#the sign said it can walk through any terrain! i made a path for it and everything!

[dravidious]

You're more amazing than drama

Booted up Cavern of Dreams for the first time in too long and immediately found and 100%'ed the 2nd world (Airborne Armada)

[vixenmulder]

A Bad Fall

Summary: reader gets hurt on a mission. Yord x reader fluff, pining, unspoken feelings

Warnings: head injury

—————

Overall the mission had gone well, and they were reasonably well received considering the native cultures weariness on space travel and foreign life.

As they left the small village behind, The wind picked up, howling around them and carrying with it a biting chill. Y/N could sense a strange feeling in the air through the force and it made her shiver.

They hiked back through the rugged terrain, as dark clouds loomed ominously in the distance, signaling the imminent arrival of a storm. Sharing a brief glance Y/N and Yord picked up their pace, mindful of the approaching tempest.

"Looks like we're in for a storm, and I don't know if we're going to out-walk it." Y/N observed after a little while, pulling her cloak tighter around her.

"Looks like it," Yord agreed, his tone neutral but he eyed the dark clouds warily. "We should hurry back to the ship before it hits."

The wind picked up, whipping through the towering hills surrounding them. Raindrops began to fall, growing heavier with each passing moment. The sunlight slowly began to fade until it was dark as night.

Puddles forming on the ground were splashing violently with the frequency of raindrops hitting them. And the two Jedi were thoroughly soaked, trying not to shiver as they marched onwards.

As they continued, the terrain grew more treacherous. The path was rocky and steep in some areas, requiring them to carefully climb over larger boulders, this was made twice as difficult thanks to the amplified weather of the planet.

Y/N, typically agile, failed to spot one slick stone concealed by a puddle. Her foot slid out from under her, her balance momentarily lost.

With a yelp, she tumbled backwards, her hand stretched out to catch herself and striking her head on a sharp rock as she fell. The force of the impact knocked her out almost instantly.

Yord barely heard her shriek over the downpour, but sensed the change in her force signature immediately. He rushed to the edge of the hill, watching as Y/N slid into a small, shallow creek at the bottom.

"Y/N!" he called out, the rain now lashing down, reducing visibility to mere meters. No response. At least not one he could hear. And her body remained motionless face down in the water.

Yord scrambled down the embankment, heart leaping. He splashed through the running water and mud, reaching the spot where Y/N lay motionless on the creek bed. He knelt down, speedily rolling her onto her back, out of the water and mud

"Can you hear me?" he said, trying to be heard over the howling wind. There was no response from Y/N. Her eyes were closed, and a nasty gash adorned her forehead.

Yord quickly assessed her condition. She was breathing, but her pulse was weak. A concussion, no doubt caused by the fall. He knew they had to find shelter quickly.

With a determined grunt, Yord scooped Y/N into his arms, her soaking wet attire weighing heavily on him. Supporting her against his chest, he scanned the surroundings for any signs of cover.

The world appeared as a grey scale sketch of blurred lines. The rain smacking against his face was painful and the stream was starting to flood, as lightning flashes illuminating the impact spots of rain. Yord looked up at the shore of the creek.

Luck was on their side. Not far from the creek, he spotted a small opening in the rock face. A cave system would be perfect for sheltering from the storm.

Shifting Y/N's limp form, Yord carried her into the cave. The sheltered space provided some protection from the elements, and he gently laid her on the dry ground.

Inside the cave, the howling wind seemed distant, dampened by the thick rock walls. Y/N lay with her head in his lap, still unconscious.

Yord ran a hand through his damp hair, cursing under his breath. The situation was far from ideal. Without medical supplies, there was little he could do for the concussion, or cut on her head. All he could do was keep her warm and comfortable until the storm passed.

Yord shrugged off his soaking wet cloak, draping it over Y/N's shivering frame. He rubbed her arms, trying to generate some warmth.

Time ticked by slowly, the rain battering the cave entrance incessantly. As he continued to run his hands up and down her arms and shoulders periodically hoping to create some friction and heat. Y/N stirred slightly, a small groan escaping her lips.

Yord perked up at the sign of movement. "Y/N," he said, leaning over her. "Can you hear me?"

Her eyelids flickered open, disoriented and blurry. "Wha...?" she mumbled, trying to sit up.

"Woah," Yord pressed a gentle hand against her shoulder, keeping her from moving too much. "Just lay back for a moment."

Yord's heart sank as Y/N's eyes fluttered closed again, her body going slack. She was shivering uncontrollably now, the cold and wetness seeping in despite the cloak.

