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Chapter Text

"And darling,
The ruins of a civilization,
Are written in your eyes ;
In your breath, the curses of the witches who burned."

                                             *

The field burns like a stack of paper. It curls and writhes around, its back on fire, piercing deep into its skin, cradling the blood and flesh its burned with charred fingertips. The night behind it lights up with an eerie red glow, angry hordes of ghosts tearing into it with disfigured limbs, splitting bones and organs, and filling up the silence with hisses.

The fire burns like madmen from hell, let loose unto open ; or like swarms of locusts in late autumn, descending in fleets over freshly ripened wheat. It licks and frothes at the mouth on the prospect of gobbling up everything around. It eats and eats, till the golden heads of crops turn black, and the roots catch the orange streaks of flames, disappearing into loose ground dust of ashes in a few minutes time.

Overhead, the birds circle, woken up untimely from their sleep, as they flap their wings restlessly, screeching out to each other in distress and warning. Owls, swoop in, moving like hungry predators, fishing for the rodents that keep running out of their burrows in fear and confusion.

Some of them, are chased away by the sticks and stones the hot blooded youths from the village throw at the men, standing across the fields, their dresses black, and faces iron still, looking ahead at the fields without any emotion. Some of the older men hold back the youths, yelling curses and frantic requests to help fetch more water.

To the edge of the fields, right where the village begins, rests the Dark Lake. Men, stood by its banks, lining up, and carrying out large wooden buckets filled to the brim with the cold, roily water over the wooden footbridge leading to the fields, throwing them into the fire that kept hissing in response, showing no signs of receeding.

Even in middle of the chaos, one particular figure, of a man in his early thirties, stood out. He had a red cloak wrapped around his shoulders, as he shouted orders and ran up and down the length of the bridge. He held a torch in his hands, even though the night barely had any bits of herself left from the bright, invading flames all around ; as if refusing to borrow the light from something that was destroying them. In his neck, over the cloak, rested a single moon shaped silver necklace, kind of out of place to the rest of his being.

"Faster, faster! With this pace, we can save the eastern fields! We need to stop the fire, then with so many of us present here, I'll see how those freaks from the manor dare harm our lands again!"

Around him, from somewhere, and old man cried. "Just stop it, Dika! With things gone so far already, what can you do? Our fields are burning!"

"Will we simply let them kill our entire year's blood and sweat like this?"

No voice protested. The answer was right in front of them. Who can fight it, when the gods call upon the fates of death, famine and fires?

The sound of the crackling fire grew louder and louder, stronger than the screams and sobs of men and women who were watching their entire lives burn right in front of their eyes.

"Everything is over, everything is over! What will we eat?"

"Mom, do you hear it? Mom! All our crops are burning mom, what do I do? How do I pay for your medicine, Mom!"

"Gods, have mercy, have mercy! What curses have we called, which angels have we offended!"

"Someone! Stop this madness. Bring water. Break the lake, break the lake! No don't! That'll kill us all! But what is the use of living on? Everything is gone already, what is the use of living on?"

A little boy, about eight or nine, stood behind the old hornbeam tree, guarded from the heat of the spreading fire, and the growing wails of pain. A few old, dry pines formed a wall, cutting off the view of the boy from the banks of the Dark Lake.

He stared at the fire, his eyes wide and clear, reflecting the orange light and the heat, as his little fists curled around themselves. He could not yet understand what was happening, but if it got all the village crying and begging, it must be something horrible.

He had been to the fields sometimes, after Sunday classes. He was not yet required to help out, his weak hands and legs were of no use with the shovels and ploughs, so he could only sit at the edge of the enclosures and watch as the older brothers from the village worked, their muscles shining in the light layers of sweat on their back, their face tight with labour, but eyes gleaming with hope.

Sometimes, they would jokingly throw hay at each other, and run after the youngs of the cattle, then lie down in middle of the fields, soaking up on the wet earth.

If the fields burned, does it mean there will no longer be a place to play?

The boy felt a little sad. Ofcourse the elders were crying, they just lost their playground.

Suddenly, a voice called out loudly. "Aye! What are you doing there?"

The boy looked up. At the edge of the bridge, a woman had came out, her head covered in a black wimple of mourning. From this far the boy could see that her face had turned a shade of ghastly white, her voice bordering on the line of hysteria, as she restlessly called.

"Aye! Come back here this instant!"

The boy felt a little alarmed, answering back eagerly, so as to not anger the woman further. "Mama! I was here to watch the fire, I will come back now!"

But when he turned to take a step back, suddenly, he could no longer move. Somehow, in the little time he had looked away from the trees, the dry pines had caught the flames from the fields, and were now, burning. The branches, naked and black, stretched out their fingers like hungry goblins, ready to snatch meats and bones from the little bit of life left around it.

He took a step back, a crooked fear stepping into his spine, turning his body inert.

The orange flames danced over the branches, spreading too fast, the dehydrated stem pulling it in in a self destructive desire ; it jumped from bough to bough, landing quickly onto the hornbeam tree as well.

This time, the tree could no longer keep the heat away.

The boy shouted, his skin warming uncomfortably from the proximity to the fire. "Mama!"

The woman screamed from her spot, raw terror weighing down on her voice, making it sound shrunken, empty. "Aye! Aye darling! My boy! Why are you still there, come to Mama!"

The boy tried to move, but the fire swung dangerously overhead, the branches hanging up by nothing but charred, porous wood, that could crack open at any time. He felt the fear, frost cold, as his body heated up more and more. It was getting hard to breathe.

"Aye! Son!"

The fumes were dark, coming off with flying bits of ash and dust, floating in the air like demented dead corpses of fireflies. All around him, the fire danced, maddened and drunk, eager like a hungry, hungry demoness, ready to take her first sacrifice.

"Mama!" He shouted again, before feeling the soot get into his mouth. It burned his nose, making him cough out furiously, as his eyes turned red, watering from the strength of the sour smell.

The sound of the fire grew louder and louder, till he could not hear the distant cries and shouts from the village anymore, and his mother's desperate pleas and calls, were buried under the crackles of wood and flames. He coughed and coughed, his stomach hurting, and he could no longer tell whether the tears in his eyes were from the pain that was being or the one that was impending.

Somewhere around him a loud crash sounded, a branch from the dry pines breaking off, falling into the ground with flames all over it ; letting them spill onto the ground, over the thick layers of dry, autumn leaves.

Highly inflammable autumn leaves.

It made his head spin, in fear and in suffocation.

The boy stared in horror and pure terror as the fire crawled over into the ground, the leaves catching the flames quickly. It approached, a step at a time, dragging its feet over the ground like a predator stalking a prey it had already trapped.

There was a silhoutte across the fire. A man.

He let out a piercing scream, the most desperate of his voices blindly calling out to the person he trusted the most. "Papa! Papa!"

The fire roared furiously, as if offended by his call. It hissed and stepped forward, burning, burning, burning. Everything. Everyone.

Like his father. Aye blinked.

His father was dead. That's why his mom wore black wimples, and their things were thrown out of their father's house. His father laid in a grave far far away from here. He will not come to save him from this monster.

Aye watched as the flames rose higher and higher, his skin reddening, and beads of thick, grimy sweat rolling off of his neck. He parted his lips, letting out a loud, helpless sob, before he felt his legs move all of a sudden, and soon, he was up in the air, feet far from the burning ground, suspended mid height. He found himself cradled against a cool chest, a layer of rough fabric resting against his head. Over the chest, rising and falling in the after effects of adrenaline, a silver moon necklace rested.

Uncle Dika.

The man looked down at him, his eyes red. "Ayan. You are safe." A thin sheen of moisture burned in his eyes, from the raw concern and fear. It made him look vulnerable. It reminded Ayan of his father.

Uncle Dika was not like his father. He was alive, Aye could hear his heart beat fast, and feel his breath on his crown. It felt like the touch of the old priest in the sunday church of his father's home ; before he died. Before his mother moved him back to her village, with her brother. This touch meant positive.

"It's a blessing, my child. I wish you blessed happiness." The priest had said. Dika's hold, feels like the blessing.

Aye stretched out a shaking hand, clumsily gripping onto the moon, letting its cool touch comfort his over heated fingers. He closed his eyes and snuggled into the pair of strong, securing arms ; he hadn't felt this safe in a while.

His uncle sushed him. "Don't worry, you are safe. We'll go to your mother now, okay?"

Aye nodded softly, tucking himself closer. Uncle Dika smelled like his mother.

The fire seemed to shrink in presence of his uncle, but it still roared and hissed and the branches still shook, minutes apart from crashing. The ground too, glowed red with heat.

Dika cursed, the words low enough to be meant for his ears alone, but they still reached Aye. He giggled. Uncle Dika looked down at him, the ghost of a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"Alright scamp. Hold on tight, okay?"

With that, he clutched onto Aye's figure tightly before launching straight into the middle of the dry pine trees, expertly sidestepping the fire as he rushed towards the footbridge. Aye tightly held the necklace, counting the moments while wrapped up in the arms of his uncle.

Soon, he'll be with his mother. He will be safe.

Dika crossed the first few trees without much trouble. When he reached the ones immediately next to the footbridge, he stopped.

From here, the village was visible. Ayan's mother rushed to the edge of the footbridge, followed by a few village men.

"Aye! Dika!"

Aye called out eagerly.

"Mama! Mama!"

Dika casually smiled a little, hoping his sister could see it through the smoke. When he tried to look at his sister, all he could see was the desperate hope in her eyes. She had already lost her husband. He could not let her lose her son too.

