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Chapter Text

The Republic of Eastern Gorteau was known internationally as a morally reprehensible political unit. Whether it was the exploitation of the population, the over-militarization of the territory - which had been limited to the entire Balsa Islands when the Mitene Union was created - or the lack of communication between the government and the rest of the world, which had led to the Mitene Union being rejected by the V5, even though the Begerossé Union had been accepted. Yet the Begerossé Union was the prime example of a fragile economy whose foundations threatened to collapse at the first gust of wind.

Naturally, the public took great offence, scapegoating a government that couldn't even pretend to know what it was doing for greater opportunity. And that's when Ming Jol-ik rose to power. And it wasn't much better.

Having lived through the coup, as well as the failure of the nationalist revolution to overthrow Jol-ik, was something she could brag about. Most people had only survived one, especially those who lived near the capital as she did at the time. Having been forced to leave school as a teenager to support the nearby orphanage for a few coins that could only sustain her for a day or so, it was only natural that she jumped at the chance to join the nation's army. The salary promised was enough to lure the most desperate, and the most vain, which ultimately covered the entire population.

She hadn't particularly stood out in the entrance exams. The intellectual tests almost dealt a fatal blow to her performance, but spending her life sneaking into every nook and cranny of the orphanage and managing children suffering from rabies or delirium, for example, managed to keep her head above water in the physical tests. That said, compared to those who had received the information earlier, or even those from more privileged backgrounds, her mark seemed... mediocre. Of course, they had come much more prepared, after all.

Nonetheless, she'd made it, and when she was deployed for the first time, she had to admit that she regretted her decision a little. Since money was her only motivation, going off to war for a country she had little to no care for was an ordeal that almost broke her resolve. She'd lost count of the nights she'd spent in her tent, breathing heavily, huddled-up on the ground, images of comrades - whom she'd unfortunately come to like - dead, dancing behind her eyelids, imprinted on her retina.

“Imel?”

The small voice of a child brought her back to her senses, and when she allowed herself to look down at the person who had called her, she ended up nose-to-nose with little Lusamina, who was nibbling a sour candy. Lusamina looked at her with big, curious eyes. She liked this little girl, who was after all a notable pillar in her acclimatization to her new identity. A new name had been assigned to her as soon as she entered the ranks of the army, mainly to prevent the opposing powers from gathering data through her vital information. At first, she hated it. It was like denying a heritage she herself had never known - after all, her father, and she suspected her mother too, came from Meteor City. 

She'd never been there, so inevitably the transition was quicker than expected. Before long, this second name was second nature to her, and fit her like a glove. She sometimes had slips of the tongue, or didn't respond when addressed by that name, but generally speaking, she managed, and rather well.

With a gesture, she ruffled Lusamina's hair. What a nice little girl.

*

*     *

Teaching Lusamina was no easy work. Physically, she was unable to speak for too long, or too loudly, so it was difficult to see her progress, except in writing. Well, if you could even call it writing. Imel had to squint to read, and even then, the letters were unrecognizable, too stretched or too stunted, bent in on themselves, blending into each other. But Lusamina looked at her with such hope that she always settled for a not bad, before closing the notebooks and moving on to the evening exam.

First, Imel would ask her to open her mouth, which Lusamina did most of the time. All that remained was to observe the damage. Her tongue seemed less swollen, thanks to the treatment and the dozen or so drugs she had to swallow in quick succession at various times of the day, but the gums still had that scarlet tint, swollen under the baby teeth in good condition since Imel had taught her how to brush her teeth. Sometimes Imel was afraid of the bleeding that came from the little girl's mouth, as she was never sure whether the blood was coming from her gums or her throat. She coughed a lot, after all. Her lymph nodes were double in size all the time, right under her jaw, and swallowing was sometimes so difficult that she preferred to let the saliva run out of her mouth. This was the only behavioral disorder Imel didn't have the heart to correct in her. It was only a matter of avoiding certain pain. So Imel patiently wiped away the drool and patted her on the shoulder to reassure her that she'd done nothing wrong.

Sometimes, however, she lost her patience. Her vomiting late into the night didn't help the older woman's already disturbed sleep pattern, and her lack of progress in terms of learning didn't comfort the young woman in the slightest. But Imel couldn't bring herself to give up. And it paid off in the end.

If there was one thing Lusamina knew how to do, it was listen. She listened and gathered information faster than anyone else. Her mind was sharp, but she had few opportunities to prove it. Imel saw this clever mind for the first time when she was traveling in the capital of Peijin. She was sure to have little Lusamina sound asleep at home, her medicine nearby, and the window open so she wouldn't suffocate in the humors of her own illness. But as Imel made her way through the streets, she was surprised to find that she'd forgotten the very letter she'd come to bring. And when she was about to sprawl pathetically on the floor to beg forgiveness from her superior, he congratulated her on her work and discretion, for sending a child to deliver the missive in her place. He warned her, however, to be careful, for when the child grew up, she would seek her own interest and no longer act out of kindness, but for some benefit.

Imel thanked the heavens for having spoken aloud about the letter the day before.

*

*     *

Imel didn't necessarily have time to take care of the house. Since the politics of Eastern Gorteau rested mainly on a military suboligarchy, just below Jol-ik's authority, she had her hands full when it came to paperwork. Lusamina took care of the rest. Cleaning the floors and cooking were daily chores for her, and she did them without flinching. And then, at least, progress was visible. The house was spotless, the food was getting better and better, and Lusamina was finding a way to entertain herself effectively, instead of staring half-heartedly out of the window waiting for birds that would never come.

Finally, she was able to read, so she also kept herself busy by reading the newspaper. But Imel preferred to throw the newspaper down the chimney, saying it was just a load of nonsense that would put holes in her brain. Lusamina had no friends, after all. She was always alone, so she'd escape the house and wander the streets. She liked to watch people, and what they were doing. She always made sure she had money with her, so she could buy food if she came across any. But she always ended up giving the coins to other children who looked at the apples with envy.

Lusamina understood. She loved apples. Especially red ones. Red was such a pretty color. A warm color she'd happily wrap herself in if she had the chance. Red was anger, and red was passion. She loved both.

Lusamina always noticed the new faces. They stood out from the very stereotypical population. Sometimes, she would follow these strangers, and giggle to herself at the looks cast in their direction. Lusamina jumped off rooftops for fun, too. But she had bumped into someone, unintentionally, one evening. And that was strange, because no one ever stood on the rooftops after her. 

Stranger still, this person hadn't even shuddered at their collision, whereas she'd had to take several steps backwards, and steady herself so as not to fall off the tiles arranged in a thin line. Of course, she'd had to miss falling onto a building with a much steeper roof. She looked up at this person, whom she eventually identified as a man. 

He turned his eyes towards her and winced slightly. Unconsciously, she mimicked his slightly disdainful expression, out of habit, before dusting off her clothes. She wasn't one to judge on first impressions, but this young man... looked dirty. A teenager who hadn't seen the light of day - or a source of water - for at least a few months. Nevertheless, he inspired confidence, with large hazel eyes that softened his features. Besides, he wasn't much taller than her.

So, when he extended his hand toward her, certainly waiting for her to shake it, Lusamina tilted her head to the side. “Hi.” He said with a smile that creased his face from ear to ear. “Ging. I understand there's some interesting stuff around here. Do you know the area?”

Chapter Text

What could she expect?

Imel strode through the streets at a frantic pace. Her wide, bloodshot eyes were glassy and dry at the same time, refusing to blink for fear of missing Lusamina's silhouette that might sneak into her peripheral vision. She also refused to relax her attention to the surrounding sounds. She could recognize the girl's footsteps, similar to those of a mouse if the animal were larger, from meters away.

For God's sake, she'd dozed off for just a few minutes... And Lusamina had disappeared completely. The situation wasn't all that unusual, really, but the little girl was always back before sunset, most of the time with bread or fruit, which Imel's post allowed them to buy. 

“Lusamina? Lusamina, where are you hiding?”

No answer. No response. No vaguely familiar coughing fits, no little mouse steps, no brunette head she could recognize. Imel was now beginning to feel a migraine coming on in the back of her head. Few people were actually aware of Lusamina's existence. Or rather, few people knew that Imel had custody of her. Mainly because no process had been carried out, and custody was therefore unofficial.