He muttered another curse under his breath, drawing her closer to him in a desperate attempt to share his heat. The rain showed no sign of letting up, and the clouds had blocked out all light now. Who knew how long they would be trapped in this cave?

Now hours ticked by, the storm showing no signs of abating. Y/N lay motionless in Yord's lap, her pale face bathed in the faint glow of his lightsaber, the only source of light in the cave when he chose to flick it on.

He had discarded some of his clothes to create makeshift padding, trying to keep her insulated from the cold, damp floor. But her shivering persisted.

The cave was intermittently lit up by flashes of lightning from outside. Each bolt of lightning cast eerie shadows, dancing on the rough rock walls. Yord looked up as a particularly loud rumble of thunder echoed through the cavernous space.

Y/N shifted in his lap, mumbling incoherently. Her body jerked with each shiver, her teeth clattering against each other. Yord clenched his jaw staring across at the far wall. The only thing had that he could utilize was body heat, as uncomfortable as it was.

With careful movements, he adjusted her position, gently tucking his arm around her neck and using the other to pull her waist up, resting her head against his shoulder for warmth. Tenderly he ran a hand through her damp hair, feeling the coldness of her skin.

He wrapped her up tightly in his arms and rocked them slightly, this new position gave them a lot more contact and he was already starting to feel the temperature change in their clothes, not to mention he felt warmer as well, if not for different reasons.

She was still shivering, but not as violently as before. This was good. He placed his cheek against her forehead as he held her, closing his eyes tightly willing away his own urge to shiver.

"You're going to be alright," he murmured, to her unconscious form. "Just hang in there a little longer."

——

Yord felt warm and fuzzy, taking slow breaths as he cracked his eyes open.

Daylight streamed through the mouth of the cave, the rain having faded to a drizzle.

He stirred from his semi-slumber, shifting gingerly from under Y/N's head, at some point they had moved to laying down, on the cave floor cocooned by their robes layered across them like blankets.

Yord took a deep breath the humid air and familiar smell of Y/N filling his lungs as he flexed his arms, realizing how entangled they really were. He moved his hand to the back of Y/N's neck and felt a rush of satisfaction feeling the heat radiation off of her.

He looked towards the cave entrance again. He didn't know how long had passed, or when he fell asleep, all he knew was that he felt extremely comfortable and warm. Shame filled him when he felt hesitance to get up and leave the current situation he was in, but he must.

He started to slide out from under her as gently as he could, at some point he had fallen asleep on his back with her laying overtop of him. And the moment felt extremely intimate. Yord ignored the feeling of longing chewing at his chest.

He carefully rearranged Y/N onto the makeshift pillow of their discarded outer wear and moved to examine the cave mouth.

As the rain began to lighten, Yord raised his head, listening intently. The harsh pelting on the rocks outside was slowly decreasing, the storm seemingly moving on.

As the noise gradually died down, Yord allowed himself a sigh of relief. They were one step closer to getting out of this cave and to safety.

Yord leaned back against the wall, drawing a breath as he considered their situation. The storm was passing, but they were nowhere near their ship, and Y/N was still unconscious.

As Yord stepped further out he had to acknowledge that the moisture revealed the rugged beauty of the planet. The rain had washed away the dirt and grime, leaving the landscape vibrant and colorful.

They were in a valley, surrounded by towering hills and ridges. The rolling landscape was adorned by a variety of native flora, adding a splash of color to the otherwise rocky terrain.

The air was crisp and cool from the rain, carrying the faint scent of wet earth. The path back to the ship would be steep, but navigable in the light.

He glanced over his shoulder at the still form of his fellow Jedi, and from here it looked as though she was peacefully sleeping, his chest flooded with affection. He had to remind himself that she wasn't just sleeping, and their situation was more urgent than that.

He turned back into the cave gathering their robes and putting his back on though it was still damp. Then Yord hoisted Y/N over his shoulder once more, doing his best to be mindful of the gash on her forehead. As he set off out the entrance of the cave.

As they navigated the hillside, the scenery was even more breathtaking. Wildflowers bloomed in the crooks of rocks, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the grey stones. A small stream babbled nearby, fed by the recent rain.

A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he thought about how angry Y/N would be to find out she missed this beauty. But with a jolt of worry hurried onward as he realized the only way she would ever be able to enjoy scenery ever again was if he got her back to the ship before her condition worsened.

The terrain grew more demanding as they ascended. Yord moved with care, avoiding loose rocks and slippery surfaces. His lean muscles strained, and he was winded from the exertion and from Y/N's additional weight but refused to stop until they reached the ship.

The sky was clear now, the storm-darkened clouds having dissipated. The sun shone warmly, a stark contrast to the chill of the previous night. The familiar shape of their ship came into view, parked just over the next ridge.