He tightened his hold on his nephew and concentrated on finding a way out. As quickly as possible, before the fire could spread out of the fields and into the village. He had to reach the Dark Lake. He had to convince the headman to confront the manor. He had to go back. Everybody was waiting there for him.

The fire had started gobbling down the roots of a dry pine nearby and the tree was dangerously swinging in the air. It looked too risky to go anywhere near. Dika frantically looked around, the fire on the ground catching up to his feet. Next to the tree, another large hornbeam tree stood, similar to the one Aye had found himself under. It was large and bushy, and the fire had only reached its upper branches, leaving many branches underneath unscathed. If the dry pine crashed, at least, this tree could take the hit for them. In a split second, the man decided to use it as a shelter as he readjusted the child in his arms.

"Hold on tightly, Ayan. We are going to go under the tree."

He shrunk his figure in, squeezing his shoulders together and bending his back, before going under the tree. He quickly crossed half the path, before looking back to check the dry pine. Fortunately, it had not fell over.

Dika sighed in relief, turning to look back.

Aye felt the sigh hit his forehead, moving his sweaty, grimy fringes lightly as he tightened his hold onto the silver moon. His body had finally started to relax, as he stared at his mother's face ; watching in confusion as her eyes turned from hopeful to horrified.

Then suddenly, Aye was up in the air again, feeling himself be jerked free from the hold and be thrown out forward. For a moment he wondered if he was going to die like this, as a frantic plea rang into the night.

"Save him!"

Aye closed his eyes in fear, a raw white warning bell ringing all over his body, making it shake. A moment, or two, then a pair of arms caught him.

It smelled like fire and tobacco, unfamiliar. Aye opened his eyes right at the moment he heard a blood curdling crash echo out behind him, followed by his mother's pained scream ; a  wordless, pure sound of agony.

Ayan looked back, his eyes wide as he watched the upper branches of the hornbeam collapse, carrying the fire on them, as they crashed through the lower boughs and bough wings, making the tree topple under its own weight, right where his uncle stood.

Uncle Dika, his mother's younger brother. His uncle who had jumped into the fire to save him.

All around him, he heard screams and wails, and his mother's desperate calls as she leaned over the footbridge, crying helplessly for someone, anyone to save her brother.

There were thuds of footsteps all around. Men gathering together, running here and there, some carrying water, some rushing towards the trees.

Ayan took a step back. The man who had caught him had long since got up and left, joining the searchers as they walked towards the burning trees.

Uncle Dika was inside the trees. The trees, had already started to turn into ashes.

Ayan felt a sudden nausea break through his stomach as he crashed onto the floor of the footbridge, throwing up violently against it, as his stomach twisted. He tasted acid, sour and bitter, spitting out his last meal and the disgusting taste of fire and human flesh.

Ayan was responsible. Ayan had lured his uncle into the fire.

He picked a shaking hand upto his mouth, wiping off the vomit from his lips as his head throbbed, the world changing colours around him ; black, white, red, orange. Orange. When he moved his hand back, he suddenly felt a sting on his palm.

Slowly, he opened it, his eyes empty as they looked at the small, broken silver moon hidden inside his palm. He had held it so tight, his uncle's final push had made it tear off of the necklace.

Around it, clots of blood appeared. Ayan had held it so tight he had stabbed himself with the broken, sharp edge of the moon.

He stared at it, watching the drop of blood slowly roll down his skin, gathering on top of the moon, staining it pure red ; so dark, it appeared almost black.

The colour of death.

Aye closed his eyes, his breath shaking, and let out a scream. It ran across the night like an arrow, striking its ribs, and breaking them apart, one by one, till nothing but a span of emptiness was left.

It kissed the feet of the men on horses, dressed in black, standing at the edge of the field. Yet, not even a single hem of their dresses moved, as they stood, like reapers, watching over a dying, aching man.

At the head of the team, a man stood, watching the scene at the footbridge with nothing but contempt in his eyes. He let out a smirk. That's one voice of dissent pulled down successfully.

The sound of men, and a child weeping, echoed through the air, letting the night mourn, loud and quiet, carrying the ashes of a dying hope around in its rigid arms.

The fire kept burning.
      
                                       *

The carriage rolled to a halt rather abruptly. The wheels creaked out loudly in complaint, the iron frame in an urgent need of oiling. Inside the carriage, the lamps had been dimmed, and a silk curtain stood barrier between the window and the couch.

Two men sat inside, one, with his legs stretched forward, resting impishly on the convenience table set up on the other edge of the carriage, where usually, another seat would be present. One look at the carriage could however, make it clear that it was different from the ordinary ones in the town, stinking badly of riches that was too much to be cared for ; spilled casually all over something simple as this - in the barnish of the mahogany wooden interior, and the ivory lining of the window frame. The man tapped his foot against the sleek tea wood table, letting the iron bottom of his shoes make a continuous clicking noise. It was somewhat irritating. He wore a stiff white collar scarf around his neck, tied together by a glowing moonstone. From his appearance, it was easy to guess that he was not one of the commoners.

He scoffed. "What again? This is the third time the carriage stopped in the past hour, all for those blunderbusses. Once someone wants to go drink water, then the horse is too tired, then after someone else dropped a bag. What now? What it is this time? Who died?"

The group, was all in all, not cohesive at all. It was made up of the men in the carriage,  escorted by four other armed men on horseback, and for quite some time, all of them had been a little at loggerheads with each other.

They had set out from Brooksville quite early, so as to avoid being on road for too long after sun down. But the sun had set at least an hour back, and they were still nowhere near the town of Stoughtgate. The manor was still far from Stoughtgate, at least three more miles deep steeping almost near the western cinnamon woods. All in all, it did not seem like they would reach the manor anytime before late morning.

More over, they had not stopped for food on the way, out of fear for highway robbers and reckless animals ; and now naturally, everyone was a little irritable.

Inside the carriage, both the men looked rather pale, the day's journey, cooped up inside the carriage had clearly taken a bit of their complexion. The noble man sat impatiently, scowling heavily at nothing in particular.

The other man's posture was rather stiff, as he restlessly looked around. In comparison to his companion, his outfit was quite simple, and the only thing of notice in his body was probably his face. It carried a strange mix of a ruggest, coarse beauty that reached a sugary softness in his doe eyes, clear and innocent, shining with a kind of virtue and dedication only the youth possessed. There was something delicate about him despite his rough bearing.

He made to stand up a few times, drawing an irritated scowl from the other man. "What's wrong with you, Akk, can't sit still?"

The doe eyed man, or "Akk", let out a scoff, without bothering to answer. He finally gave up on sitting, crouching to stand inside the carriage and stalking upto the door. Then, he called out loudly. "What's wrong there, Coachman?"

No answer however, came.

The night was quiet. From somewhere in the distance, the sound of ruffling winds floated in, dry leaves carried over by the gale scratching the wooden doors of the carriage.

Then, a knock sounded out from the driver's side, and a voice shouted out. "There's a man here, Master Kan. Looks injured! He is lying on the middle of the road. We can not progress."

Although the question was asked by Akk, the answer addressed Kan, the one with a clearly superior status. Kan looked over at Akk, frowning a little. Akk however, did not seem to mind. He leaned back, appeased as he whispered to Kan. "This time it's not them, at least. It's somebody else completely."

The Coachman shouted again. "Should we kick him off the road, Sir? He is delaying our journey forward."

Kan snorted. Then, he called out. "Injured you say? Are you not human beings you dogheads? Go check out what's wrong with him. We have already had our journey delayed by absolute nonsense, let us be a little late this time for a good cause. "

The Coachmen responded with a loud yes, before going silent once again. From the distance, the sound of murmurs came into the carriage through the thick wooden walls.

Akk looked at Kan, with an eyebrow raised. "Why this sudden act of grace?"

Kan offered a badly twisted smile, that looked more like a grimace than what it was intended to be. "My back hurts man, I could use a break from the road. Let them tend the ailed, while I tend my own ailment ; you get both merits from a good deed, and even some needed pain relief."

Akk shook his head, a resigning smile breaking out into his face. "My brother, my brother. Who let you be a revenue collector? You were meant to be a concubine. Just wrap yourself up in silk and pillows and hide yourself in the lord's bedroom, you are too delicate even to travel in a stagecoach carriage!"

Kan cackled in response, raising his voice high, and fluttering his eyelids very dramatically. "Why my lord, should I suffer like this in your presence! You, the great chief of guards of the grand baronet is my patron! Is it fair for this fair lady to suffer this pain then! This beauty of mine was not meant for something so brute! It is I, who has called upon ill fate and drowned my own fortunes in vices of hard labour! It is an insult to my grace to toil and sweat like this!"

Akk could not longer bear the words and started laughing, open mouthed with his head rolled back, the sound filling the carriage with a sugary, crisp break from the silence.

Kan shook his head, watching the man laugh with a pleasant look on his own eyes. "You can laugh all you want, but basically that is what this arrangement is. I am the petite weak revenue collector of the manor, and you, the strong, mighty chief of the manorial guards, who has been assigned for my protection with your men!"

Akk snorted, his body still shaking from the laughter. "Your protection or the protection of the coins you have stuffed inside the carriage, rascal! Seems like your lord does not care about his concubine at all, but about the gold she carries around!"

Kan rolled his head back, laughing loudly, as he tapped his foot on the table top again. Under it, a thick iron chest sat, locked up with a chain and a huge padlock. "This is to me what beauty is to a young concubine. It is precious for my lord, you hear?"

Then he laughed at his own joke again, seemingly heavily amused, all signs of the previous irritation completely gone from his handsome face.