In conclusion, people only saw a little girl with long black hair running through the streets. Which left, among other things, plenty of opportunities to just grab her, take her to a dark corner and-

Imel shook her head. No, if she started thinking about such scenarios, she'd end up clawing out her own eyes and killing the first person who came along. So she continued her search. All night long, while the city was lit up by the old street lamps of traditional buildings contrasting with the skyscrapers under construction, she poked around the capital, almost turning it upside down, moving heaven and earth until she found the girl, eventually, and she wasn't alone.

Imel's senses were on full alert, and to make matters worse, it was a man. He couldn't have been very old, probably one of those belligerent teenagers running away from home in search of an identity. Still, that didn't make him any less dangerous. Especially when it came to little Lusamina. Little Lusamina needed Imel, and this man could put her in danger.

Imel put her hand on her firearm in the inside pocket of her jacket. Technically, since she wasn't in uniform, carrying weapons was forbidden. But, if her suspicions were confirmed, Imel could always play the card of fulfilling her duty by defending the new generation. After all, it wasn't as if the police would do much if they came across the scene. Perhaps they would even enjoy the spectacle of little Lusamina being assaulted by this individual. Imel shuddered at the thought.

Moving closer, Imel was able to make out the young man's features. No, he wasn't a local. She recognized an inhabitant of Peijin between a thousand and one, and even better an inhabitant of the Republic of Eastern Gordeau. She hated making amalgams, but it had to be admitted that the lack of interaction with the outside world had made the population stereotypical, and it was simple to notice foreigners.

“You're great, Lulu.” The young man had said, nudging her lightly with his hip. “I think I'd have gotten lost without you.”

Imel raised an eyebrow when Lusamina simply nodded.

Lulu? Lulu.

The nickname left a bitter taste in her mouth. No, no, there was no way he-

Who did he think he was?

It was like a second reflex as she aimed and fired a bullet, then another, then a final one. But Ging had disappeared. And Lusamina turned to her with wide eyes.

Damn it.

*

*     *

In the days that followed, Imel paid particular attention to little Lusamina's comings and goings. She kept an eye on the times, the routes taken, and reassured herself that these were simple precautions to avoid... the worst. Lusamina wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary, which was enough to calm the young woman's distraught heart, and she decided to spend more time looking after the girl. Imel spent days trying to teach Lusamina, who fell asleep as soon as the afternoon came, and slept until the early hours of the morning. The longer she was at home, the better.

The frustration she'd felt up until now about her lack of progress had completely disappeared. It was replaced by a sense of pride as soon as little Lusamina seemed to understand better. And, judging by the syllables the child pronounced with great difficulty, there was a certain motivation that drove her, too, to improve.

But the letters were piling up on the desk. Newspapers too, and since Lusamina no longer tried to read them, Imel thought nothing of throwing them down the chimney. Besides, summer was coming, so the fireplace was no longer needed anyway. But Imel's work was being neglected, and she couldn't escape the consequences for long.

It must have been around two in the morning. Imel was helping Lusamina spit out the bile covering her tongue when the door was opened without warning. Imel's blood ran cold through her veins. Shit. Had she forgotten to answer an important letter? Had she missed a mission she'd been given? She hadn't looked at the pile of mail that scattered everywhere when she forgot to close the windows to air the rooms in the morning.

Imel hurried to hide a still half-asleep little girl, who rolled under the bed and immediately fell asleep again. Lusamina's survival instinct statistics were definitely in the negative... But she didn't need to be afraid, since Imel was there, and she was going to take care of the invader. She grabbed her gun - which she'd reloaded shortly after the confrontation, if you could call it that, with Ging - and headed for the living room, only to run into her superior. The very one to whom Lusamina had delivered the letter.

“Ah, Captain...” Imel let out a reassured sigh, before freezing again. Wait a minute. What exactly was he doing here?

She looked up at him, and he didn't look the most delighted. His long, lean face was contorted into a strained, unsatisfied, bitter expression. Imel felt less at ease, surprisingly. 

So she protested when he grabbed her arm to pull her out of the house. She soon realized that it was all for nothing, as a whole host of her comrades were waiting outside. She took a moment to try and understand. If this was a call to order, or even an execution, not all these men would be present.

“We thought something had happened to you.” Her superior mumbled as he continued to pull her along, then pushed her into the interior of the huge truck that had stopped in the street. “But it looks like you just neglected your duties. We'll talk about it later, we've got a lot to do right now.”

Imel wasn't feeling well. Not well at all. What if Lusamina woke up and, not seeing Imel, went looking for her? What if something happened to her?

She thought of throwing herself out of the moving truck, but when she looked outside, they were already a long way from town, heading south.

Goddamn it.

*

*     *

The mission was simple. It was simply to seize a woman who had been suspected of treason against the regime. Imel was not informed of the ins and outs of the case, kept in the dark as to the suspect's motive for 'treason', but this was neither the time nor the place to ask questions or protest. She cultivated the slim hope that if she kept a low profile, and did her job efficiently, she'd be able to leave without asking for anything else, and perhaps even without punishment.

The perimeter was secure. Men were amassing around one of Luonton's many residential districts. It hadn't been very difficult to find the suspect, a certain Elssia Ivralein, who had left her job in a brothel to offer her services on the street. In any other context, and if Lusamina's safety hadn't been at stake, Imel would have felt sorry for the woman. Prostitution was never by choice, or at least it never was in a town like Luonton, where there was plenty of work but too little access to education.

The group entered the building. She lived on the second floor, so the few steps they had to climb took no time at all. The smell when they arrived at the door was... peculiar. It reminded Imel of the smell of the drains during her training at Peijin. Back then, everything was very poorly insulated, so you could smell the macerating urine from miles away. Imel came to the conclusion that the building must have been relatively old.

...she wished it were.

The smell of urine was not coming from the pipes, but from the fact that the suspect had two small children, left unsupervised in the living room, who relieved themselves wherever they pleased. Imel could hardly contain her gagging at the sight of the two babies, and barely caught one before it went out onto the balcony. She let out a small sigh, then put the child back down.

“The environment is unsanitary. We need to file a report to get the children to safety.” Imel said, closing the bay window with a grimace. The apartment was modern, yet she'd seen student studios in more infrequent neighborhoods in better condition.

Her superior nodded, confirming her words, before gesturing to one of his comrades who began to scribble on a sheet of paper the information he had acquired. Then, the one writing raised his head. “There's one missing. A child, I mean. There are three declared on the file.”

“We'll find it by looking for the mother.” Another replied, and the group set off.

Imel thought it was perhaps a tad exaggerated to send the army to seize the woman. But then again, she couldn't really go against orders, and she knew that Luonton wasn't known for having large police forces. What did she know, moreover, that this woman could well be a terrorist, a resistance fighter, plotting a coup.

The members of the army all turned as one when they heard muffled wheezes. Imel was the first to react, and broke down the door to the room from which the muffled sobs were coming. She felt a jolt of electricity run through her body as she saw the suspect, standing over a bed, trying to strangle a child. The third child, that is. This one was older, it seemed, and she couldn't help trembling when she recognized that the child had to be the same age as Lusamina. So she threw herself at the woman, tackling her to the ground, and the two rolled for a moment before Imel got the upper hand and managed to handcuff her wrists.

The little boy, who almost died, sat up with a loud cough, holding his throat. But nothing appeared on his face. His eyes were wide and his breath short, and he didn't answer when the men asked him what had happened, no matter how loudly they spoke.

“We've lost him. We need to evacuate and call a doctor.” The guy writing announced.

Imel didn't hesitate.

*

*     *

Only then did Imel know exactly what Elssia - the suspect, Imel could no longer afford not to call her by name - was accused of. She was accused of having fraternized with the Kakin Empire, which was, at that moment, enemy number one, gaining more and more power since the beginning of Nasubi Hui Guo Rou's reign. Imel understood where they were coming from, but not completely. True, the Republic of Eastern Gordeau was not known for appreciating foreign contact, but there had been a number of waves of migration in the last fifty years, from which her father and mother had come, for example, so this woman could just as well be from the Kakin Empire.

Oh. Oh. Racism, of course...