As they crested the final ridge, Yord nearly collapsed in relief. There, perched on a small plateau, was their ship. It loomed like a silent sentinel, a sign of safety and familiarity.

He began the final descent, treading more quickly now. He longed to get Y/N back inside, where warm light and medical supplies awaited.

As they reached the ship, Yord wasted no time in accessing the hatch. With practiced ease, he punched in the access code and entered, setting Y/N down on a nearby bench.

The sterile interior was a sharp contrast to the alien terrain outside. Yord left Y/N momentarily to fetch a medkit from the cargo hold.

Yord returned moments later, the medkit under his arm. He knelt next to Y/N, opening the kit and withdrawing a small scanner. He ran the device over her, the blue light highlighting her injuries.

With gentle hands, he cleaned and dressed the wound on her forehead. A bacta patch was applied, its healing properties already beginning to take effect.

He cradled her face and moved it side to side making sure the patch would stay secure for the treatment of her external injury. He gave a small nod.

Satisfied with the application of his field medical training, Yord shifted his attention to the rest of Y/N's condition. He checked her vitals, reassured by the steady, if somewhat slow, heartbeat.

He took a moment to remove both their wet and muddy shoes, and paused slightly before removing her mid layers, leaving her undergarments for modesty, and fighting back the slightly shameful blush burning his cheeks.

He wrapped her in a clean, dry blanket, her chilled skin slowly warming. It would take time for her to regain consciousness. In the meantime, at least they were both safe.

With Y/N tucked safely on the bench, Yord took a moment to gather his own bearings. He changed into a dry set of robes himself, feeling heat flood through his body after getting out of the soggy ones. The adrenaline from carrying Y/N along the slippery trail was wearing off, leaving him feeling both exhausted and relieved.

He leaned against the cool metal wall, watching as Y/N's chest rose and fell with steady breaths. The ship was quiet, save for the soft hum of the life support systems.

Yord moved to the cockpit, flicking on the rest of the ship's systems. The engines rumbled to life, a comforting sound in the relative silence of the ship.

He ran through the pre-flight checklist, ensuring everything was in order. And entered the co-ordinates for the nearest settlement. Then he returned to where Y/N lay, sitting down on the edge of the bench beside her.

Leaning back against the far wall, he allowed himself to relax, watching her breathe, the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest.

The ship took off entering the atmosphere and beyond witha heavy rumble then stillness again. As Yord watched Y/N sleep, a mix of emotions stirred within him. She looked so still and vulnerable like this, her usual vibrance gone.

He was used to her lively spirit, her unwavering determination in the face of danger. But now, he saw her in a different light - soft, fragile, almost like a broken doll.

He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek longer than they should.

Yord found himself watching her intently. The harsh shadows cast by the artificial light of the ship accentuated her features, yet somehow softened her face.

He reflected on the night's events. It had only been a reconnaissance mission, yet they'd ended up stranded in a cave due to a freak storm. It could have ended badly.

And in all that, the one thing that kept resurfacing in his mind was his feelings towards Y/N.

This was not the first time he'd been aware of his emotions for her, but today's incident had brought them to the forefront.

He knew, intellectually, that relationships were complicated for Jedi. The stricture against attachments was in place for a reason. Yet he couldn't help feeling a pang when he looked at her now, so vulnerable in her sleep.

The way her eyelashes rested on her cheeks, the softness of her hair. A pang of fear and protectiveness stirred in his chest. They had faced danger countless times together, but yet this experience had left a mark.

He couldn't deny them, these feelings he'd harbored for so long. The way his heart leapt when he saw her smile. How his stomach would lurch when she was in danger. The way he would instinctively move to protect her, time and again.

Being stuck in that cave with her had brought those feelings to the forefront. He'd had to care for her, keep her alive. He'd felt her shivering in his embrace, her skin chilled and clammy.

Yord wasn't sure when the feelings had begun. Perhaps it was the endless hours they'd spent training together, the trust born from countless missions.

But somewhere along the line, his protective concern for her had shifted. He found himself noticing little things about her - the way she held her lightsaber, the set of her jaw when she was determined about something. The warm peaceful smile she adorned when dealing with the younglings, or admiring the beauty of a planet they were on.

Yord ran a hand through his hair, frustration and affection warring within him. He was so confused. He began calming his mind and relaxing his feelings. He was a Jedi, sworn to uphold their teachings. And yet...

His gaze returned to Y/N.

A wave of emotion washed over him, deep and primal. Whenever he was around her, his usually steady mind became a tangle of feelings and conflicting thoughts.