The soft murmurs outside the carriage had long since been steering further away, the men clearly taking the master's advice and going forward to check on the injured man.

Air, rustled through the leaves, and left a string of noises, unpleasant, when they melted with the sound of crickets, and nightly insects, with buzzing wings and shrill voices, tearing off the otherwise thick silence of the road. The hooves of the horses had formed a rhythm ; a constant click clack of iron against soil that had now quietened down, and left and uncomfortable absence behind.

Kan easily stirred from it, feeling impatient in the inertia that had started to collect on the carriage walls. His body had grown used to movement through out the day, and the sudden recission made him feel uneasy.

He looked back at Akk, who had by now, his eyes closed, resting snugly against the velvet couches. "What injury do you think a man can have in middle of the highway?"

Akk turned his head, not bothering to move his body. "Why should I know?"

Kan shook his head. "Think about it. Did he get attacked by an animal? Was he sick? How did he hurt himself? Did he get attacked by robbers?"

At that exact moment, from the distance, the sound of a horse neighing loudly rang out. Akk's eyes shot open immediately. He straightened up, hand reaching for the sword in his belt as he turned to look at his companion. "What was that sound?"

Kan frowned, immediately straightening up, his face sobering instantly. He took his foot down from the table, reaching into his belt to pull out a sword from behind. The blade gleamed in the dim light of the lamp, the silver sheen shining like the tongue of a hungry predator ; cold poison.

Kan crawled out from his seat, following the other man closely to sit behind him. He raised an eyebrow, and looked at the other man with questions in his eyes. His companion slowly put up a hand, gesturing Kan to be silent.

Then, he flattened his ear back into the door, staying in position for a few minutes before nodding desolutely. Akk stared at the door for a while before he slowly whispered. "Why is it so silent? If they had gone to tend an injured person should they not be done by now?"

Kan parted his lips, searching for a response he could not find. Instead, he nodded. "Something very wrong is happening here."

Akk looked at him, about to agree, when the door behind him suddenly violently jerked open. The force of it was strong enough to send him back flying into the couch, the wood splintering behind him as his elbow crashed onto the arm rests, making him gasp in pain.

Almost immediately, he felt his hands being grabbed, and twisted behind his back, a rope expertly being wrapped around his wrists and something thick and smelly being thrown onto his head ; an old sack that was probably used to store garlic ; covering it up completely till he could not see.

An ambush.

Akk cursed.

From somewhere inside the carriage Kan shouted. "What is the meaning of this?"

A voice laughed out nearby, and some more joined in, with muted snickers and brays. A thick voice scorned. "The meaning is that you troopers are no better than fumbling idiots. "

Kan roared in protest. "Let me go you bastard! I'll show you what an idiot looks like!"

From behind Akk, a pleasant voice rang out. "Quite like you, Sir. I'd think that the manor's guards would be smarter than stopping on the way for an injured person in middle of nowhere, conveniently lying to block their path, but turns out your brains are too foggy from licking the boots of your master."

Akk felt his ears heat up. Before he could stop himself, he had already spoken. "Mind your words, ruffian!"

The voice spoke near Akk, close enough that he could feel the distant ripples of his breath. "Hate seeing your stupidity be discussed in the open, boy? Fear not, we don't fancy talking about it either. We are here for a tiny little task. As soon as we are done with it, we will leave."

Then, he called out to someone. "You! Bring out the chest, these young masters must be tired from being tied up, let's hurry along."

The noise of the chest being dragged against the wood, followed.

Akk felt a helpless anger rising in him as he thrashed around. "Don't you dare touch it! It's Lord Chadok's property, don't you know that?"

The voice laughed a little, the sound high and raspy, leaving goosebumps on Akk's skin. It sounded like a haunting, something not meant to be carelessly hearkened on human tongue.

"Oh dear, did nobody tell you? It is precisely because I know it's Lord Chadok's property that I dare take it away."

The laughter followed again, leaving chills down Akk's spine. Suddenly, he felt a spark of terror dance down his bones, his limbs losing weight as his figure shrank. "You!" His voice shook as he asked. "Who are you?"

The man laughed again, pleasant, amused. "That's for you to find out, little lackey. But this is all you'll get for today, I am in a bit of a rush after all. Your men have been knocked out with frog poison needles for a short time, I need to run before they wake up."

Akk jerked his body, wriggling the ties as he tried, desperately, to at least take off the bag. "Scoundrel! I will punish you, you won't get away with this."

The man only laughed louder, a few of the other men he seemed to have brought around with him joining him. One of them joked. "This one's got the spirit, brothers!"

For a while all Akk heard was snickers and chortles, before suddenly, the voice he had been chasing whispered, right into his ears, the breath hitting his skin through the loose twine of the garlic sack.

"Sure, Sir. "

He laughed.

"Catch me if you can."

Then, like the wind, Akk felt a gust blow against his skin, and heard a mob of footsteps scrambling away.

Kan shouted after them, "Bloody fools! Rascals! We'll find you! All of you will be in the prison! This is a robbery! The baron will not forgive you!"

Nothing but distant silence answered him, as Kan roared in absolute anger. "I'll kill them, I'll kill them all. Who do they think they are? Who even are they?"

Akk bit his lips, drawing blood as the anger burned, white and red, throbbing down the pulses of his head as he cursed our loud, his shoulders finally, finally shagging.

Behind him, where the man had spoken near his ears, the air, smelled of warm sunshine.

"Catch me if you can."

Akk thought. "I will."

Chapter Text

Autumn, is a messy, wet finger print against the window pane. It leaves behind sticky patches of cold mist, and an air that strikes the bones with sharp, wooden lashes at midnight, and warms up the stone walls with a dry heat during day.

Rigor mortis, sets into the flesh of the year, at this time ; and lips of the streets turn blue and bone hard, the kisses left down its throat filled with bite marks and scratches, all of which that have sucked off the last bits of the breath left in the town.

The world writes its death in orange and grey. Somedays, it feels like the breath of an old dying man, is stuck in the throat of the streets, wet with disease, and feeble ; so fragile, a single touch may crack its back, and fill up its tongue with scoops of rotting blood.

All around, everything, puts on a look of mourning, and the season, sticks to Akk's head like an unhealthy reminder of everything that has yet to go wrong ; things that will inevitably go wrong.

Between his teeth, a chewed out portion of the day hangs, shabby and bland, as he tosses it around absentmindedly, trying to give it the shape of hollow words that he could chatter off to pass the evening.

Where the ballroom ends, the high glass of the window, peers into a sky, that is slowly peeling off into grey husks. The town is drying, leaves and men, all turning brown and breakable as cold nothingness brews deep under the soil, and autumn eases into winter. In the distance, there's a cloud, large and watery, looking every bit a nuisance, and a promise of something worse for the harvests than an arid land.

Akk wonders sometimes, what it takes for there to be a flood in mid autumn.

All he has seen are drizzles, and sprays of thin crusted water, with nothing but liquid, liquid, liquid, a rain so shamelessly plain, as it drains out a sky, into an orange, mismatched land.

He watched the clouds roll, cold and unforgiving, the wind it breathed blowing out loose sheets of old, dead leaves against the glass, fogging up with the evening mist. It scratched the blurred spots, and left clear lines, that dragged through messily, looking every bit unwanted as it possibly could be looking.

Behind him, the room burned.

It was hot, uncomfortable, and sticky, with music, dance, and everything that spilled away from order, and Akk's area of familiarity. It was a mess of colours, foot prints and human sweat, mixed into each other into a flashy sludge of unpleasantness. Then, there was heat.

It was too much, and too thick, and it formed scalds on Akk's tongue, and left his throat sore and dry, till he felt like drowning in a fire, with all of his nerve ends open and bleeding.

He stood near the window, thus, far enough from the crowd to not be pulled into it, yet close enough to be considered an outcast, leaving intact the shallow idea of being "one of the nobles" in the minds of the few eyes deflecting on to his figure.

At the end of the room, was a table, set up with fifteen chairs, and dishes that were too numerous for so few to eat. At its head, sat a man, his skin rough and darkened, under the dim candle light, as he slowly stirred a tall flute of wine in his left hand ; the incandescense reflecting off of the large, white moonstone sitting on its index finger. Dark blue silk rested on his shoulders as he spoke, all of the eyes on the table looking at him with utmost attention.

Akk stared at the man, watching his lips move with an old, practised eleagance as he smiled tightly, the sheen of laughter never reaching his eyes.

On his right, sat a young man, no older than Akk, with splatters of red and blue all over him, in silk and velvet, and a single pearl cross hanging from his left ear. His eyes shined ; sharp and pin pricked, as he looked at the head man, his fingers toying with a roll of ice that he rubbed on the body of an empty glass. For a second, his eyes flitted across the table, crossing the moving hordes in the middle, landing straight on Akk. The corner of his lips rose in a smirk, as he stopped his hands, only to raise them lightly in a mock salute, before turning back quickly to the table, somewhat in an exaggerated, unnecessary hurry.

Akk felt the gaze burn through his neck, forming blisters in his mouth that he could neither spit, nor swallow, the corners of it digging deep and deep into his flesh, leaving marks.

He despised this.

"Boiling, are you? Or it is a burn?"

Akk whipped his head around, turning to find the ever annoying face of Kan, standing close behind him. He looked prim and improper as always, with a little too much flair and colour than needed ; eyes too glossy and lips too red and canines too sharp when they showed through his pearly smiles.