Imel had lost count of the number of authors who denigrated Kakin as an inferior people. She'd understood that the opinion towards the Empire had changed thirty years ago - Imel hadn't even been born yet - when Kakin moved from a socialist monarchy (more in line with Jol-ik's ideology) to a parliamentary monarchy. And, given that the coup d'état of Jol-ik, a figure already in government years before, had taken place around that time, the general public turned away from its affection for the Empire in a snap.

Right.

The young woman was silent on the return journey, looking worriedly at the children in front of her. Even through the shock, the older one held the two babies in his skinny little arms. A boy and a girl, Imel had read. She didn't know their names, but she would soon. After all, she had been chosen to interrogate the one who could speak.

Which was quite wonderful. As if she wasn't itching enough to run home and see little Lusamina.

*

*     *

The little girl was confused. She couldn't understand why she'd ended up under her bed, and she understood even less why the door was wide open. She closed it silently, then looked around the house to make sure nothing important had been stolen. Imel's jewelry was where it belonged, in the little lunch box with a cartoon character printed on the opaque lid. The money Imel had hidden in the baseboards of the kitchen, just under the oven, was still there too. The weapons were still tucked away at the back of the cupboard, behind the jackets and artificial background Imel had placed. So... Everything was in order.

Lusamina didn't question Imel's whereabouts. She simply assumed that the young woman had gone shopping, or perhaps had some work to do. So she set about tidying the house. She spent a while going through the pile of mail that had been scattered on the floors, and took some time putting them in order. Then, when she had finished washing the floors and clothes, she took a seat at Imel's desk to read the newspaper. 

She knew Imel had said it was all nonsense. But it had to be said that this nonsense fascinated her. She liked to read what was going on at the Royal Palace, although she was well aware that their ruler Jol-ik was no King, or even Prince. She knew all about it, having seen photos on TV of the King of Kakin, who, behind his jovial air, had eyes shining with a malice she could immediately detect. Which is why she couldn't understand why the media were calling King Nasubi a forgettable idiot.

Lusamina closed the newspapers, took her medicine, fighting the reflex of vomiting, then went outside to run errands. She had heard that Imel wanted to eat a famous porridge she had once tasted with natives of the Bilgai Desert during an overseas deployment. And Lusamina, having listened with a distracted ear as Imel listed the ingredients to a comrade on the phone, was determined to satisfy that need.

So she strolled through the market that criss-crossed the city in small, hurried steps. She didn't have much time before Imel returned for lunch. So she bought what she needed, paying attention to the quality of the products, and haggling over prices without a word, not batting an eyelid at the loud voices and intimidating faces. She always got away with paying, at the very least, a quarter of the original price, if not less. Mostly because the workers were so tender-hearted. 

Lusamina didn't know it, but in reality, everyone knew her. The children because she shared her finds with them, the old ladies because she was polite and let them pass her at the market, the men because she was always running around so it was impossible to miss her. Everyone knew little Lusamina, and everyone knew that she spoke little or nothing. Everyone felt sorry for little Lusamina, but no one ever asked her if she had a place to sleep or if she had anyone to take care of her. Because the girl would frown and leave, and no one wanted to disappoint little Lusamina.

When Lusamina returned home, she saw a figure who looked familiar, but didn't follow. So it was up to that figure to follow her, and once revealed, it ruffled her hair. “Hi, Lulu! Have you missed me since yesterday?”

Lusamina grinned. Ging. Ging was very strong. Lusamina was sure of it. She never said anything about it, but she could feel it. Whenever he walked beside her, she felt almost overwhelmed by his presence. She merely nodded, showing then that yes, indeed, she had missed him. Mainly because she didn't talk to anyone but Imel.

But did she need anyone other than Imel?

Chapter Text

“Chyvon. That's your name, isn't it?”

Imel did her best to put on a soft voice, one that sounded welcoming enough to put the little boy in front of her at ease. It didn't seem to work, however, and the boy called Chyvon remained silent, his eyes riveted on some point in space. He seemed to find the table particularly interesting. Imel had fought to have his handcuffs removed, hoping that tongues would then be loosened, but this was far from the case. She couldn't blame the child, she was just in a bad mood. She had more important things to do.

She looked out of the interrogation room for a moment. She couldn't see the guards standing at the back, but she could almost feel their annoyance at the lack of progress. Nevertheless, she couldn't bring herself to swap places with one of the guards behind the glass, who didn't let her see anything. She knew only too well that they would have no patience, and certainly didn't want to imagine what would happen then.

“I just want you to know that we're here to help you, okay? I'm not going to hurt you.” With that, she made a move to take his hand, but he pulled back.

With a sigh, Imel sat back in her chair. She'd never questioned a child before, and the experience wasn't the best, she had to admit. She tapped her nails on the table, before collecting herself, and looking at the boy.

“Would you like something to eat?”

Imel felt a sense of victory wash over her when she saw that the boy shook his head in denial. True, he hadn't spoken, but at least he was answering, in a way.

“Would you like to play a game, then?”

Chyvon's eyes lifted to hers.

Touché.

*

*     *

Imel had never lost in War before. The card game was relatively simple, and she had, one might say, insolent luck. And yet... The boy's luck was the rudest thing she'd ever seen. She even came to think that he had tampered with the cards, but the results were the same when she asked for another pack.

“Well... How about adding a little challenge?”

The boy had just finished amassing the cards when she began, and he simply nodded.

“If I win, I get to ask you a question, and you're obliged to answer. What about you? What do you want?”

Chyvon seemed to think for a moment, as he shuffled the cards. Lord, Imel had never seen a child that age shuffle cards like that. He looked as if he'd been doing it all his life - which had only just begun, technically.

“Same thing.” He replied in a reedy voice, continuing his business. 

Imel wasn't too keen on the idea itself, especially with the guards watching right behind. She hoped Chyvon didn't have any tendencies to poke around where she didn't want to reveal anything.

So, one game followed another. One after the other. She was reassured by the kind of questions Chyvon was asking.

“How old are you?”

“What's your favorite color?”

“Do you prefer dogs or cats?”

“What town are you from?”

“Is the capital as pretty as they say?”

And Imel felt decidedly more and more crushed by this child who never lost. It wasn't... realistic. Something was wrong.

So she asked to play a game of old maid. The rules were simple. Pair up cards until you ran out, which meant not having the joker in your hand. Luck was of the essence, but above all, Imel could pride herself on never letting anything show on her face.

Yet Chyvon didn't touch the joker once, as she had it in her hand. He didn't even look in its direction. It couldn't be... The kid wasn't human!

So, when only one card remained in Chyvon's hand, and two in Imel's, the young woman began to lose patience, which Chyvon watched. And she saw it, that brief moment when Chyvon changed course after their eyes met. So he drew the joker, and made a simple shuffle under the table so she wouldn't know where the card she needed to win was.

When he straightened up, elbows on the table, Imel grimaced. He wasn't giving anything away either, this boy, so it wasn't easy to deduce anything. And, as she directed her hand to the card on her left, he interrupted her.

“No, not that one.”

She looked at him confused, and he didn't drop the matter. Even worse, he handed her the right card, placing the left one on the table.

“Here.”

So Imel took it. The ace of clubs.

*

*     *

Lusamina waited patiently by the window. It was long past lunchtime, so she had already eaten. She'd even fed Ging, who confessed that he didn't really know where he could eat around here, except in the rocky ends of the country. Lusamina didn't know what he was talking about, so he told her all about what he'd seen in the mountains around the steaming porridge. 

The little girl listened patiently, and even enjoyed this account of a world she knew all too little about. Her knowledge of the country was limited to Peijin and the surrounding towns, and perhaps to what she had seen on the news. That said, the news scared her sometimes, so she didn't dare go out too much. She'd stopped counting the number of times she'd seen on the evening programs that yet another person had been killed in a conflict of interests.

She was beginning to lose hope. Imel was nowhere in sight, and this simple fact depressed her to no end. It seemed that Ging, also sitting cross-legged in front of the TV, noticed this and asked her to come closer with a wave of his hand. She sat down next to him and watched in fascination as he fiddled with the cables to show her something other than Jol-ik's narcissistic propaganda, and instead colorful images in a language she didn't know.

“They're called cartoons.” Ging explained in a low voice. “Normally, that's what kids watch. But then, kids here are a bit... Anyway.”