Yord stood abruptly, restless energy coursing through him. The confines of the ship didn't feel nearly as spacious anymore.

He began pacing the small room, his footsteps thudding against the durasteel floor. He was hyper-aware of every noise - the soft hum of the ship's life support systems, the soft rustle of Y/N's blankets as she stirred in her sleep.

He paused, looking down at her. As if she had heard his thoughts, Y/N stirred on the bench, a soft groan escaping her lips. Her eyelids fluttered, and she slowly began to regain consciousness.

Yord moved closer, watching her as she came back to awareness. Her eyes opened slowly, squinting against the harsh light of the ship.

Y/N's eyes opened fully, taking a moment to adjust to her surroundings. She shifted and winced as a wave of dizziness hit her.

Yord moved forward, sitting down beside her. "You're safe. We're on the ship," he reassured her, a hand coming up to brush her hair away from her forehead.

She winced as she reached up to touch the healing wound there. Y/N blinked several times, trying to clear her cloudy vision. As the world came into focus, she found herself staring up at Yord's familiar face.

"What...happened?" she mumbled, her voice raspy from disuse. She tried to sit up, only to wince as a sharp pain flared in her temple.

"Easy," Yord said, gently pushing her back down. "You took a pretty hard fall."

He looked down at her with concern written across his features. "You hit your head and got a concussion. You've been out for a few hours."

Y/N frowned, clearly trying to recall the events of the past few hours. "I don't remember much..."

She raised a hand to her forehead, gingerly touching the bacta patch there. "How..."

Yord watched her, his expression one of both relief and concern. "There was a storm. You fell. We hid in a cave until it passed."

Y/N frowned, her brow furrowing as she tried to recall the events leading up to her current state.

"I don't remember falling," she admitted, frustration in her voice. "And my head...feels like it's been trampled on by a bantha."

Yord chuckled softly, a ghost of his usual teasing grin crossing his lips. "Yeah, concussed people usually do feel like that."

He leaned against the far wall again, folding his arms across his chest. "You gave me quite a scare, you know that?"

Yord's gaze softened as he looked at her. "I thought..." he furrowed his eyebrows and looked down for a moment swallowing hard. "...for a moment, I thought you weren't going to wake up," he admitted quietly.

Y/N, for her part, remained silent. She was still processing everything he had said, her mind fuzzy from both the concussion and the emotions that his words had stirred in her.

They both knew there were things that remained unspoken between them, feelings they were both unwilling to voice out loud.

Yord knew it wasn't the time or place to bring up his own feelings, especially not when she was still recovering from a head injury. Instead, he redirected his focus to the present situation.

"You need to rest," he instructed, his voice firm as he loooed back at her. "You've got a concussion. Your body needs time to heal."

Y/N nodded slowly, obedient for once in her life. Rest did sound like a good idea. Her head was throbbing, and her limbs felt heavy.

As she laid back, closing her eyes as another wave of dizziness washed over her. She shifted on the bench, trying to find a comfortable position. "How long until we reach the nearest settlement?" she asked, her voice unintentionally weak.

"At least another day," Yord responded, his voice even, despite the pang in his chest. "We're in the Outer Rim. There's not much out here."

Y/N took a deep breath, realizing the situation they were in. "One more day, huh?" she said, her voice calmer now.

She shifted on the bench, wincing as she accidentally jostled her injured head. "I'd really like a hot shower," she added, her tone tinged with wry humour.

Yord chuckled softly. "One day away from civilization and you're already missing the comforts."

He pushed off from the wall, coming to stand beside her. He was so close now, his presence both unfamiliar and comforting at the same time. Y/N's heart fluttered.

"You'll survive a day or two without hot showers and holo-net access," he teased lightly, grinning down at her.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but there was no real heat behind it.

The banter was comfortable, familiar. But beneath it, Yord could feel an undertone of something else - an almost electric tension between them.

"Easy for you to say," Y/N grumbled, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips. "You know, you probably haven't seen a sonic shower in your life."

Yord chuckled again, amused by her feigned irritation. He was tempted to tease her more, to prolong this light-hearted banter. But his concern for her well-being won out.

"Enough talk," he said in a gentle way. "You need rest."

Y/N sighed, her playful demeanor giving way to exhaustion. The concussion was taking its toll.

"Fine," she conceded, her voice weary. "I'll rest. But don't expect me to like it."

Yord smirked, the familiar banter feeling like a balm. "I wouldn't dream of it," he retorted.

He tucked the blanket tighter around her shoulders, his touch gentle. "Now sleep," he ordered.

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn't argue further. With a soft sigh, she closed her eyes, finally giving in to her exhaustion.