Against his arm, rested a woman, plump and rosey, with cheeks dark from the dance or perhaps something else, that Akk would rather not know. He still greeted her, choosing to completely ignore the manace of a man in front of him.

The lady giggled shyly, tightening her white, muslin gloves, before excusing herself, leaving behind a longing stare at Kan, which he wholeheartedly returned. Once, she disappeared back into the crowd, he sighed. "

The thirst that from the soul doth rise ; Doth ask a drink divine! Come drink with me, my friend."

Akk scoffed. "You have had your thirst quenched for the night. Why pull me along?"

Kan laughed. "You are a brood, Akk. It's a lovely lovely night amidst handsome men and fair maiden, and you spend it in a corner, stealing yearning glances of the Lord's table. No sweet lady, no friend, by your side! Pray tell, is the wine sweeter there?"

Akk felt the tip of his ears heat up, a bit with irritation, but mostly with the embarrassment of being caught.  "Your eyes must be tricking you. Save those flowery words for women who will fall for them."

Kan snapped his fingers, cold, dismissing him entirely. "I'd speak words not to be spoken in civil company, but unlike you, I am not a brute. But truly Akk, why do keep staring? Is  Namo that eye catching to you?"

At that, Akk took a step back, straightening to his full height to glare at Kan. He was taller than the other man, and despite Kan's pomp and the ever raised invisible peacock tail, his figure shrank fast in comparison to Akk's larger one, clad in tight, body fit suit of the manor guard.

"Of all people, Namo?"

Kan shrugged. "You look close to being celibate. Who knows if it finally drove you to lunacy, and you took a liking to the advisor's son?"

Akk snorted, the heat behind his ears burning deeper. "Nonsense! It's not him that I look at, it's the Lord."

Kan immediately snooped in closer, eyes round. "You are interested in that old geezer?" It earned him a slap ; hard, right against his chest, where a particularly tempting looking diamond sat. The stone dug into his chest, making him let out a low grunt. Akk smiled. Sometimes, old money was useful after all.

Kan loudly complained. "You hit an officer!"

Akk stuck out a tongue at him, deliberately childish. "What officer, all I see is a fumbling, unagreeable buffoon! Should I go tell the Lord you said his guard covets him?"

The other man glared at him with slight offense. "Staring at the Lord or snitching to him about me will not get you the seat by his side. Get used to it, you are falling from grace now, till you catch that forest rat."

Akk mourned out in absolute distaste. "But Namo in my chair? Is this a punishment? "

Kan chortled, hitting the man's back with a stiff pat. "It probably is. However, the one you should be looking at in the table is not Namo, but the one on the left."

Akk's eyes followed Kan's words, settling, on the sole, sombre figure, sitting at the left of the Baron himself. He had donned a velvet black suit, with nothing elaborate or expressive of his class, but a thin air of nobility gripped on to him skin tight. Against his chest, a single silver brooch hung, exclusive to the Imperial Knights.

Sir Mes.

Akk felt a chill pass through his spine. Suddenly, the table felt further away, the barely yard long distance between him and the marble top grew into a few thousand miles, so far that even if he had tried, Akk could never cross the gap. It felt like salt water crashing onto sand, eating away the very land that holds it ; sharp and familiar, a slight reminder of what he, here, was.

He bit into his tongue, biting down harshly onto words and thoughts, till they had their throats cut in, almost, maimed and haunting, looping around his mind and tongue, not daring to escape.

Kan didn't seem to care about the war in his head, speaking casually. "Did you know he'd be here tonight?"

Akk kept his gaze very still, a tremor settling in his lashes regardless as he watched the man slowly pour a glass of wine onto the flute, very little to be considered a proper drink, and holding it up to Namo in a toast. The heat in the room, burned white against Akk's skin.

"I did not know."

Kan chuckled. "Makes sense he would not tell you. Look at him, being all chummy to Namo, this man really is capable, huh?"

Akk suddenly felt irritated, turning away from the table, deciding, for the first time in the night, to look at the dance itself.

People moved, like autumn leaves, dry and empty, yell decked up in so many colours, they almost look alive. It looked like a sick, sick, puppet show. Too many smiles, all of them skin deep, skin tight, filled with ugly gaps, and yellow stains of old acid. Akk sighed.

"I don't want to talk about this, Kan, if you will please."

Kan shrugged. "Fine, let's not talk about this. Why don't we talk about the other thing then? The reason you are standing at a corner of the ball, and not sitting in your chair next to the Baron?"

Akk warned. "Kan, don't."

Kan snorted. "Not talking about it won't make it go away, Akk. You standing here today is a direct consequence of your failure to deal with the Ghost of the Crescent."

The words are guilded with iron, and sharpened with fire, and they pierce the skin and fracture the bones, filling the cracks with lead. It makes Akk feel incredibly inadequate.

It's been six months.

That night, they had been rescued by a group of moving oil merchants. When the traders found them, it had already been a few hours and the morning sun had already matted the stains of the robbery last night. However, the humiliation, was sour and acrid under Akk's tongue.

All of the revenue collections had been taken away, from the carriage and from the horsemen, who were knocked out by frog poison injected into their blood through needles. Not a drop had been spilled, and yet, the Baron's honour guards were defeated by a nameless forest robber.

They had searched the entire forest in daylight, the sun guiding them through the meanders and canopies like a saviour, unlike a sinful moon and darkness that had betrayed them last night. Yet, not even a sign of the robbers themselves was found.

When they had reigned in their horses, their shoulders slagging and backs stiff, one of the merchants had yelled out in surprise, pointing, in absolute horror, towards the bark of a cold oak.

There, against the brown, rumpled skin, lathered in damp moss, the mark of a crescent moon had been freshly carved out. A signature.

Kan had assured him it was just a band of highway robbers, some people who aimed to buy cheap fame this way, but something about the style had left Akk uneasy.

Especially those terrible, terrible parting words.

"Catch me if you can."

It felt like a flare, something ominous and inhumane, like ripped off pages from a dead man's notes, or ink, spilled on old gospels. And even, against the thinning day light, breaking apart on his fingertips, as the night rushed in, impatient and hungry, from somewhere in the distance, a magpie, had called loudly.

It had rang, sharp and ice cold against Akk's chest.

All of it, every bit of it, had felt like a terrible warning for something worse, something that had already started stretching out its pincers, spinning out a merciless trap.

Kan had laughed at him, and slapped his shoulders. "Grab a drink or two, my friend. These autumns have been very harsh on you."

And in the end, it had turned out, that Akk had seen the clouds indeed. It made him feel like a death watcher, or a dark tongued witch, giving evil a name before it was born.

He had been right all along. The robbers, had turned out to be something worse.

They did not stop with once. The second attack, took place in a village granary of the baronet, near Brooksville. The wheat and corn, had been scrapped clean, and against the cold, stone walls, a crescent moon had been carved again.

In the third, it was a robbery of the gift horses being sent to the baron's cousin. Fourth, the monthly supply to the eastern guards. Fifth, the ochard money, sixth, the market salt tax, seventh, eight, ninth.

Each time, a crescent moon rested on the scene, and no sign of the robbers were to be found. The curve of the moon mocked Akk, grinning, like a taunting madman, or the red lips of a teasing demon.

"Catch me if you can."

It started with a whisper, Akk overheard.

"And their leader, he is like a ghost. Comes and goes silently! I saw his eyes once, they look like they are made up of burned forests. So black, and empty! Nobody knows who he is. It's like he never existed."

A clink of glass, and the noise of armour slipping

"Ghost of the Crescent, why don't we call him that? He is beyond us mortals clearly!"

"A witch, a witch!"

"Witches leave magic behind, ghosts only leave destruction!"

Ghost of the Crescent.

The name had spread like a wildfire. First to fall was the cantonment, then the chiefs, the lords, the soldiers at outposts, the travelling merchants and the peasants. Akk hated it. It made him look immortal, out of his reach, as if he wasn't a filthy little thief, with his gang of laymen, stealing off the hard earned money from other people for cheap fame and riches. It made him sound invincible, and made the Baron look weak in front of him. For what are men to ghosts and witches, but mere silly preys?

The name was too noble for a forest rat like him.

Some said he never kept the money. He gave it off to the villagers who needed, to the children who had no one and widows who wept at the graves of their departed sole breadmakers. They never spoke about him, in return, hid his path, and talked in hushed whispers. If the guards went they pointed to the river and the sea, and never to the Ghost of the Crescent.

"We do not know."

"He is the ghost of the crescent, how can we know where he lives?"

It made Akk feel the distant throb of an anger under his skin. Who was he, to give away what was not his? Who was he, to tame these men, who were bound to be loyal to the baron by contract?

Who was he, to mess up everything Akk stood for?

It is because of him, that Akk's plans got ruined. It is because of him, that today he stands in a corner of the ballroom, watching a rich man's spolied son sit in the seat rightfully his.

Akk bit his tongue, the hit sharp enough to draw the slight, sour taste, of blood.

Kan shook his head. "That old monkey does not understand, how is it possible for anyone to track that literal ghost? In six months, he has held nine perfect raids on the Baron himself!"

Perfect. Ghost. Inhumane. Out of reach.

Akk suddenly lets out a low snap. "He is a human, flawed and filthy like everybody else, you hear? And I will catch him!"

Kan scoffed. "Don't take your anger out on me. You'll catch him, I have been hearing this for six months, it's getting tiring. Just give up. Tell the Baron to announce a reward and do away with it."

Akk gritted his teeth. "Kan, do you have any faith in me at all? I am telling you, I will catch him. No matter what, I will and I will make sure he is put up on gallows! That pest!"