Lusamina was mesmerized by what she was seeing. It was so absurd to see these animals in aggressive colors, grotesquely depicted, moving on two legs and singing, and talking, and....

And yet, she really liked what she saw. So she sat as usual, knees drawn up against her chest, as she watched the images evolve through nasally voices and surreal settings. 

“Lulu, can I ask you a question?” Ging then asked, pulling Lusamina's attention away from the screen. “You don't have to answer... I mean, you won't answer, but- Your reaction will tell me everything.”

He turned his head towards her, and waited for her to do the same.

“Why are you in Zetsu all the time?”

*

*     *

“Do you know if your mother was involved in anything concerning the Kakin Empire?”

Might as well get straight to the point. She wasn't sure she could win every time. However, surprise upon surprise decidedly, Chyvon raised his eyebrows.

“I don't know what the Kakin Empire is."

Then he picked up the cards to shuffle them again. Imel saw red, and grabbed the boy's wrist as he yelped in pain. She stood up abruptly, pulling him towards her, until both were standing, leaning over the table on which the cards were scattered.

“Are you shitting me? Say you're shitting me!”

Chyvon didn't know what to say. He didn't cry. He didn't start screaming, begging her to let go of him, no. His face closed completely, and he stared into space again. No matter how she shook him, tried to bring him back to her with the game, spoke to him in a low voice... No, he was gone. Except physically, there was nothing left of him.

Imel was ushered out of the room by the other guards, and kicked the first trash can she came across. It seemed everything was against her. She knew that no one would be able to get that kid to talk all day, so she still couldn't get home to see little Lusamina, who, by the way, must have been scared to death without her. The poor thing couldn't manage a day on her own, so spending the night without anyone?

Images, each more horrifying than the last, flashed before Imel's eyes. Trembling, she approached the nearest phone booth. She had to answer, she had to answer, she had to-

Tut... Tuuut... Tuuuuuut...

The number you have tried to reach is not available.

Huh?

Please try-

She dialed again, starting to nibble the skin of her thumb around the nail. She tapped her heel on the floor, and waited again. She wanted to hear the little 'hmm?' that was so characteristic of little Lusamina who had to answer, but couldn't quite physically.

The number you tried to reach is not available.

She gripped the phone with a strength that surprised even herself. But she only hurt her hand in the end.

*

*     *

“Yeah, you must have been awakened very early then, then.” 

Ging and Lusamina were lying on the roof of the building where the little girl lived with Imel.

“And for it to be this good, I'd say... What, when you were a year old? Maybe less. How old are you?”

She held up eight fingers, and he nodded gently.

“Definitely less, then.” 

Ging seemed thoughtful for a moment, before rolling over until he was settled on his side. He rested his head on his closed fist before scrutinizing Lusamina indecipherably. She responded with a simple, confused look at this very special attention, which didn't necessarily make her uncomfortable, but which didn't please her all the same.

“You live with someone here, yeah? The woman who tried to shoot me?”

Lusamina nodded slowly, waiting for him to continue.

“Would she know, mayhaps, where you were taught to have a Zetsu like that?”

Lusamina replied with a brief shrug. She didn't even know what it was herself, and Imel had never remarked on any Zetsu, or even on that Nen he kept talking about. He mumbled something about this 'damn generation of new users', then turned to her again.

“Well. I'm bored. I'm going for a walk, do you want to come?”

She nodded, once more, and they both stood up.

“That explains a lot, actually.” Ging was talking more to himself than to her, as he jumped onto the neighboring building below. "When you consider that I didn't feel you coming that day.”

Lusamina understood less and less what he was saying.

She didn't protest when he took her to those parts of town where Imel hadn't wanted her to set foot. After all, Ging was very strong, she could feel it, so why be afraid? The man behind the counter didn't bat an eyelid at the sight of the duo entering the tavern. He simply asked them what they wanted, before handing them each a pint of a liquid Lusamina didn't recognize. But it strongly resembled urine. She squinted at this mental image, and so couldn't hold back the surge of disgust when she saw Ging greedily drinking the contents of the imposing container. When he felt her gaze on him, however, he put down his glass - if you could call it that - and tilted his head to one side.

“Aren't you drinking? Beer won't eat you, you know...”

Lusamina looked at him falsely amused. She knew that. So she brought the container to her lips, and took a difficult sip, which stayed in her esophagus for a moment. The drink was bitter, thick and hard to swallow all at once. She blinked several times, feeling the surprisingly pleasant aftertaste that had remained on her tongue.

“So?” Ging asked with a tentative tilt of his head, a knowing smile plastered on his face.

She took another sip as an answer.

Chapter Text

He was ten years old.

His favorite color was red.

He preferred cats.

He came from Luonton.

He'd never been to the capital.

Chyvon stared into space, unable to answer the questions uttered to him. Guard after guard were sat in front of him, but he couldn't see them. No, what he saw was blackness, the blackness caused by a pillow on his face when he'd just woken up. He remembers struggling, but his mother soothed him, telling him it would soon be over. That he wouldn't have to suffer anymore. That she loved him with all her heart.

Then, at that moment, and just then, Chyvon had felt cradled, like when he was a baby. He'd thought about letting himself go.

But the question, which he thought was selfish, kept circling in his mind.

Why me?

He hadn't understood where his mother's sudden aggression had come from. His Mama who loved him so much. His Mama whom he loved so much. His Mama who had done nothing wrong, but who had nevertheless been seized by those big men in uniform.

He didn't dare cry. Crying never got him anywhere, so he'd always chosen to hold back his tears. He hadn't dared protest his mother's boarding. A small part of him, he thought selfishly, told himself she'd earned it.

Deep down, he knew.

He was sure of it.

He was certain why his mother had tried to kill him and not his brother or sister. He was her disgrace, after all. Through the little boy, the woman saw all that was ugliest in this world. In Chyvon's eyes, she saw his father's mocking eyes, even though they shared neither shape nor color. It was the only thing that comforted Elssia, that her son resembled her.

But the undertones were strong, and clear when Chyvon managed to take the reins when Elssia was too tired to look after the children. When Chyvon understood with disconcerting ease all the strategies set up by Jol-ik to enslave the people. When Chyvon brought ever more delirious results in terms of performance and excellence to the few school exercises accessible to the general public, distributed in the newspapers.

The boy was a King's son.

And she couldn't stand it.

*

*     *

“Hey, get up...”

Lusamina felt herself being shaken, and she opened eyes that were still glued shut by sleep. She tried to rub them to induce her eyelids to open, but they didn't want to be cooperative, it seemed. She simply lifted her head, and immediately recognized, despite her still-closed eyes, that she wasn't at home, not at Imel's. The smell was heavier, leaving a heavy aftertaste on her tongue, and the stench followed the path of the air into her bronchi. She coughed a little.

Well? No blood fell from her mouth this time. Even though she hadn't taken any medicine for... 

For far too long, in fact.

Eventually, she managed to half-open her eyes to see Ging's face opposite hers. She didn't move, and neither did he.

“Your hair's a mess. And you've got drool there...” Ging shook his head before stepping back. 

Yes, Lusamina could feel it now. She could feel the imprint of the hard wood she'd fallen asleep on, and the unpleasant sensation of a collar wet with drool. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as Ging's rough hands approached her head. She looked at him confusedly, and the young man seemed to hesitate for a moment, considering his next move.

“It's just- Don't move." 

And, with all the gentleness that clumsy hands like his could muster, he arranged Lusamina's long black hair, which had scattered all over the place. Despite the urge, he decided not to let his fingers run between the strands, knowing full well that he could hurt her if any knots were to be found here and there. She heard him murmur something, and he got up to move away.

Ging helped Lusamina to walk outside. A migraine of hitherto unheard-of intensity had hit her in the middle of the forehead, and she found herself reeling from the accumulation of pain in her entire body. Apparently, not coughing up blood didn't correlate with being pain-free. They stopped a few blocks from where Imel and Lusamina lived. As she looked up at him, as if to ask what was wrong, her eyes fell on Ging's jaw, which twitched involuntarily, so faintly that she probably wouldn't have noticed it if she hadn't been paying attention - or rather, if she hadn't been looking at him so intently.

“Stay there.” He sighed, making her lean against a wall. “Don't try to follow me, okay? I'll be right back, I promise.”