Yord watched as she drifted off to sleep, the sight of her peaceful face bringing a sense of peace to his own anxious heart.

Once her breathing had evened out a bit more he leaned down and carefully pressed his lips against the uninjured section of her forehead, his heart skipping a beat as he did so.

Standing back up feeling lightheaded he took a seat on a nearby crate, his thoughts a whirl of confusion and affection. He knew he shouldn't feel this way but he just couldn't help it.

[mynameisjag]

The air was nice, a little crisp with the fall weather about to hit.

Usually Wade wouldn’t find himself enjoying the outdoors in a leisurely manner…and he wasn't, he fucking hated it at the moment.

“This sucks!”

Beside him, walking the path at slow pace was Laura, who just raised an eyebrow at him, copycat version of her dad's smirk on her face.

“You've walked longer through rougher terrain,” her eyes flicked to the two bodies ahead of them, her smirk growing into a wide grin, “wonder what you're really upset about.”

“Oh, you know, my secret hatred of birds is showing through-of course its not the walk and don’t you start.”

He wasn’t used to being out and about without his suit, and the giant sun hat he was sporting didn’t really help keep the sun off his more sensitive skin.

But he was doing this for Vanessa.

Vanessa’s boyfriend was…descent…and she wanted them all to get along, they all were close in one way or another and of course she would want the ones she cared about the most to be comfortable with one another.

So…bonding hike…

Which Logan, the feral fuck, actually seemed to be enjoying but that probably was less the family time and more that he was away from large groups of people.

There was a bet if the man was just going to go and take off at the first sight of a deer, which might work out in Wade’s favor if it scared ‘boyfriend’ off.

Listen, he is willing to give the guy a chance, he is a nice guy…but did he really have to click with Logan so fast?

“Pops doesn’t really care that much for him, you know that right? The guy is important to Vanessa, Vanessa is important to you and you are important to him.”

“Fucking, yeah, I know little Miss Voice of Reason, but look at them, walking and talking like friends.”

“The dude is talking, Pops is probably thinking about disappearing into the woods for a week before you hunt him down and bring him home.”

“Like it would take a week for me to find him, we’re connected Baby-wolvs,” he made a heart sign with both of his hands, “the power of saving the universe and Madonna will forever bond us.”

She just rolled her eyes, “Since your so connected, then why are you so jealous?”

“Jealous!? Me!?,” his hands fell dramatically to his sides as he threw his head back in distress, “Okay, I admit it, I’m jealous of the way those jeans make his ass-“

“-Do NOT finish that.”

“I’m still going to think it…hmm…thinking about it hard now.”, he preceded to make grabby hands at the other man’s backside, “going to make the mouse send me a cease and desist with the way my thoughts be going.”

“I hate you.”

Wade just grinned wide at her snarly face, sooo cute, just like her daddy! Speaking of the man, the two ahead of them had stopped and were waiting.

They weren’t too far behind, so it only took a few moments to catch up, Deadpool throwing his arms around the older man and going to swoon knowing he was going to be caught, “Oh, the sun, it makes me suffer, if only there was a strong burly man to slather me with lotion later!”

Laura sauntered up, pushing Wade off her father to cuddle his side, “Thanks for waiting.”

‘Boyfriend’ was helping the mercenary up, smiling and going on about nearly being close to the end of the trail.

Logan huffed and gave a quick side hug to his little girl, “Probably need to get there quick, I can smell rainfall heading our way.”

And then ‘Boyfriend’ was talking about how the weather was reported to be nothing but sunshine and Wade was rolling his eyes and adjusting his hat. He did not pack for rain and if Logan said rain was coming it was coming.

“There’s this lovely little picnic area ahead, we should bring a lunch with us next time! Say, do you any of you like sports, got a few work buddies that we watch the games with. We’d love to have the whole crew over. I can make a mean green bean casserole!”

Their phones went off, flash storms heading their way.

“Oh, thank the Marvel Jesus that is me, welp, looks like it’s time to head back!”, he was going to ignore the way the Wolverine duo were smirking at him as he enthusiastically turned around and started head back to the truck.

“Sorry, are trip is a bit of a bust, perhaps next time weather will be more predictable and Vanny can join us!”

“Sounds nice.”

“Sure.”

“I think jumping into a concrete mixer sounds better.”

And ‘the boyfriend’ was throwing an arm around Wade’s shoulders, “You really are such a funny guy, it’s so good to be able to bond like this!”

[user777h]

❝𝐅𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐤❞

In "Fleeing the Pack," two lost souls find hope and refuge in each other, discovering that even in the darkest of places, kindness and compassion can forge a path to a new beginning.