The other man simply sighed. "You are wasting your time on something fruitless. Instead of being stubborn, think of your prospects. The Chief of the northern command is here tonight. Why do you not go ask him for a place in the Imperial army?"

Akk's eyes flitted up, landing onto the figure of the large, jolly man, sitting on the table, face red from wine, and the fair woman creeping up his thick arms. He laughed and groped her, without shame, continuing to drink without care. As if he were better than everybody else here. It made him feel sick.

Akk felt his eyes naturally be pulled away from the scene, and back onto the figure of the Baron, surrounded by Namo and Sir Mes. Except, when he looked, the Imperial Knight seemed to have disappeared. Akk blinked.

"Looking for me there, are you?"

He turned back immediately, right as Kan let out an exaggerated noise of "Oh, Sir Mes! What a pleasure!"

Behind, him, the Imperial Knight stood. His face looked eager, and pleased with himself, the paleness of his skin hidden by the rosey drunkness from the red wine. His black clothes, fit his body tight and snug, and the silver belt, added a polished eleagance to his figure that Akk found unfamiliar. It suited him. It made him look like things Akk would rather never think of.

Mes smiled, a bit too much, a bit too thick. "It's lovely to see you boys. How have you been?"

Kan grinned back, wide and composed. "Very well, by your well wishes!"

The Knight's eyes naturally shifted to rest on Akk, his gaze softening easily. Akk hated it intensely.

He bit on the words, spitting them out one by one. "I have been well too. Sir."

Mes laughed, overly familiar. "Oh please! No need of such formality between us, is there? If your sister finds out I have been letting her brother call me by the official title, she'll have it out for me. Such a tough mistress!"

Akk smiled, his mouth tasting bitter. "How is my Praew now, brother in law?"

Mes immediately brightened up. "She is doing well. In her condition, it's a little normal for her to be weak, it's already six months after all. I have been letting the Imperial physicians look at her. Your sister and the child inside her are both healthy!"

Ripped off wings, of a butterfly.

Akk felt it all crumple within him, the linings of his stomach, and the bones that held his shoulders together. Bile, and avalanches, stored up within his nerves, one and the same, till something destructive became a domestic, everyday unpleasantness.

He took a step back, suddenly feeling the heat gather uncomfortably on his neck.

He tried to smile. "That's nice."

Mes did not see it. As he never really does. "It is! Do come visit us at the capital sometimes, your sister misses you. She talks about you so much everyday I think my child will love you more than me when it comes by. And as an uncle, don't you have some responsibilities?"

Kan hollered from the other side. The cheers saved Akk, whether on purpose, he did not dare wonder. "Not fair at all! Two are standing together, yet you invite one? Mes, since when did you grow so impolite? Why not ask me to come along?"

The man laughed out. "Ofcourse, Kan. You are always welcome!" Then, for a moment, he stopped. "You look more excited about the visit than your friend anyway."

Akk winced. Kan jumped in to defend his friend, whether to save him or push him deeper into the fire, he could no longer tell apart.

"Don't mind him. He is still moping about Namo being given his seat."

Mes laughed, voice loud and watery. It left something soothing in the air, something like scattered regrets and burnt dust from old pearls. It made Akk's skin turn red with an unknown itch.

"Oh that. The Baron either has a very peculiar taste, or an excellent sense of humor. The boy kept talking about hunting a fox. It was boring us all out of our minds!"

Kan snorted. "That brat. I too would be heartbroken if my seat at the table was given to him over a mission affliction."

At that, the Knight seemed to sober up. For a moment, a slight effulge of concern glinted across his eyes, as his voice lowered.

"Ah that. Did you ferret out anything about it yet?"

Akk swallowed, the gulp pungent, bitter and all of the unpleasant tastes that seemed to be filling his mouth. This, this was what he was afraid of.

Mes will speak, and he would have nothing to answer with.

Like always.

"Nothing, yet. "

Mes frowned. "How is that possible?"

"It seems like they don't have a fixed location. A travelling band, if you will. But even then, it's like they appeared out of the sky. No root to track them down to. The villagers refuse to admit they know anything, even under several threats."

The knight seemed to be a little worried. "If it's a travelling band, it gets harder immediately. Did you find any clue about their way of operation?"

Akk thought for a while, rubbing the tips of his fingers together restlessly. "So far it seems that they specifically target the Baron's treasury. That, and the signatures make me think that the target is to let everyone know that they are doing it. I can't grasp why, unless they want to draw the Baron's attention to them. Which is rather silly."

Mes clicked his tongue, the shadows in the room dancing across his face, making him look detached, distant. "Is it? If I were you, Akk, I would think they want the attention of something else."

Beside him, Kan widened his eyes. "Something else? What do you mean?"

Mes looked up, catching Akk's eyes. The browns in his iris was cut up into gold and orange circles under the lights, the autumn from outside the manor seeping into it.

"I'd think they want the attention of everybody else. And that, they want everybody to know that they are an enemy of the Baronet, and the Baron, despite trying, can not catch up to them. You say they help the villagers, right? And the villagers refuse to give away their identity. A friend of the villagers, an enemy of the Baronet. What do you think they plan?"

Akk felt his blood run cold as he looked at Kan, hoping desperately to see something else in his eyes. Yet, when Kan looked back him, his eyes too, were narrow, a sense of urgency evident in his gaze.

They both whispered, almost at the same time. "Rebels!"

At other things, Akk would not trust Mes.

But in matters of the state, he was a self made man. A young knight, serving for the King, without a backer in the court. It was enviable. It made his words carry finality in matters like this.

Mes cocked his head. "I would not go that far. Maybe it's just a point they are making right now, that the Baronet is not above everyone, and certainly not them. But in the future, who knows? Rebel spirits should be crushed on the point of swords, wasting any time to deliberate is inching closer to a future that would benefit none of us."

Kan let out a low grunt. "We need to track them down as fast as possible. But how do you run after spectures who refuse to leave behind any sign?"

Mes suddenly snorted. "Back in my village, Kan, there was an old priest, who said he could talk to ghosts."

Kan let out a low, shocked sound of "huh?"

Mes continued. "He said he could feel the ghosts, he could sit and talk to them, make them obey. And we, us unruly children, never believed him. After all, who can ever talk to a ghost? We'd go to him in the afternoons, when he left the monastery to take a walk, and ask him, why could he talk to ghosts? How could he talk to ghosts? Do you know what he said?"

Akk looked up at him, something twisting inside his heart restlessly, in a feeling he could not name. "Become one of them. To talk to ghosts, you must make them think you are one of them."

Mes smiled, the glint of his teeth razor sharp, and silver. He suddenly looked nothing like the amicable brother in law Akk knew. This, was an Imperial Knight. This, was a villager who made his way up a social ladder, spilling blood and money to carve out a path he was not allowed to walk on. "Exactly."

Kan loudly protested. "What are you even saying?"

Mes shrugged. "You know what I am saying. If you can not know who they are as an enemy, become a friend. Infiltrate them. Then, do what you have to."

Within his head, Akk could hear the drums beat and the wind soar, too many thoughts, none coherent, flocking over his mind like flies against a candle flame. It's fruitless and recklessly self destructive, everything that Akk ever felt like.

Kan let out a sharp noise. "Walk into the den of the Ghost of the Crescent? Are you insane?

Mes openly laughed, at that. "I am not saying you must. I am saying you may. This is an idea, probably the best bet you have right now. Otherwise who knows, Namo's seat at the table might just be permanent, and if a rebellion breaks out, your heads will be the first ones on the gallows.

Akk bit his lips. For the second time in the night, he tasted blood. Fly around a flame.

"And if someone goes, how can you guarantee they will be returning safe? That they will not collude with the robbers?"

Mes stretched out a hand, lightly patting his shoulder. The touch sent in waves of frost down into his bones, making Akk let out a shiver.

A circle. A flutter of wings. Fire.

"The best way to ensure you that you send the best of your men is to send yourself. Think about it Akk, is anybody in the force as trustworthy as you? Will anybody do it as well as you? Why not go yourself?"

Kan cursed. "Are you insane? Absolutely not, it's too dangerous."

Mes shook his head. "You are right. Praew will be too worried if Akk was to get into these things himself. Let it be, find somebody else."

Heat. Dark, silken wings and veins throbbing with a distant ache. Desire? Death?

Akk bit his lips. "No. I will."

Moth, into the fire.

Mes let out a stunned gasp, that looked too shallow. It was as if he had been expecting this, but still he wished to be surprised.

It looke strange on a man like him.

"Are you sure, Akk?" He said, at the same time as Kan pulled his hand. "Don't joke about this!"

Akk looked between his friend and his brother in law, watching both of them look at him with a transparent anticipation. Both near him. For different reasons? He held onto Kan's arm, and slowly, pulled it off.

"I am not joking. Really, a mission like this, how can I send somebody else? There's the question of trust. There's the question of difficult risks. The best outcome is running away in safety. It's me who must do this."

Kan parted his lips to protest, as Mes, clapped his hands together. "If it is what you decide, Akk. Talk to the Baron about it, if possible, by tonight. This is something that'll need a lot of calculation."

Then, he took a look at the window, his face paling immediately, as he clicked his tongue. "Oh it's quite late! I had promised Praew I'll go get a blessing for the child from the Bishop. I must run, I can still probably catch him in the Chapel. I'll see you, please do come visit us in the Capital!"

He said it all like it was rehearsed, like he had been practising it in front of the mirror, in the room where he left Praew sleeping, before setting out to narrate them in front of her brother.