Lusamina couldn't really do anything else, anyway.

*

*     *

Chyvon had been introduced to the best detectives around. To psychologists. To mothers working for the regime. 

Everything had been tried at least once. Intimidation, compassion, coercion. They'd tried baiting him with games, with food, with money, even with women. But the boy remained stoic.

It wasn't the first time he'd been offered these absurd things he wouldn't do anything with. Of course, his stomach was twisting in all directions, clamoring for a meal, but he did nothing to calm the pain that eventually dragged into his skull. He was no stranger to migraines either, so he simply let himself sink into his consciousness, like a rubber band inevitably snapping back on itself. He couldn't help them. He shouldn't.

So he concentrated on the 'why'. Why had his mother been kidnapped. Or rather, how had they been able to trace her.

They'd always been careful. As Chyvon became, by instinct, more and more adept at playing cards, Elssia had watched with rapt attention. As the boy became more aware of money, accounts and numbers, Elssia had told him she was proud of him. She had been a little less proud when Chyvon returned one day with a bag full of coins. But she was very proud when he brought back a suitcase bursting at the seams with bills.

Elssia played deaf and blind when it came to her son's activities. She didn't care where he went, what mattered was that he wasn't hurt, and that he brought home enough money to make up for his absence from home for the day. The family had money, yes, but money meant nothing without a title.

So the boy hung out in the slums. He'd learned to use his fists, hide weapons, and make all the more money. He'd learned to scan a face, to lie without being caught, to smile without conviction, and yet others believed him.

Chyvon was the son of a King.

And that was the secret he kept and wouldn't give to anyone.

Or so he hoped. He would take his mother's despair to the grave. He'd hush her disgrace until it exploded. Until it destroyed him and turned him into nothing but an aimless husk. What else was he, after all?

He had never been a son, he had never been a brother. He had been, in turn, a failure and an investment. He was nothing as a person. But that didn't bother him all that much, as long as he could be of service to his mother.

Ah. How he loved his mother.

*

*     *

Lusamina looked up at Ging when he returned. He was holding a backpack by its handle in his hands, and beckoned her to start walking, but she didn't. No, she just looked at him suspiciously, and curiously. No, she just looked at him suspiciously, and curiously. He wouldn't tell her what had happened. He wouldn't tell her that-

“She's not coming back, Lulu.” 

There, he'd said it. But she didn't believe him, it seemed. She kept trying to move forward, but he held her back with a hand on her shoulder.

“They're clearing out the apartment, Lulu. When I asked, they said she was moving to another part of the country. I said she was hosting me for a mission, and I got to take your stuff, saying it was mine. They didn't even think to check.”

He paused in his tale. Mainly because he felt the muscles under his palm tense and her whole body tremble.

“I couldn't find any adoption papers, so it's a good thing they didn't find you. I took everything I could, Lulu. Clothes, toys, drawings...”

He paused again. He still didn't dare look at her. Instead of holding her by the shoulder, he let his hand slip, until he was holding the little girl's.

“Come, I'll take you to my hiding spot.”

He pulled her after him, gently, an attempt to see if she was following him willingly. She wasn't. She stayed with her feet nailed to the ground, and looked in the direction of where she lived. One by one, she watched the belongings being taken away.

The lunch box with a cartoon character printed on the opaque lid that held Imel's jewelry.

The money hidden in the kitchen baseboards, under the oven.

The weapons tucked away at the back of the cupboard, behind the jackets and artificial background Imel had placed.

She turned on her heels to follow Ging.

He asked her no questions.

Chapter Text

Imel had managed to sleep for twenty minutes, not more. She couldn't fall asleep and leave Chyvon alone. She was too afraid they'd start torturing or beating the child to make him talk, especially as she herself was beginning to think he didn't know anything. After all, he was only a little boy of about ten, what could he possibly know about any betrayal by his mother?

Nevertheless, her thoughts kept turning to the way he played. To the apparent innocence that shone in the boy's eyes, suddenly extinguished as the pair began to play. Imel thought she was looking at a completely different person, someone who could predict her every move, someone who frightened her. She had no longer seen that little boy, she had seen a wall that let nothing show and nothing affect it. So part of her thought he was playing a role. That he was pretending, playing deaf.

Chyvon's eyes hadn't moved from where they were staring, right in the middle of the table. The inspector was losing patience, and Imel had done well to stay on her feet, for she managed to restrain the man's hand before he could slap the child. Chyvon had raised his eyes, squinted them in an expression both pensive and condescending, then returned to his blank stare. That was something.

Imel felt pity, eventually. She brought him some food, and the boy took some time before attacking the dish placed in front of him. He waited, in particular, until he was alone in the room, before he finally chickened out, sighing heavily and throwing himself onto the plate as if it were the first time he'd eaten in ages. Which, all things considered, wasn't that far from the truth. Two days had passed since his mother's seizure. 

The young woman let out a sigh of relief. At least the child was still eating on his own and not refusing food like his mother. She had heard of Elssia's treatment, of the fasting imposed on her which had finally turned into a hunger strike, and then of the methods used to force her to eat. She didn't even dare imagine blocking the boy against the table to force him to swallow the sticky porridge normally given to prisoners. She repressed a shudder.

Chyvon's tongue loosened at the end of the first week, when he asked to make a request. The inspectors had laughed in his face by then, but Imel took the time to enter his cell. At first, he didn't want to talk to her, rubbing the wrist she'd clasped, looking at her with an air half frightened, half terrifying. 

“I could take you to see your brother and sister.” Imel had said simply, sitting down opposite him. He lifted his head from his previously bruised wrist. Oh, she had his attention at last, she knew.

“You're lying.” The little boy had replied, his face turned into a wary grimace. “You don't have the power to do that."

Imel had then pouted, before shaking her head. She took a deep breath to contain herself, then leaned toward Chyvon.

“You can't expect me to take you there if you don't cooperate, even just a little.” Imel retorted, before crossing her arms. “You're going to have to help us out a bit, Chyvon, because I know you know something. We all know you know something, and I understand you don't want to say anything, she's your mother after all, but...”

Chyvon released his wrist, and placed both his hands on the table, both visible, palm against the cold surface. He didn't dare look at her.

“But she tried to kill you.” Imel murmured, a little lower. “And, if the medical tests performed on you are correct, it's not the first time she's raised her hand against you...”

The boy looked down at his own body, then up at her again. For a moment... he'd thought he saw bruises on his knees. But that wasn't possible, they hadn't been there before. His mother would never...

“Let me help you, Chyvon. If we don't lock your mother up, then...” 

Then you'll suffer, and your brother and sister will eventually suffer too. The implications were clear, yet Imel couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence. Mainly because she was playing on the boy's weaknesses. She felt filthy exploiting his vulnerability in this way, but she saw no other way to get him to talk.

“Promise me, Chyvon.” Imel had leaned toward him, offering her little finger. “Promise you'll tell me what you know if I take you to see the two babies.”

Chyvon considered the finger pointed at him for a moment, and shook his head sharply. “I can't...”

The little hands, still chubby, had begun to tremble. The backs of them were reddened, and the fingers were frail, the skin cracked, the nails bitten. Imel risked taking them in hers, and he looked up at her again. His eyes were... a captivating pumpkin orange, now that he was looking at her without that reserved air. He didn't draw back.

“Let me help you, Chyvon.” Imel repeated in a voice that was meant to be softer.

She thought she recognized a tear in the corner of his eye. He finally freed his hands, but left one that he held out for Imel to squeeze. He gave her a sad little smile.

“The pinky promise, I'm a bit too old for it...” he murmured.

*

*     *

Chyvon gazed tenderly at the two children. His brother and sister sleeping peacefully, as they held the finger their big brother had passed through their little hands. Imel stood a few steps back, intent on giving the poor boy a moment with the babies undisturbed by her presence. 

He'd been quiet on the journey, but he seemed an entirely different person now, cooing to the little children as he leaned over the baby carriages. Imel had made sure the children had been well fed, as she wouldn't have been able to take Chyvon to see them if they'd been in a poor state. She was reassured to see that the babies had been well cared for instead of always abused and only fed during the visit.

“This is Olia and Fere.” Chyvon said as he turned back to Imel. “Olia is the boy, and Fere is the girl.”