Themes: Fantasy,Paranormal,Adventure,Drama, Romance

Word count: 1037

The moon hung low in the sky, casting eerie shadows through the dense forest. Y/N, her heart pounding, darted between the trees, her breaths ragged and shallow. The night was dark and filled with unfamiliar sounds—rustling leaves, distant howls, and the sinister whisper of the wind. She could still hear the distant snarls of her former pack, hunting her down with relentless determination.

She stumbled over roots and fallen branches, her paws aching from the rough terrain. Fear clawed at her insides, the knowledge that she was far from her pack's territory a constant reminder of the danger she was in. Her legs burned with exhaustion, but she pushed on, desperate to escape the clutches of the pack she had once called home.

"Come on, Y/N, keep going," she muttered to herself, her voice barely a whisper. "You can't let them catch you."

The forest grew denser, the canopy overhead blocking out the moonlight and plunging her into near darkness. She strained her ears, trying to detect any sign of pursuit, but all she could hear was the rapid thudding of her own heart.

Suddenly, a low growl rumbled through the air, freezing her in her tracks. Before she could react, a massive figure tackled her to the ground, knocking the wind out of her. She struggled, kicking and snarling, but her strength was waning. Her attacker pinned her down effortlessly, his growls reverberating through her bones.

"Please," Y/N gasped, her voice trembling with fear. "Please, don't hurt me!"

The weight on her chest lessened slightly, and she dared to open her eyes. Looming over her was a towering werewolf, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light. His fur was dark and matted, and his expression was one of cold, calculated menace.

"What are you doing in my territory?" he growled, his voice a deep, rumbling snarl.

"I... I was running," Y/N stammered, her voice barely audible. "I was running from my pack. They... they want to kill me."

The werewolf's eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering across his features. "Why would your own pack want to kill you?"

Y/N felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. "I don't know," she whispered. "But I swear, I'm not a threat. Please, just let me go."

For a moment, the werewolf stared at her, his gaze piercing and unyielding. Then, with a huff, he released his grip and stepped back, allowing her to scramble to her feet. She transformed back into her human form, her energy completely spent. She was weak, vulnerable, and utterly terrified.

The werewolf watched her with a mixture of curiosity and pity. "You're not going to survive out here on your own," he said gruffly. "What's your name?"

"Y/N," she replied, wrapping her arms around herself in a futile attempt to ward off the chill.

"I'm Seonghwa," he said, his tone softening slightly. "And you're lucky I found you before something else did."

Y/N shivered, both from the cold and the lingering fear. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I didn't know where else to go."

Seonghwa studied her for a moment longer, then let out a resigned sigh. "Come on," he said, jerking his head towards a narrow path that wound deeper into the forest. "I'll take you somewhere safe for the night."

Y/N hesitated, unsure whether to trust this stranger, but she had no other choice. She followed him, her steps unsteady and her heart heavy with uncertainty.

As they walked, the forest grew quieter, the oppressive darkness giving way to a faint, silvery light. Seonghwa led her to a small clearing where a makeshift shelter stood—a simple structure made of branches and leaves, but it looked safe and welcoming.

"Here," Seonghwa said, gesturing to the shelter. "You can rest here for now. We'll figure out what to do in the morning."

Y/N sank to the ground, her body trembling with exhaustion. "Thank you," she said again, her voice thick with gratitude.

Seonghwa nodded, his expression unreadable. "Get some sleep," he said gruffly. "We'll talk more in the morning."

As Y/N lay down on the soft bed of leaves, she felt a sense of relief wash over her. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt safe. And as she drifted off to sleep, she couldn't help but wonder about the mysterious werewolf who had shown her kindness when she needed it most.

***

The next morning, Y/N woke to the sound of birds chirping and the smell of fresh pine in the air. She sat up, her body aching but her spirit a little lighter. Seonghwa was already up, tending to a small fire and cooking something that smelled surprisingly good.

"Morning," he said without looking up, his tone neutral.

"Morning," Y/N replied softly. She watched him for a moment, unsure how to bridge the gap between them. "Thank you for letting me stay."

Seonghwa shrugged, still not meeting her eyes. "You needed help. Doesn't mean I trust you yet."

"I understand," Y/N said, her voice sincere. "I don't expect you to trust me. I just... I didn't have anywhere else to go."

Seonghwa finally looked at her, his gaze steady and thoughtful. "Tell me more about your pack. Why are they after you?"

Y/N took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "My pack is... ruthless," she began. "They're led by my father, a man who believes in absolute power and control. I never agreed with their ways, and when I tried to stand up against him, he marked me as a traitor. I had to run, or they would have killed me."