Then, he turned back, and scurried along, the glory and grace with which he had appeared shrinking bit by bit, till it was nothing but the buzz of the wings of an insect ; trivial and too noisy.

Akk stared at his figure, watching it cut through the crowds, growing smaller and smaller, as slowly, he felt his insides turn into stone and steel. Cold, from the autumn outside, and decaying under the winds like the season itself.

Kan followed his gaze, before letting out an indignant shout, his facade dropping as soon as the man disappeared. "You! How long will you dance to his tunes? Are you blind?"

Akk bit his lips, grabbing onto a sleeve of his friend, his hold frosty, and desperate as he shook his head. "I wish I was. I really, really do."


                                               *

The day shrivels up like the back of an autumn leaf, brown, with seeds of death set deep inside ita drying veins. It smells like one too, damp, with the kisses of the fog thick over its shoulder blades, something parched and runny settling in the folds of the throat, till everything was sore with a desire that will never be answered.

It's a season of hunger.

The wind that blows in from the north is crisp, and crooked. It throws off the dust mounds gathered on the street sides, and sighs into the gravel, till it twists and bends, loose without a root, and a place to return to.

It's like how the bald owl preys on the rats, with its feathers rustled, and eyes, bleary with morning fog. It's an unpleasant affair, with reds and damp patches, that dry up but never really disappear, lying flat in middle of busy roads where no one takes another look at a fed on old corpse. It's used. It'll turn to dust.

The air smelled of old sentiments, of hay stored in outhouses and the slight stink of sweat from cattles. There was a sound of bell, tinkling from where it was tied to the necks of the oxen pulling the head of the cart, making its old, wooden wheels croak, like a man with too little time in his bones, and too many memories. On top of it, large sacks, filled to the brim with wheat, moved with the bumps on the road, spilling mouthfulls of grain here and there for the old, tired, pigeons to feed on.

All of the things, were set onto decay.

Akk sat, curled into himself, feeling it soak through his skin, gathering on the salty, sticky layer of grime piling up on the bare expanse of his arms, forming a loose sheen. His wrists, rested together, where the handcuff, iron built and wilting with peeling off layers, were placed. They burned, and frosted, and dragged over his skin, leaving patches of redness all over. He felt the weight on his hands, unpleasant and scratchy, sending in an instinct that made him wish to tear them off, and throw them far, far away, making him bite his lips in an attempt to calm his mind down.

Human mind, was always anxious in its captivity. Even if it was sought after.

The movement of the cart sent his body from left to right, crashing into the sacks, making the chains tied to his legs jingle, in a coarse, broken, rhythm.

Akk tried to imagine them as anklets, silver and steady, built for him to dance in, in the streets of old, dead civilizations. Yet, it felt too heavy, too real, to be anything other than a tight, unescapable bondage. Around it, a dark line of red ran ; dried blood.

The spots covered other parts of his body, some on his face, some soaking the once white fabric draped around his shoulders. It too, had gathered stains of brown ; as if the death around the season and town, had somehow grown contagious.

He looked up, facing the opposite direction to the cart's movement, watching the road they left behind. From the front of the cart, sound of horse hooves, and another pair of wheels rang loudly.

Akk listened to it, trying to count the creaks to clear his mind.

"Did you fall asleep?" A voice, familiar, rang out, as the driver spoke, easily throwing a light cane around to guide the oxen.

Akk tried to twist his head back, succeeding only partially, till he caught a glimpse of the man's head.

"Not yet, but with the pace of your driving, I just might."

The voice laughed back. "You are here to put up a show, my brother, not run a race." Then, it sobered up a little. "Are you sure about this? It's not too late yet. We can still pull up an excuse to the Baron and leave this."

Akk turned back, staring ahead at the road again. "Kan. I already told you, I am going to do this."

Kan hissed out in response, as the cart hit a small stone in the road, jerking violently. Then, he spoke, his voice especially soft. "And I already told you, it's not a good idea. If you are doing this, just to prove a point to Mes, don't."

Akk stiffened. "Don't bring up others."

The other man did not respond for a while. Then, he tossed back an apple towards the back of the cart, letting it hit the head of the wheat bags and roll onto a stop in front of Akk. He grabbed it, tossing it into the air playfully, before catching it back again and throwing it towards Kan.

It hit the man in the back, making him curse out loudly. "Bastard! What's wrong with you? It hurt me! Is this how you repay kindness?"

Akk snorted. "Toughen up, Big guy. Which prisoner of tax default have you seen munching on apples while being dragged away for imprisonment and torture? Are you an idiot? Who will even fall for this bait if they see that?"

Kan grumbled something between an acknowledgement and a warning, before catching the apple himself and biting into it.

Then, he spoke out. "Are you sure they'll even come here today?"

Akk stayed quiet, looking at his own fingers. He was not sure.

It was the fifth bait they had laid out for the espionage mission. The first time, Akk had dressed up as a peasant being dragged out unfairly for failed deadlines of taxing, the second time, as a disobedient orchard worker, third time, as a rogue, fourth, as a cattle owner being fined for grazing.

None of the times however, the Ghost of the Crescent had jumped out of shadows to rescue him, like he had done to many people in these situations, looting the baronet in the process.

So this time, they paired up both of the prospects together ; a carry away of village surplus and an imprisoned tax defaulter through a forest road. Two grain carts, with a group of five horsemen. And a prisoner being carried away. This should be temptation enough.

This time too, Akk did not have much hope. If this too failed, he'd have to think of another way. If the enemy could not be tempted, would they have to be provoked instead?

He bit his lips, chewing on them absentmindedly.

In the corners of the woods, the day had started to grow bleak. The night, pouring in through the cracks between the canopy, settling in dark clots gathering against the skin of the day.

From the distance, the birds, had started to return home. The chirps, low, yet many, flocking the corpse of the silence, that laid bare and empty over the dust roads. They circled over head, dark and in shadows, messengers carrying back the news of a falling night.

When he looked at it, Akk remembered his village.

Blues, blacks, of waters, and swamps, wet with the beaks of the waterfowls and waders lurking around, stalking their preys near the ends of the day.

It had a splatter of death, the smell of rotting water, and fresh, torn off flesh of newly dead fish, attached to it, the sound of crickets and hornets mumbling a drowsy lullaby against the settling darkness.

Near the swamps, were the mounds, from the barren lands, that no man walks on. It grew long grass and wildflowers, letting Akk lie between them, in middle of a slow and habitual emptiness and death, till his eyes grew bleary, and from the head of the village roads, Praew walked out, tensed and angry, with a foggy lantern in her nimble hands.

She would curse, the wet earth catching up to the hem of her long flowing dress, as she struggled to hold it together, her fair face growing flushed from the heat and strain.

"It's late! There's dinner on the table brother, where are you?"

Akk would close his eyes, and throw out a pert response. "Depends on what's for dinner tonight!"

"Boiled Potatoes, milk and bread! I have even picked some berries!"

Akk would open an eye, and make a sour face. "It's the same every night! I don't want to!"

Praew shouted back. "Come home already, it's too late!"

Akk would stick out a tongue, where Praew could not see. "Not yet, not yet! Let the night darken!"

"Akk, come back home! The night is dark! How far have you gone out this time? I can't see you!"

And Akk would straighten up, and wave a hand, laughing out loud and reckless. "Not too far, sister! I will come home!"

Akk has not been home for a few years. Neither has Praew. The foggy lantern, hangs up outside their old house, gathering carbon on its glass. The waterfowls and waders still hunt for fish, and at the end of the day, screech against the night, calling home for their hungry children.

They sound the same like the birds here.

Akk watched, as a dark owl flew overhead, circling the evening in slow movements, as the sun disappeared, and the night, quite and preying slipped in through the gaps between the trees.

On both sides of the road, there were large trees, filled with birds, nestling. At the head of the road, a single birch stood. It was larger than average,  its branches naked and dry, forming a maze of wood and bark over the road, with rows and rows of bats, hanging upside down, sitting on it.

Akk stared at it, somewhat with a fascination, as the cart rolled towards it, going dangerously close to the resting animals.

Suddenly, a shrill hiss rang through the air, a flash of silver, coldly glinting overhead for a moment, before a low thud sounded in the distance. Akk blinked, watching as the arrowhead pierced the bark of the birch tree, letting it slowly shake for a few moments, as one by one, pitch black eyes shot open.

Immediately, the bats screeched, flying off all at once, in every direction possible, the flap of their meaty wings and the sound, loud and shrill, of too many wings, of too many squeaks, flying around in the darkening air. They flew straight at the cart, away from it, over and under, as Kan let out a loud yelp, raising up the cane to cover his face from the animals scampering for an escape.

Akk ducked in middle of the sacks, hiding as the bats swooped too low, their claws sharp and extended, as they circled over the cart. Up ahead, the men of the horse yelped and shouted, furiously trying to battle off the bats.

Akk tried to pull a sack for cover, but the chain around his arms refused to budge, sticking boorishly to the cart rails. He twisted his arms, desperately trying to dodge the wings and claws as he pulled at the chains, momentarily forgetting his goals.

A flash of silver glinted across his body, as a cold metal sliced next to him, cutting through the ends of the chain easily. The force was sudden, freeing Akk abruptly, as his position maintained was disbalanced and he rolled off of the cart, onto the ground.

As he crashed, the grime and dust getting all over him, leaving scratches as he let out a low groan, before blinking to look up.

There, under the spotting sky, and a darkening evening, stood a man, dressed from head to toe in black, with a black scarf wrapped around his face, right from under his eyes, covering tightly all of the rest of his face. His neat, fringed hair, fell over his eyes, which were clear and wide, holding a heated determination as they looked at Akk.