Imel seemed surprised that he should speak to her like that, but she approached the baby carriages, next to the little boy. Ah... The children had the same eyes. As she got closer, Chyvon lowered his voice.

“I'm not sure I can tell you... I promised-” He paused, biting the inside of his cheek, and Imel laid a hand on his shoulder. He didn't seem to want to pull away.

“Can I tell you a story, then? The story... of my daughter, mine.” She asked, as Chyvon nodded imperceptibly. “Sit down, it might take a little while...”

*

*     *

I think it was two years ago, during the Nationalist Revolution. You were there, weren't you? You saw it, too, didn't you? It was terrible.
I was in charge, with a handful of comrades, of evacuating the population. Everything was on fire, I remember it perfectly. Not because the revolution was violent. No, it was the repression. Jol-ik's armed forces were authorized to open fire, so... So they were firing into the crowd. Even our comrades could be hit. It was far too difficult to see anything through all the smoke.
I was in the school district. Where the military high school was, there were several orphanages. There was... this national plan, back then, to swell the ranks of the army by throwing in kids who had nothing to lose and nothing to say.

...
One of the orphanages was hit. I remember, it was... out of nowhere. Pow. All of a sudden, the left wing was wiped out, and I could see commotion inside, through the windows. They hadn't allowed tinted windows yet, at that point. And then I saw...
Yes, it was a ground-floor window, as the fire spread and drew closer. The window had the blinds closed, but it suddenly exploded. I saw a lamp being thrown outside. And then I saw her.
Little Lusamina.
She had used the lamp to try to get out. I remember her face was covered in soot, and she was coughing, poor thing, too much. She was trying to get out. She had pulled herself up to the window to possibly fall into the grass but- But she hadn't broken the window properly, and she lacerated her belly trying to sneak out. I thought she was going to die. Maybe she would have died if...

...
I got closer to her. She was on the ground and couldn't get up. There was blood everywhere, and she looked up at me. I don't think I'd ever seen so much terror in one look. I don't think I'll ever see so much terror in one look.
I wasn't really thinking when I carried her away from the orphanage. She was talking, I think, but I couldn't understand what she was saying. She spoke... so softly. And with all the commotion, it was impossible to understand her. I ran with her in my arms, and all I remember is the scream she let out after the orphanage was engulfed in flames. I didn't dare turn around. I only managed to cover her eyes.

...
I couldn't find any papers after that. There were other survivors, but it was impossible to find out what their names were, or who their parents were, or where they came from. These children... all had no identity, no past, as if they'd just come into the world. I asked her what her name was.
“Lusamina”, she said, and I never tried to find out if it was true. If she said it, it must be true. Or maybe she had a good reason to change.
Little Lusamina was always sick, and I never understood why. A lovely little girl, who learns quickly, but forgets just as fast. She never made a sound, except when she coughed or vomited, often blood. I've come to compare her to a mouse. She's always drawn herself as a mouse ever since.
I've taken her to countless underground doctors. No one was to know that I had taken her under my wing. The others had been placed in military school, but not her, I couldn't bear that. She was so small... You should see the size of the shoes she wore. They were this tiny. I kept them, so she could see them when she grew up. And when she has children, maybe...

...
I took her to countless underground doctors. None of them could tell me what was wrong with her. They were all competent, though, and took care of the dying population, but they couldn't understand Little Lusamina. They just gave her painkillers. “So that she'd shut up a bit", they'd say. I gave her painkillers so she wouldn't suffer.
I never told her I loved her. At least, not that I can remember. But if you only knew, Chyvon, what I'm willing to do for that child. You have no idea what I'd be capable of for her. And yet...

“And yet...?” Chyvon encouraged in a small voice, his eyes searching Imel's. He hadn't heard such an exciting story in... since forever. Those of low-life delinquents were entertaining, yes, but always boiled down to a few words, which were exaggerated to inspire fear and burnish their image.

Imel didn't know how to answer right away. Her lips trembled as she remembered what she'd been told. That she'd been transferred. That her apartment had been emptied. They'd found nothing. They'd found no one, apart from a Hunter she'd been “accommodating”, it seemed.

Ging.

“And, that Little Lusamina...” Chyvon continued, his eyebrows furrowed in a confused expression. “Where is she now?”

Imel shook her head, and Chyvon looked down. No, she wasn't sure the child was dead. But there was a good chance. Living outdoors, especially as a little girl, was not a situation anyone would want. Danger lurked at every step, and who knew what was happening to her right now.

“That's my dad...” Chyvon murmured, resting his head on Imel's shoulder. “That's my father my mother wanted to hide. He... He's from Kakin.”

Imel put an arm around the boy, and Chyvon wanted to cry.

Ah, he thought, forgive me, Mama, I'm pathetic.

Chapter Text

Lusamina was sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, her hands open to the flames. She gave a small smile as she imagined that she was the one controlling the element, slowly moving her fingers. Ging had gone to wash in a nearby river, shortly after Lusamina had washed herself. So she waited patiently, her hair sticking to her skin and clothes, droplets rolling down her hunched back. And when Ging returned from his little bath, she slowly raised her head towards him. He gave her a small, embarrassed smile before sitting down opposite her.

"Are you all right?" he asked after a long, uncomfortable silence.

Lusamina nodded slowly, and Ging shook his head, then looked at her for a moment. The orange light on her face cast shadows that accentuated her slightly dull eyes, and her drawn features.

"Listen, um... About your friend..."

Lusamina looked sad, and lowered her eyes to the dirty floor of the cave.

"Imel..."

Ging was silent for another moment. He hadn't expected her to speak, he had to admit. He hadn't expected her to want to talk.

"Yes, er... Imel."

He frowned. He'd assumed she was far less verbal.

"I don't think she's abandoned you. I think... there's a lot we don't know, in this story. But I don't think anyone would blame you if... Well. If you hold a little grudge."

Lusamina shook her head slowly, and Ging sighed, ruffling her hair.

"Go to sleep, Lulu. It's late."

It took the little girl a moment before she stood up and retreated further into the cave.

She didn't manage to fall asleep. Or rather, not immediately. Not because the dampness bothered her, or because she was afraid of the dark, but because of the familiar but unpleasant sensation of rumbling in her throat. It wasn't really something that hurt anymore, it was just an unpleasant experience.

She rolled over until she was lying on her side, parting her lips to let the bile flow between her lips. At least she didn't cough, so her throat wasn't as dry and sore as usual. She tried not to make a sound, but the gagging couldn't be suppressed. She could only hope that Ging didn't hear anything.

*

*     *

The next day, they set off from the cave. Ging didn't ask her about the brown stains on the floor when he came to wake her up. And perhaps that was for the best, because she herself had no explanation to offer.

So Lusamina simply followed her friend - could she call him her friend? She wasn't sure - as they headed for the border. She had never been so far from the capital, but she didn't protest, her breath taken away by the sight of the great mountains that she could only make out in the distance where she lived. Her shoes, the soles of which were barely holding on, were for the first time treading on something other than the dreary tarmac streets of city centres, or the arid lands of the neighbouring countryside where people were starving.

She didn't have so much trouble coping with the uneven paths and the stones that crumbled under her weight. It was just like walking on roofs with steep slopes and slippery tiles. She found it hard to keep up, though, her back bent under the bag she'd taken from Ging as soon as they'd moved away from Imel's house.

Imel.

Lusamina couldn't get the thought of the soldier out of her head. She was convinced that Imel could never have abandoned her. It just didn't make sense. Imel had always fought to ensure that no one could ever harm her protégée. Lusamina had been hidden from the world while in the open, and God knew the consequences the soldier might face if Lusamina had been discovered.

No papers, had Ging said.

Lusamina wasn't surprised. She vividly remembered the day when everything had been razed to the ground by an aerial projection. The fire that chased her then paled in comparison to the blazing sun under which she climbed, with Ging, to the highest point around. She looked out over the landscape, her breathing ragged, her forehead covered in sweat, and yet she felt fine. Better. The air was less stifling and the misery no longer encircled her.

She followed his finger as it pointed off into the distance, towards the small towns scattered here and there dozens of kilometres away.