Seonghwa listened in silence, his expression unreadable. When she finished, he nodded slowly. "Sounds like you've had a rough time."

"That's putting it lightly," Y/N said with a bitter laugh. "But I can't go back. I won't survive if I do."

Seonghwa nodded again, a spark of understanding in his eyes. "Well, you won't survive out here alone either. Stay with me for now. We'll figure something out."

Y/N felt a surge of gratitude. "Thank you, Seonghwa," she said, her voice filled with emotion. "I don't know how to repay you."

"Don't worry about it," Seonghwa said gruffly. "Just focus on staying alive."

As the days passed, Y/N and Seonghwa grew closer, their bond forged in the fires of shared hardship and mutual respect. Seonghwa taught her how to survive in the wild, and Y/N, in turn, shared stories of her life before the pack turned against her.

Despite his gruff exterior, Seonghwa showed Y/N a kindness she had never known. And as the shadows of the past began to fade, Y/N found herself feeling something she hadn't felt in a long time—hope.

[keldabika]

Hello! Can I have some hc with a protective mama Reader with Naib, Helena and Bane. They are my precious baby. I haven't play this game since season 13 and I miss them so much ahhhhhhh 😭😭. Thank you, have a nice day ❤❤🌷 (sr, my English is not good)

✨ Your English is wonderful dear ✨

[Naib Subedar, Helena Adams, Gamekeeper] S/O Is Overprotective

✨ As a reminder, my works will always include gn!reader unless specified by the requester! ✨

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[Naib Subedar]:

* You had been at the manor for quite awhile now, and were a rather nice person, getting along with most other survivors, and even some of the hunters to boot.

* It was quite surprising actually. You’d walked in the first day with a tough-guy attitude and gruff personality, and you didn’t seem like a very approachable person.

* Then, some survivors such as Victor and Emily started worming their way into your heart. Liam [Lucky Guy] and Norton were some of the first people to offer you a seat at the dinner table, and from then on you were one of them.

* You had scars, though most could tell they were more physical than emotional, from some sidejobs you used to complete for a gang on White Sand Street���robbing people and competing in fights with rivals.

* You quickly learned that most people fought back. Rival gangs always intruded on your own territory, and you were always left on guard, defending the last remnants of your livelihood and your sanity.

* Maybe that’s why you’re so protective over your things. Never letting anyone enter your room, never letting anyone see the pain you hide. Opening up to people enough to make allies, but never enough to show secrets.

* Now Naib…. Naib helped you out a lot. It seemed he understood you, far more than others. For some reason, he was always there for you, watching your back when needed, acting like a shield at times—sometimes literally.

* You never really understood at first, how he seemed to know you so well. From what you knew, he came from halfway cross the world, from Nepal, in India—a child, a soldier, a weapon.

* You guessed his life was rather similar, and assumed he’d come to the manor for quite the same reasons but, it was hard to see through the scowl on his face.

* At some point, you began to recognize the signs, the irritation, the avoidance. You recognized the silence, and the stiffness that came from Naib when he ate and smiled and nodded at their questions. You saw the signs of a brother, somebody just as lost and broken as you were.

* Children in the bodies of adults, forced to live life too fast and too furiously. Damaged and done in, waiting for someone to save them, but too scared to cry for help.

* Unwilling to hurt others again, unwilling to change.

* You grew wary—observant—of him eventually. You joined in more matches with him as teammate, and sat next to him often at dinner. When you noticed he didn’t eat as much, you grunted in concern. When he fell asleep in odd places, you’d bring him a blanket.

* It got to the point where he found out about your help, and tried to dissuade you from wasting your time.

* You never really listened. In fact, your worries only increased. Others might not have recognized, but you saw the signs of fatigue and death written in the lines of his face. You’d seen it every day back on White Sand.

* He gave up on making you give up, tired of attempted persuasions. Eventually began returning the favours—Naib is the type to have a ‘you watch my back, I’ll watch yours’ mentality.

* Everything you’d do for him is returned in kind. It annoyed the rest of the manor to no end because the giving and receiving eventually reached limits unheard of.

* You’d throw yourself on a rocket chair to save him, and next game you’d have your own personal bodyguard tracking your every move.

* He’d never admit it, but he appreciates all you do for him, and hopes you appreciate his efforts in making your life a little better too.

* Though your protective tendencies know no bounds, he hopes you’re a little more cautious with throwing your life on the line for him like that. This is a death game after all, be more careful…. please?