On his arms, rested a silver blade.

However, the most interesting feature about the man was the white crescent moon painted onto the chest of his robes, shinning, as he stood tall and straight, as if the restless bats around him did not affect him at all.

In this light, he looked something like a spark of fire, a flame burning between the day and night.

Ghost of the Crescent?

Akk took in a sharp breath. A sabotage. A perfect act of sabotage. Using nature to their own advantage, letting the bats distract the guard and taking the chance to attack, even if already orchestrated, this raid had to be admired.

Around him, several footsteps rang out, blades hissing left and right, as men, dressed in black, with crescents marked on their chests stepped out, piling out from the cracks in the forest and heading, straight for the horsemen.

Akk said a silent prayer for Kan, as he heard the blades clash together, groans and shouts growing louder. The gang did not kill the guards, tonight would not be the night of exception.

It took a few minutes at most, swords and spears clashing, before loud shouts and yelps came to a halt. From the front, a voice called. "All clear here, Brother. Two knocked out in battle, three with morphin."

Akk worriedly looked towards the cart, where Kan laid, away from his sight. His fingers dug into his palms, unconsciously.

Within his head, he cursed. He'll avenge each injury, he'll drag these ghosts up to the stake and burn them in the holy justice. He'll send these demons right back into the hell they crawled out from. None of them will be left unpunished.

The man standing in front of him, called back in response. "Take the reins from the horses, tie them up tightly. Then take as much as you can. Gold, silver, grains, whatever you find, take. And take the weapons, all of them."

Akk suddenly straightened up.

The man's voice was clear, steady, speaking in neat and curt words. It held authority and warmth, none of the glittering silver that had burned scars onto Akk's mind. This voice was nothing like the man's, yet it seemed that he clearly, held command over the men in this troop.

This man was definitely the leading figure. Maybe even the Ghost of the Crescent himself.

Akk felt strangely lost.

In his mind, the Ghost of the Crescent had been that man, with a voice cold and mocking, a tongue made of silver and gunpowder as it had whispered in Akk's ears. "Catch me if you can."

It never struck him that maybe the man that night was never the Ghost of the Crescent. That maybe, he was a nobody, or a diligent lackey with a mouth too sharp, and made up of razors, for his own good.

The Ghost of the Crescent that had haunted his nightmares, looked nothing like this man in front of him. Stable and calm, with nothing but disinterest in his eyes as he looked down at Akk.

It made him feel small, and somehow, very betrayed, as if he had been promised a treasure, and now, he was rudely denied of it.

Restlessly, he tried to stand up.

The sword flashed, no longer silver, the dullness of iron sitting tight against the metal, old and merciless. It smelled of practised deaths and everyday tragedies, like everything else in Akk's life.

The man slowly warned. "State your name. Are you one of them?"

Something in Akk's mind loudly protested. He would have known, it whispered. The stranger with a silver laughter, would have known everything with a glance. It was unreasonable and paranoid, Akk shoved it down and crushed it under his fingers and toes, his hands and feet.

"Why should I?" He said. "Who even are you lot?"

The man shook his head. "Cooperate, if you value your life."

Wrong, wrong, wrong. The Ghost of Crescent was meant to speak with sugar and poison, tempt and corrupt, not speak the language of fruitless purpose.

Akk spat out the answer, an irritation bubbling within him. "My name is Akk. The grains they are carrying are my landlord's. I could not pay the taxes on time. So they were carrying me away to the prison."

To Akk's ears, the words sounded extremely dry and out of place but the man, nodded in understanding. He kindly asked, "Where is your home, do you want us to take you there?"

Akk spoke, as he had rehearsed a hundred times with Kan. "I don't have a home, I have sold it all off to pay the dues. If you want to take me anywhere, take me with you."

The man suddenly let out a laugh. For a moment, something cold gleamed in his eyes, before it disappeared, as quickly as it had came. "Take you with us? You said you don't know us."

Akk arrogantly shook his head, clapping his hands. "I don't need to. You are robbers, you saved my life. I want to repay you." Then, he paused. "That. And I want revenge. For tonight. For everything the Baron did to me before."

The man raised a dark eyebrow. "You know who we are?"

Akk felt his breath quicken. "Who doesn't? The Ghost of the Crescent, you take revenge on the Baron's men."

The man, for a while, remained quiet. "Very well. What can you do for us?"

Akk gulped. "I know how to use a sword."

The man looked stunned, before suddenly throwing the blade in his hands forward. Habitually, Akk caught onto it, twirling it around once, surprised at the weight.

It was heavy, and of a poor make. But the blade, was surprisingly sharp.

The man leaned back onto the cart. "Use it then. Show me. If you try anything funny, my men here will cut you up finely enough for dinner of the wolves in the forest. Fast."

It sounded ordinary and bland, even if the words spoken carried a subtle challenge. Akk frowned, before swinging the sword, and carelessly flicking it forward, towards a road side fig tree.

The sword hit the fig, cutting it open neatly, plunging deep into its bark and staying rooted there. Nothing too good, but certainly good enough for a band of travelling robbers.

The man looked at the sword, his face scrunching up in thoughtfulness before he called for someone. "Brother Non, take look at it for me."

A rather big, burly man with a big beard and a bald head stepped out from behind the cart, walking forward with loud, noisy steps. He stopped in front of the tree, watching the angle the sword seemed to have cut it into, before nodding.

"Not bad. With some training, he might be fit to use one."

The Ghost of the Crescent looked at Akk, his eyes unreadable as he let out a sigh. "Your house is sold off, you say? And you have no other place to go?"

Akk immediately straightened up. "Yes, Sir!"

The man clicked his tongue, letting out a low murmur, that melted into the rustle of the leaves, dead yet whispering, as the wind blew through them. He clicked his tongue. "Where are you from?"

"Whitefern village." Akk bit his lips. He hadn't been back home, in so, so long. Yet, when he had sat with Kan, planning out a background for himself, Akk had picked the name of his hometown. "But I was a moving labourer, I have lived in a lot of places. My last home was in the Capital, my landlord kept me there as a loader for the grain supply."

The Ghost of Crescent, would not be bold enough to walk into the Capital. And if they sent a man to Whitefern, the villagers would confirm that Akk had indeed, lived there, once.

Nobody knew what he was, now. They would not be able to tell.

Even then, his heart twitched, a subtle fear slowly soaking through the thin walls, as it pulsed, faster and faster, hoping for a reaction from the man.

He did not get one.

The man simply shrugged, face blank. "Fine. Just follow us along, we do happen to be in look out for more men. We will dispatch someone right now to check your background. But whether or not you are accepted, does not depend on me, but the rest of the gang. We'll meet a part of them up ahead, in Northford. Then, we'll see what to do with you."

Too easy. Too trusting. Too much, too little! Too everything, and yet somehow nothing like what Akk had hoped for, nothing like what Akk had prepared for.

He felt his shoulders sag, unconsciously, as the man signalled him to get back up on the cart. Then, wordlessly, he left, heading ahead to oversee how his men had dealt with the guards, and Kan, who were now tied to the tree bottoms.

Akk stared after him for a while, before biting his lips.

This was not supposed to be.

He did not answer, only bowing slightly, before huddling back up onto the head of the cart. He fit in snugly between the sacks, just like he had been sitting before, his eyes immediately flitting through the darkness, searching for Kan.

The evening had formed tight grids around the forest, black, iron weild lines crossing over the trees, locking it all up in a neat cage. Or perhaps, it was a predator's mouth, black gums and white, sharp teeth, piercing into the back of the trees, crushing them, till all that remained were bones, and dark skeletons, standing like ghastly vigilants along the forested way.

Akk sucked in a breath, biting onto his tongue as the carriage jerked to movement, one of the dark, nameless silhouttes, grabbing onto the horsewhip Kan had held, urging the animals forward with a steady grip. The back of the cart rolled, and creaked, and with it, the wheels had moved.

It moved, slow and eerie, nothing like the light swing when Kan had minded it, quietly steering through the night, as if it was always a part of it.

The shadows moved around the cart, watery, diluting the night till it overfilled and leaked through the corners, leaving wet patches over the old, dead pine leaves. At the bottom of the roots, laid a row of men, tied up and unconscious, their faces blurred out by the darkness.

Akk looked for Kan again, his eyes struggling to find the familiar figure in the group, before giving up, and huddling back again, this time without an iron chain around his hands, and yet much more trapped than he had ever been.

Against the pale light from the sky above, a tree shone, its bark freshly carved, the mark of a crescent moon shining brightly.

Akk stared at it for a while before turning away, tucking his head between his elbows to try and get some sleep instead.

He had crossed over, and burnt the bridge, there was no use looking back.


                                             *

When he woke, he woke to the sound of laughter, angry yells, and heavy, tall iron bells. Akk blinked, the sleep sticking to his eyes, heavy and damp, as he squinted, trying to let his eyes settle into the light.

The cart under him, had stopped moving, and now stood in middle of too many noises and colours, all of which pricked into Akk's head, all at once, balling up in a needle made sphere and rolling all around in his mind. He groaned, dragging a hand upto his head, trying helplessly to catch it, and throw it all far away from him.

From the front of the cart, a loud, shrill voice rang out. "Woke up finally, sleepyhead?"

The world around turned into a thick white crust. Akk rubbed it off bit by bit, looking at the figure of the man. The cart driver, last night, had seemed to be a jagged, ghostly shadow.