"Over there, that's the Republic of Western Gordeau." Ging announced, turning his face towards his travelling companion. Gently grasping her elbow, he pulled her towards him. "It may have the same name as the place you come from, but it's a whole different world, you'll see. All right, it's not that I don't like you, but I need you to stay here for a while."

Lusamina looked up at him with eyes that were both worried and inquisitive.

"I'm not going to abandon you, Lulu." He reassured her as he ruffled her hair, managing to loosen a few strands that had stuck to her forehead from perspiration. "I'll just make sure the coast is clear. We can always wait until dark, of course, but I'd rather get you out of here as soon as possible, to be honest."

Lusamina pursed her lips, in a slightly discomfited pout.

"Why?" she asked in a hoarse voice.

Ging let out a laugh.

"What do you mean ‘why’? Lulu, you're sick as a horse, this country's rotten to the core, and you've got nowhere else to go."

Ah, he'd noticed...

Lusamina looked away to the small towns on the horizon, and Ging sighed.

"What I meant was that it's better to be lost and alone in Western Gordeau than in Eastern Gordeau. We'll think about it once you're no longer under the radar in this country, OK? Trust me a little longer."

Lusamina sat down patiently. She decided that it would indeed be better to trust Ging. Because at least he knew where he was going.

*

*     *

In the end, they waited until nightfall before heading back down. Ging had met a charming little customs committee, and he had decided that it was safer to act in the dark. He had given her very clear instructions, and she was just waiting for the signal to act. 

She waited in a hollow in the rock, a small crevice into which she could slip, sheltered from the lights shining on Ging as he approached the customs barracks. She had to be quick. 

She covered the distance to the border in short strides, her steps as silent as a mouse's, and when she reached the ditch, she took a deep breath. She threw out the grappling hook that Ging had entrusted to her, which locked onto the ramp on the other side so that the inhabitants of Western Gordeau wouldn't inadvertently fall. And she closed her eyes for a moment. She gave herself a moment to pray - even though she had never been religious - before jumping into the ditch, and had to summon all the strength her arms could muster not to be caught up in the darkness below.

Don't look down, had Ging warned her, handing her the grappling hook. Easier said than done. She was now aware of the mass she represented, her whole being pulled downwards. He had told her to wait, because trying to climb on her own would only tire her out more than necessary. How ironic. She could feel her arms tearing, the contraction of her meagre muscles aching, but she was holding on, she wouldn't let go.

Ging had kept the backpack with him and was taking furtive glances through the barracks window. He could see in the darkness that the grappling hook was in place, perfect. On the other hand, the customs officers were taking an inordinate amount of time searching his backpack - he'd invented a little sister from whom he'd kept souvenirs for his trip, and who happened to be waiting for him - and checking his identity. He gritted his teeth at the thought of Lusamina and her clammy hands slipping off the rope.

He restrained himself from letting out a grunt when they finally handed him back his belongings, and took off without asking, running to the railing to grab the metal end of the rope and pull Lusamina out of the ditch. He grabbed her by the armpits so as not to strain her arms, which must have been aching, and congratulated her on her strength.

To tell the truth, he didn't know what he would have done if she hadn't held on...

*

*     *

The pair arrived at an inn that welcomed those who managed to cross the border. The innkeeper was a friendly woman who let them in without asking for payment, and helped the little girl to wash up. It seemed that she herself was an escapee from the constantly guarded territory. In those days, there was no such thing as a ditch, and dozens of metres of barbed wire stretched across the border. She still had scars, having lacerated her body trying to escape.

Ging suppressed a shudder, then turned his gaze to Lusamina who was eating in the corner of the room, surrounded by other children. She was silent, but seemed to be in good spirits, watching the discussions with a certain fascination.

"May I ask who this child is to you?"The innkeeper asked, not hiding the suspicion in her eyes.

Ging nodded slowly. He understood that suspicion, after all.

"No one, Madam." Ging admitted. "To tell the truth, I had simply come to the territory to observe the tomb of Kyong Hyo, who... Err, surely you must know who he was, excuse me." He tapped his fingers nervously against the glass that had been offered to him. "Lulu made me a map of the capital, so I could go there. And, when I went back to see her... Well, she was alone."

The innkeeper seemed to consider him with her eyes.

"Where are her parents?"

Ging simply shrugged, and the woman sighed heavily, continuing to wipe the counter, which was perfectly dry now. She looked up at him, eventually, with tired but happy eyes.

"My name is Hwa Subin." She then introduced herself, stuffing the cloth into the pocket of her apron. "I left the Republic of Eastern Gordeau a good ten years ago. And yet I can't bring myself to leave the border. Do you know why?"

Ging didn't dare interrupt.

"There's something strange in the air once you leave home. You feel a nostalgia that sticks to your skin. Because this famine, this misery, this misfortune, it's the only thing you know. You avoid good things like the plague, when you've always been treated like an animal.’ Mrs Hwa - or was it just Miss? He didn't see any ring on her finger - paused for a moment, scanning the room with her gaze. Her eyes lingered on the group of children in the corner of the room, chatting in low voices but with large gestures. ‘It took me years to be able to function again, to recognise what was right and what was wrong, to be able to say to myself that, at last, I'm free."

She remained silent for a few minutes, lowering her gaze to the counter once more. In her eyes, you could read all the suffering in the world. It was a look that Ging had seen time and again as he wandered the streets in search of the tomb of the fallen monarch Kyong Hyo. The last of his dynasty, who had brought down with him all the wealth of land and men. The tomb had been abandoned, with the population growing resentful of the monarchy. Ging had come to the country in search of this emperor buried under hatred and rubble, and he had found it, this tomb that stretched for miles beneath the country, where delirious species had developed, where all the royal families that had ever ruled Eastern Gorutô and its former colonial empire rested.

"I'm Ging Freecss." He said after a moment, folding his arms across his chest. He didn't want to touch his glass again.

Mrs Hwa nodded slowly. 

"Pleased to meet you. And the little... Lulu, you said?"

"Lusamina." Ging corrected, biting the inside of his cheek. "It's just me calling her... Anyway."

Mrs Hwa took back his barely-begun glass, but didn't throw it away immediately.

"And where are you planning to take her?"

Ging sighed heavily.

"I'm pretty sure I saw something in her. Something beyond my expertise, so I'll have to take her to a friend. Who lives at the Jappon, so that's quite a drive from here."

Mrs Hwa shook her head sharply.

"For God's sake, don't even think about it. Leaving the Mitene Union with her will be impossible for you, I'm afraid. The airports and all the ports in the country are being closely watched, and if they suspect she's from Eastern Gorutô, they could have you imprisoned and..."

Ging shook his head in turn, with a small smile.

"Ah, I think I forgot to say that I'm a professional Hunter. Don't worry about us."

Chapter Text

"This is completely stupid." Imel had muttered as she watched the news.

Jol-ik was once again in his conquistador era, yet without the armed forces to be able to carry out the grotesque plans he was spelling out to the press as if they were the idea of the century. Imel shook her head with an annoyed grunt, looking down instead at Chyvon who was dozing beside her. 

She had managed to negotiate the boy's release after days of arguing. On the other hand, she was now in charge of looking after him, something she wasn't going to complain about. Chyvon was less calm than Little Lusamina, he responded more, he understood more, but he could never replace her, and she knew that deep down. She placed a trembling hand on the boy's head, playing with the raven black locks, as she listened with a distracted ear to what Jol-ik had to say, once again.

Her gaze only returned to the television when Jol-ik announced that he had already declared war on the Republic of Western Gordeau, and she very literally wanted to tear her hair out.

It was complicated enough to quell the riots across the country, but to be able to contain the armed forces of Western Gordeau, a country with far more resources, was impossible. Imel didn't have to wait long before her door opened to reveal Dalantai, another soldier that was in her class all these years ago.

Dalantai gave her comrade a polite smile, before approaching with hushed steps.

"I suppose you've heard the news..."

Imel nodded, her fingers still in the little boy's mass of black hair.

"We're not going to get out of this unscathed."

Dalantai shook his head, looking at the sleeping child with a saddened pout.

"No, we won't. Commander Gert has asked us to prepare for the assault tomorrow. Which is stupid. I remember at military school they told us that declaring war on a country meant having already attacked, or at least attacking right after..."

