway alone. His skin cast shadows on the finely papered walls.

"Orchid!" A voice called from behind them. Bella came running down the hallway, one of the guards leading her.

Orchid sheathed her rapier, and threw her arms around her friend when Bella practically tackled her into a hug. The guards were now staring at Imre in wonder. They only just noticed now that he was an elf, or at least half-elf. He still kept his eyes down, but he could feel their stares. While he was elvish, he didn't look like a Rhianonuit elf at all, so his appearance was even stranger to them than Leven's.

"Thank the Goddesses," Orchid murmured, kissing Bella on both cheeks, a rare display of the strong feelings for her friend. "They said that Grandfather…"

"It's true, my dear."

Orchid looked beyond Bella to Hraza, who was standing beside an almost unrecognizable Vega. "Grandmother…"

"Come here, my dear." The new Queen of Rhianonuit gracefully spread out her arms and collected her granddaughter in a hug.

"Reverend Azi-Daehar…" Florian trailed off. "Dheneb!" He exclaimed. "Is he…?"

"He went down that hallway," Leven said, pointing.

Bella and Florian jerked. In the commotion, they hadn't noticed Leven, as hard as that was to believe. He was like a wall of black scales and hard muscle. He spoke with a commanding, rumbling voice, lilted by a strange accent they'd never heard before.

"Forgive me," Leven apologized. "I am Mahleev Leven, a friend of Lord Meraphar…" He trailed off sadly.

"Leven! You're Leven!" Bella exclaimed. "Yes, we read a letter between you and Meraphar. Dheneb is here?"

"He said he could feel the presence of a Witch, and that we shouldn't follow."

"Deirdre?" Hraza asked, her face now cold and emotionless, showing the family resemblance to her granddaughter.

"He did not say, Your Grace. But, he said it was someone besides Rastaban."

Florian stared at the riikarra in wonder at the mention of his old friend's name. He couldn't even utter words. There was a sudden loud bang that caused everyone who carried a weapon to unsheathe it.

Leven gripped his wicked machetes and started to walk in the direction Dheneb disappeared. Orchid, Florian, Hraza and Bella all moved to follow, but he stopped them. "I am the most resistant to magic, being riikarra. Stay at a good distance behind me. You guards should stay here with Her Highness."

Rastaban walked with great purpose towards this feeling, unaware of the people watching him. He had tunnel vision, seeking only the source of this unnatural power. He found himself walking down a familiar hallway, and sudden horror struck him. The feeling was coming from the room Kikimora had been occupying when he'd last been in the palace two years ago. Everything clicked into place immediately. This feeling was Morutsuyo's spirit. He, like Anessirra, had been able to project his consciousness after death because he had such a strong magical energy. And, because he'd been able to body-jump, he'd thrust his consciousness into Kikimora, during his and Dheneb's fight on the islands off the coast of Riarras.

Under his helmet, Rastaban's eyes narrowed in confusion. There was a definite Witch presence, but there was no Witch to be found. The only being in the hallway was a white dog, pacing in front of the closed door to Kikimora's room. It was snarling and pawing at the door. Rastaban heard some sort of commotion behind him, but his focus was only on the power in that closed room. The dog's head cocked, and it looked away from the door, flattened ears perking up. It stared at Rastaban with eyes that were blind and milky white, and shrank back in fear.

Suddenly, the door to the closed room burst open like there was a bomb within it. Ugly, dead magic wafted out, and the dog growled again. It dashed into the room, but was flung out again. The dog hit the other side of the hall with a startling crack, whimpering loudly. Rastaban looked into the room, and saw Kikimora's tiny frame standing in the middle. She was looking angrily at the twitching dog, who was trying to stand on a broken leg. When her eyes landed on Rastaban, the anger became fear. In Kikimora's body, Morutsuyo must not have been able to sense the presence of another Witch, and must have been reacting to the growling and scratching noises the dog had been making.

Rastaban felt Dheneb's familiar warmth nearby. "Get back!" He shouted in Witch language. Kikimora floated out of the room and into the hallway, with weirdly disjointed motions, like she was a marionette. Her eyes were glowing like neon, a rainbow of colour. Morutsuyo, looking out through Kikimora's eyes, looked over to Dheneb, and the dog, and smiled. "He'll try to body jump. Get out of here!" Rastaban shouted angrily. Morutsuyo tried to abandon his former fiancée's body, but found he couldn't get past a wave of black Xarastar magic.