But in the day light, his black robes had disappeared, and a pink shirt, with a white tunic took its place. There was a hint of kohl in his eyes, a wide toothy grin playing onto his face as he stared amusedly at him.

The gaze felt mocking, making Akk look away. The cart seemed to have stopped in middle of a market. Shops, stalls and people were scattered, rows and rows of coloured noises climbing on top of one another, competing in a battle for sellability. Salesmen called, and customers loudly bargained, and in middle of the market, a tall clock tower rang loudly, the iron bell moving rather angrily.

"What are you staring at? This is Northford, pinhead, get off!"

Akk frowned a little, already irritated at the man's tone as he jumped down from the cart. The effort made his head spin a little, as he distinctly realised a burn of thirst in his throat.

The cart driver too, jumped off of the cart, pulling his sleeves down, before clapping his hands together. "So late! Everybody else already got to work, you were the only one snoring off like a drunk uncle!"

Then, he put his hands on his waist, ranting off very furiously. "First day here, aren't you supposed to worry a little? We loaded and unloaded the grains all by ourselves, and you sleep like a fish on your stomach!"

Akk scowled. "What's with this? I am up already, am I not?"

The man let out a giggle. "Young Master has a temper! If you stay here, boy, you need to get rid off that tone! The Leader does not like it."

Akk thought back on the night before. For a moment, he felt really irritated. It doesn't look like your leader likes too many things any way. At best, he felt like the twig dolls being sold in the shops of the village fairs ; stiff and rough mouthed.

The cart was parked outside what looked like the back of an old inn, and from inside it, a voice loudly shouted. "Nian, are you done yet, or should we leave you here to rot?"

The cart driver yelled back, "You scrote! Leave me a plate, or dare see what I do to you?"

No response came, and the cart driver, "Nian", turned to look at Akk with a ropeable glare. "Hurry along already, or I'll miss breakfast for you!"

Then, without waiting for a response, he jumped in, pulling Akk along by the sleeve, his grip tight and iron built, sealing around Akk's cuffs like a strong chain.

"I can walk myself!"

Nian stuck out a tongue, his face teasing. "The least you should be able to do! I am assured that you can do something other than sleeping!"

With that, he dragged Akk firmly, pushing him inside the wooden door of the inn, till he stumbled, landing in middle of what seemed like anything else.

It was just a simple inn.

The woodboards of the floors had grown old and mouldy, and the walls, had gathered soot from the oil and heat, turning grimey and black. Thin legged, cheap wooden tables and small stools were arranged in messy rows, through which, two waiters shuffled and juggled with food in their hands.

The people eating, were plain faced and wide eyed, laughing and boasting, holding onto small cups of beer and pieces of toast as they spoke. None of them looked like the ghosts from the night before.

Nian popped his head in behind Akk. "All of these are our men, just pick a seat and grab a bite!" And with that, he quickly disappeared, as if he were a fly, making Akk look around helplessly in search of a familiar face.

There were too many people, it made him nervous.

At the left corner, in a table, the Ghost of the Crescent sat, with two more men, both their backs turned to Akk. In the daylight, the stains of everything he was not was more visible.

Suddenly, Akk wished he could go back as fast as possible.

The man spotted Akk, raising a hand to call him over. "Akk? Come here, come here, we were just talking of you."

Akk sighed, quickly following along. He suddenly realised he had forgotten to ask the man for a name, and somehow, in his own distress about an honestly fruitless idea, he had missed out on something so important.

He walked up to the table, paying no heed to the other two men as he looked at the man from last night. Even if it caused a strange unease in him, this man was probably the Ghost of the Crescent, and he had to, in whatever way possible, get close to him.

He brought out a big smile. "Goodmorning, Sir! Thank you for bringing me along. And for saving my life. I am afraid I didn't catch your name last night?"

The man parted his lips, ready to speak, when one of the two people on the table, spoke up.

"Names are precious things, Newbie, they can't just be handed out. You need to earn them."

The voice was thin, razor sharp, with beads of silver and frost glossed over it. It rang through the inn, like a winter mist, linger in cold droplets, till they seeped deep into Akk's spine, leaving behind a strange, burning heat.

"Catch me if you can."

Akk felt his eyes widen as he turned to face the voice, landing, on the figure of a rather small man. He had his legs crossed, one over the other, wearing a set of white trousers below a black, silk shirt that draped over his shoulders, that leaned back and took too much space, covering the stool, the table, the inn, till he was too large, too beyond everything else. On his neck, shone a single, frail chain, tying around a silver crescent moon.

Ghost of the Crescent. The real one, the one made out of smoke, smelling of cold frost and merciless taunts. The one Akk had desperately been searching for.

Akk felt his breath hitch, the heat from his bones growing sharper, cutting and kneading as his eyes ran up and down the man's face. He had sharp, yet soft features, with a pair of downturned eyes that glinted like black jade through a curtain of messy, dark hair. Yet, what made Akk's skin blister, was the smile, a simple twist of his lips, mocking, taunting, yet strangely warm as he stared at Akk.

It felt like his eyes were carding through his flesh and bones, taking off the layers of his soul bit by bit to peep at what was within. It made Akk shrink, his breath stuttering, and thoughts crashing into each other as he took a step back and yet, he could not look away from the dangerous man.

Alarms, bells and loud warnings sounded all over his body, clattering his joints and teasing his veins. The man tilted his head, his eyes never leaving Akk's face. They looked a little bit stunned.

Akk bit into his cheeks, suddenly feeling tall again. In a spider's net, if a moth flies in, carrying a storm on its wing, can it be called a prey?

Caught you. He hysterically thought. I have won this round.

On the other side of the table, the other man chuckled softly. "Captain, don't you scare off the boy. Let him settle in a little, big brother says he has potential."

Akk felt his mouth part against his will, a set of words leaving his tongue before he could stop himself. "Captain? You are the Ghost of the Crescent?"

Under his flesh, the veins sparked, ice picks sticking into them, leaving a blind, childish excitement.

Akk had been right all along. The Ghost of the Crescent was not a nameless, faceless man, with streaks of ordinary up and down his skin. He was everything Akk had hoped for.

Nightmares, sins and something else that left the blood in his veins throbbing with anticipation. A worthy enemy to fight against.

The Captain rolled his head back, letting out a low laugh. The adam's apple in his throat bobbed, skin and sweat stretching in a mess that seemed too rugged to be the enigma from that night, yet somehow, it all fit right in. Akk followed his movement, eyes hungrily remembering every detail.

Carefree, so incredibly carefree. As if he believed nobody would ever get to him.

The Captain looked at him, his eyes wide, amusement glinting across it, like the glare of a blade. "Where did you hear that name from, Newbie? That's not what we call ourselves."

Akk bit his tongue. Silly, silly! "While coming in, uh. The cart driver? One of your men! He was talking about you."

The smirk widened, as the man looked at him, his eyes still, and solid, taking in Akk's every gesture.

"If you want to stay here, boy, don't listen to gossips. Use your eyes and ears instead. If you are good with them, that's enough." His gaze moved over his face, then body, running back up again before sharpening.

Akk felt the heat grow, clotting around his ears. The room suddenly felt too small, too crammed, with walls and people everywhere, trapping him. His voice shook a little when he spoke.

"I'll remember that, Captain."

The man raised an eyebrow, a pretty, pretty arch, that move like a straight spined bow, steady, and toned with death. His face caught a split of the sunlight, golden and sugary, making the round of his cheeks shine a little.

"Captain? Aren't you bold?"

Akk wondered if its fear he feels.

The Ghost leans in, like a skilled predator. He kills without mercy, steals the breaths of people, and stores them between his fingers, as stacking cards. He smiled, or maybe it's a snarl, tooth and lips, a carnivorous glint shining through them.

"To be one of mine, you'll have to work a lot harder than throw a few lucky swipes of sword here and there, boy. A lot, lot harder."

Akk felt like a sparrow, shot down from the sky. Or maybe pushed off from the nest, the flight and death soaring through his wings all at once.

"I'll work hard, then. I'll do my best to be upto your standards!" Desperate.

The Ghost laughed loudly, the sound shrill yet so, so pleasing. It sounded sweet, like sugar stirred into a brew of the sickest poison, served in flutes of gold and silver. Akk took another step back.

"My standard, he says! Boy, I am merely a point in a network, don't fix your eyes on me. You don't need to please me. Just be good enough to be of use."

With that, he got up, the chair screeching as he rose to his full height, almost a head shorter than Akk. He leaned on the head of the chair, a strange, glass looped cast rolled around his body, making him shine, like the drips of a panel.

Akk felt his mouth dry up. "Please, you can call me Akk."

The Ghost of the Crescent, in human flesh, rough and stained with the dust from the roads, laughed. "Names are to be earned, Akk. Don't trust me too much already."

With that, he sidestepped the table, shouting out a loud farewell to the innkeeper and stepping out, his steps swaying, as if he were moving to the sounds of some inhumane tune.

He stopped at the gate of the inn, looking back at Akk, his eyes narrow, shining, with that strange mixture of mockery and warmth ; as if he found Akk's entire being hilarious, as if Akk were a child, as if he could not help but be endeared.

It sent shivers down Akk's spine, and suddenly, he thought that perhaps, it would have been better for him, if the other man had been the Ghost of the Crescent.

The man called him. "Catch up to me, if you think you can earn my name, Newbie. Or dream of it!"

And Akk,  stepped out, his stomach growling in hunger, and body aching for a proper seat, as he gave up on both, feet automatically chasing after the man, likw he had tried to for six months.

"Wait for me, Captain!" He shouted. "I will catch you."