Imel shrugged. She remembered those lessons, too, and also found the strategy a little limited, but there was a reason why Jol-ik wasn't the mastermind of the whole thing, after all. She even wondered if the dictator hadn't gone against his advisors' decisions by declaring war on the neighbouring country.

"What do you intend to do with the boy?" Dalantai asked, turning her gaze on Chyvon, who had huddled in on himself.

"No idea." Imel sighed slowly. "To be honest, I can't leave him alone. He's a child, his mother's still imprisoned... He's got no one to rely on, and he's the only one who can look after the two babies..."

"If it makes you feel any better, they've managed to find a nanny. For the children. You can leave that one with him too..."

Imel shook her head. She could no longer leave Chyvon alone after the revelation she had made a few days earlier. He wasn't safe anywhere.

"So, this is it, eh. We're going to the front for the first time in a long time, out of the country..." Imel sighed, hoping to change the subject, leaning back against the back of the sofa.

Dalantai looked away, wrapping a brown lock around her finger, tugging at it nervously. "I don't think so."

Imel looked up at her, encouraging her to continue.

"Even Commander Gert doesn't seem to want to go to the front. I don't think... I don't think we're really going." Dalantai revealed, starting to walk around the makeshift lounge, tracing circles around the table at the back. "Besides, I find it strange that the preparations don't start until tomorrow."

Imel was silent for a moment. "You don't think we're really going, after all."

It wasn't a question, but Dalantai shook her head. "No, that's ridiculous... Nobody wants to fight under these conditions..."

Imel looked down at Chyvon again. Ah. He wasn't asleep any more. "I certainly don't want to."

"I assure you I don't either." Dalantai shook her head again. "I think tomorrow's gathering is just an excuse. In any case, there's no way I'm fighting a losing war. Especially for a country that has never done anything for me or my loved ones."

Imel nodded. "Yes, I know what you mean. But an excuse for what?"

Dalantai shrugged, a slightly confused pout on her face. "I have to admit, I don't know much about that. I don't see them refusing orders."

"We'll see." Imel simply replied.

"You're leaving tomorrow, then."

Chyvon hadn't missed a single crumb of the conversation, sitting on the tattered sofa, swinging his legs gently. He stared quizzically at Imel, his head tilted slightly to the left. Imel was putting on her coat, not daring to look at the child.

"Yes."

Chyvon lowered his eyes. The remark was just on the tip of his lips. He could say it, it would hurt her, he knew it.

Are you going to abandon me like Little Lusamina?

But he couldn't, it wasn't right. He couldn't after all the help she'd given him. Nevertheless, he couldn't ignore the pang in his heart that pierced his chest at the thought of being alone again. He would see Olia and Fere again, yes, but he was afraid.

"I won't tell anyone, if that makes you feel any better." Imel said, to which Chyvon gave a small laugh.

"I know that. Otherwise, you're putting yourself in danger too." Chyvon drew his legs closer to his body so that he was sitting cross-legged. "What worries me is that they're not going to let go of me."

"I told them you didn't know anything." Imel pointed out, to which Chyvon replied with a nod.

"Maybe so, but they didn't seem satisfied..."

"Stay on your guard, then." Murmured Imel ruffled his hair, over the little boy's protests. "You're a clever boy, you won't be fooled."

Chyvon gave a small smile before finally looking up at Imel. "When are you coming back?"

Imel sighed and crossed her arms. In general, the Eastern Gordeau never left the same men in the field for more than a week, but here again, there was nothing to say that she would be able to come back to see him.

"I'd like to give you an answer, but I have no idea." Imel admitted as she adjusted the flaps of her jacket.

"Just my luck." Chyvon ironised before pouting. "You... You won't die, will you?"

Imel turned to Chyvon. There was a glimmer of hope in those orange eyes that looked at her with an innocence rare when it came him.

"I can't promise you that."

"We should run away." He insisted, finally rising to his feet. "We could take to sea, and leave for good!"

"And go where?" Imel dismissed his remark with a wave of her hand. "We're trapped here, especially in wartime."

"We could go to Kakin." Chyvon suggested. "There, we'd be-"

Oh. Oh, he wasn't wrong. This gesture would be fraught with consequences, however. A masterly middle finger to this corrupt country and the scum at its head. Nevertheless, if they were to get caught...

Chyvon was not safe until it was publicly established that he was the son of King Nasubi Hui Guo Rou. If he were to be killed now, then it would probably be of no consequence, as Kakin could not see it as the murder of one of the crown's illegitimate children, but rather just yet another child who had perished in one of the most evil countries in the world.

But at the same time, she knew that stating publicly that Chyvon was Nasubi's son risked putting a target on his back. He would literally be fair game for all the adherents of the current system, driven by their hatred of the Empire who had left the socialist movement, and using the little boy as an example. Imel doubted that the population was educated enough to consider the implications of killing the boy, which would inevitably lead to a war against Kakin, which was frankly not desirable.

In conclusion, they were stuck. She liked the idea of eventually escaping and go to Kakin, but for the time being, it was impossible for her to move without attracting attention. All she could do was be patient.

"I'll send you some letters.' Imel replied with an air of finality, before clearing her throat. He's a child, she reminded herself. "I promise, Chyvon." She added more softly, and she didn't resist when he crawled into her arms to nestle in, holding her as tightly as he could.

Dalantai had been right. As a flock of soldiers gathered at the border, waiting breathlessly for Commander Gert's instructions, he simply told the crowd that he would not fight in this losing war. He had, it seemed, warned the villages around the border to withdraw in case other troops were stupid enough to launch an assault, but he would do nothing.

So Imel spent the day lazing around the customs post, letting migrants pass through, frightened by the prospect of war. Dalantai was sipping tea next to her, and many of her colleagues were playing cards or having a siesta. The sight of the cards reminded her of Chyvon, and Imel wondered what he could be doing at the moment.

Knowing him, he'd probably gone back to his brother and sister and wouldn't budge from their bedside until she returned. She hoped he was being pragmatic, but she couldn't be sure.

"You look pensive." Dalantai remarked, slipping her a cup of tea as well. "Is it the boy?"

"Yes. And even beyond that, can you imagine if they end up realising that we haven't launched an assault?"

"I don't think we're the only ones." Dalantai shrugged, then yawned slightly. "No one is stupid enough to fight in these conditions."

"You can say that twice, Western Gordeau have already placed forces across the border...’

"And they're obviously right to do so." Dalantai sighed, shaking his head. "Jol-ik made the mistake of asking us to attack the next day, they've had plenty of time to prepare."

Imel looked down at her cup of tea.

She had a very bad feeling about this.

"I, Jol-ik, supreme leader of the Republic of Eastern Gordeau, have taken the liberty of lying to you, as I have heard whispers of a revolt led by supporters of the Kakin Empire. The declaration of war against our neighbouring country was merely a pretext to be able to point the finger at the miscreants who dare to rise up against our regime, and to allow the purification of the ranks of our armies which are, I teach you nothing, the lifeblood of the nation as well as its first line of defence. At six o'clock this morning, troops were sent to the border to identify those who had complied with orders and those who deserved to be shot."

The radio was trampled by a dark boot belonging to a heavily-armed soldier who was looking around like a bird of prey, searching for any body that might still be moving. He asked his men to search, of course, turning over the bodies, checking for pulses, then he turned to the few soldiers who had been tied up by the mutineers, surely because they were spoiling their ‘fun’. What a strange idea, this fun.

Ambaghai had never understood the concept of pursuing something that would only satisfy us temporarily. Did these men and women now bathed in their own blood have the slightest idea of what lay ahead? Did they care about the potential consequences? Did they even imagine the price of their betrayal?

Ambaghai was no fool. He knew he was being unfairly cruel, but when he joined the army, he had not wanted to do good. He had never aspired to an artificial justice that would comfort him in his decisions and allow him to sleep soundly, guilt-free. No, by joining the army, Ambaghai had simply wanted to get out of the disadvantaged countryside. He had wanted to give himself, and himself alone, a chance to survive in a country that had never thanked him for the hard work he put in every day to feed entire towns with his livestock. He had set fire to the field and left to apply.

And now he had power. And that was the kind of fun that grabbed him by the throat, despite the remorse that was slowly eating away at him.

"Congratulations, ladies and gentlemen. You have just proved that you are of some use to our nation. You will not die today."