"Salius…?" Dheneb questioned, calling to the dog. He could feel the cold presence of a Magdalena Natural mage, and knew instantly that the dog was he. The dog had a broken leg, and was whimpering and crying out, trying to lunge at Kikimora. Dheneb used his telekinesis to pull the dog towards him and out of harm's way. The dog tried to bite him when he wrapped his arms around the soft white fur, but Dheneb wouldn't let him go. "Stop," Dheneb soothed in Witch language. "Stop. I won't hurt you."

Rastaban kept Morutsuyo from transporting his consciousness with a spirit wall. It was very similar to a curse wall, but it worked solely on dead energy. Kikimora looked like she was also fighting the possession, and Morutsuyo really had no chance against a Witch of Xarastar. After all, he was a ghost, and Xarastar controlled all dead energy. Kikimora started screaming as Rastaban pressed power into her body. Her scream was echoed with the undercurrent of Morutsuyo's voice, two people screaming at once. Behind Rastaban, Dheneb was still struggling with the dog. It transformed in his arms into Salius, who immediately started struggling both physically and magically. As a dog, he must not have been able to perform magic, but it had kept him safe from Deirdre. He screamed obscenities and gibberish at Dheneb, blinding white magic pouring from his skin. Dheneb had to use all his physical and magical strength to keep Salius and all his mania pinned down. He had to resort to his telekinesis to press down on a pressure point on Salius's neck to knock him out.

Dheneb panted as he crawled out from under Salius's dead weight, Kikimora still screaming. The hallway was engulfed in blinding white light, and he had to thrown his arm in front of his face to avoid having his eyes burned out. Kikimora's screaming was breaking his heart. He could hear footsteps running down the hall towards them, and then Kikimora's screams abruptly stopped. The light vanished, leaving everything very dark. Dheneb looked down into Salius's face, which was blank in unconsciousness. The man was breathing normally, and seemed fine. Dheneb took off his wool over cloak and covered Salius's nude body with it before standing to go over to Rastaban, who was crouched in front of Kikimora.

"Is she okay?" Dheneb asked quietly in the Witch tongue, putting a hand on the cold metal shoulder of Rastaban's armour.

"I don't know. She's breathing fine, and her pulse is steady. But, I don't know if it could have done something to her. A healer will have to look at her. What about Salius?"

"Unconscious. I feel bad about knocking him out, though."

"I guess you were right," Rastaban murmured, slowly rising to his feet. "About him being alive. I should have learned by now never to question you."

"Aw, well the important thing is that you learned your lesson, right?" Dheneb gently teased. He then looked over his shoulder to see Leven gesturing for Imre to check on Salius. Wezn crouched beside him, while Piper came with an elvish healer to inspect Kikimora. As he passed, Dheneb ruffled his dark hair with a brotherly kind of affection, though he was looking at Bella and Florian, smiling in relief.

Rastaban also looked behind him, reaching up to take off his frightening helmet. His long hair snaked out from underneath, looking very pale against the darkness of his armour. The shock on his face at seeing Florian's appearance was mirrored in Florian's face, at how Rastaban looked. Piper and the elvish healer carried Kikimora back into her room, while Florian slowly approached his old friend, who seemed so imposing with his dead eyes, demonic armour, and the muted starlight that burned under his skin. The power that rolled off him felt icy and raw.

Bella came forward and wrapped her strong arms around Dheneb. "We were so worried," she whispered into his ear.

"Where's Meraphar?" Dheneb asked, looking behind her and not seeing the elvish king.

"He died," she murmured.

Dheneb had warned Rastaban that Florian had lost a tremendous amount of weight, but his appearance was still horrifying. Florian had always been healthy, and taken particular care of his body. To see him looking so wan, with his cheekbones protruding dramatically and his wrists looking tiny and delicate, was shocking.

"You should have seen me before," Florian muttered, seeing the look on his old friend's face. "So… you… you really are a Witch. I-I mean Natural Mage. Sorry."

Rastaban quickly caught Florian up in a hug, feeling all his bones, even with all the sweaters the other man was wearing. He felt like he was going to crush that skinny ribcage. The embrace was hard and cold because of the armour, and even though his eyes and skin held new and powerful magic, it still felt the same as it always had. Even back when they were little kids. Rastaban still smelled like the expensive cologne he liked, and that his father had worn before him, mingled with the smell of rich pipe tobacco. The smell of it strangely brought tears to Florian's eyes.

He laughed quietly, embarrassed that he was getting so choked up. He looked into Rastaban's pale, opaque eyes. "How did you get here?" He asked, wiping tears off his sunken cheeks with his hands, covered by a pair of mittens Bella knit for him.

Rastaban briefly looked over Dheneb, giving him a small wink as he thought of when he'd recently asked the other Witch that very same question. Dheneb pursed his lips in bittersweet amusement. "It's a long story," Rastaban answered.