* At some point, the whole manor hopes you two could just get together and kiss it out in some storage closet. If you’re dating, what’s the need to be so consistent in you’re protective tendencies? Then you’ll always be together, which means nothing can ever happen to either of you!

* To be fair, that’s what most of them thought until an incident after the confession, where Naib wouldn’t let you out of the medical ward for a week due to a few hairline fractures.

* Please Naib! Emily begs you to let her use the examination table! You’ve hogged it for 5 days and she needs it to identify the infection spreading on Aesop’s leg! Vera broke her nose! William sprinted into the gymnasium wall and shattered his kneecaps! Please leave!

* You once set fire to a couch because Naib stubbed his toe on it.

* Please stop it you two, Freddy can’t budget for anymore furniture, and we’re fresh out of chairs.

———————————————————————

[Helena Adams]:

* Oops! Oh no her glasses! Aww shucks, Norton knocked them right off her face and onto the hardwood floor. She can’t find them because she can’t see, whatever shall she do?

* [S/o]! Please, she needs your help!

* You come in running with a pair of pliers, five bottles of anti-grease spray, and a box of extra lenses and a screwdriver.

* Oh how wonderful! You fixed her glasses—again—and saved her from the task of shuffling herself on all fours looking for them! Her hero!

* Helena…. praises you to say the least. You’re her best friend, her confidante, her…. big and strong, sometimes dumb partner!

* She adores everything you do for her, and tries equally as hard to do things for you that make your life necessarily easier, though it’s harder with her condition.

* She met you around the same time as everybody else, during your first days in the manor. Really, she didn’t actually know you were there until she bumped into a voice she didn’t recognize and became surprised.

* You quickly learned about her blindness, and made it your goal to form a friendship with her based on your willingness to help her around and get closer to her—she was very kind after all.

* Your protectiveness stemmed from the inherent feeling of a need to help guide and provide for Helena, much like a spouse would… jk, unless 👀….

* At some points, you were berated by her for your incessant protections, most of which made her feel highly dependent, which she didn’t like.

* She liked the feeling of being independent of others and being recognized as an autonomous, capable being. Especially considering what she came there for, it was a blow to her pride to be led around and pushed aside all the time.

* When she revealed these feelings to you, you had surprisingly promised her to cease in most areas of monitoring—however you still consistently check up on her—and settled into the realm of a relationship with her.

* Helena meets somebody who respects her opinions + acknowledges her intellect + isn’t a dingy asshole? Sign her up and slap on a ring, she’s marrying this person (eventually).

* She knows that your tendencies stem from a place of need and want, and tolerates most of them. Deep down, she likes being taken care of by someone who knows she can take care of herself. She really does love you.

* When you’re actually in a relationship with each other, you make sure to watch each others backs, more so you than Helena (because she can’t ‘watch’ per say), but you get the point.

* There was once an incident in a duo’s match where Helena became stranded on the Lakeside Fishing map. The terrain is rough, with piles of fish everywhere, randomly placed boxes and walls, and the barrels are bad enough when they don’t form a blockade.

* Her navigational skills, as good as they are with all her previous experience and staff, couldn’t for the life of her figure out how to move her way around a mess of box paths, pallets, and fishing stands.

* Most other survivors were occupied or dead—it had been a hard match against Jack the Ripper and Guard 26—and she was barred from reaching any form of help.

* So she screamed your name as loud as she possibly could across the map, and ended up attracting the attention of BonBon instead. During those moments where she could hear his clanks and heavy metalloid footsteps stalking towards her, the tick of a time bomb in hand, she heard a screech in the distance.

* A fierce battlecry—you came raging from around a windmill, propelled by William’s football and packing heat with a flare gun. BonBon, now stunned twice, stood there in astonishment, before chasing after you, who had grabbed Helena in your arms, running off at full speed.

* Your stamina bar, indicated by a small tab on your character, was running low, and you wouldn’t be able to run at full speed for another minute or two, having used your ability to buy time. Stopping near a closet, you lean down to place Helena on her feet, telling her to hide.

* Her blood trail was invisible from not actually having run anywhere, and she did as you said, making you promise to come get her when it was safe.

* You gave her a smirk and a small nod, assuring her that you would, before leaning in for a peck on the forehead as you shoved her into the locker.

* If only you could see her flushed in embarrassment.

* Leaving her to fangirl in the locker, you form a decoy in your arms—result of your max rescuer ability—and ran off once more, taking off around a corner just as Guard 26 reached your previous location, chasing after you and ‘Helena’ in hopes of landing two more kills.

———————————————————————

[Bane the Gamekeeper]:

* How does it feel to love a deerman? Good? Okay!

* Bane as you know is a little…. rough around the edges so-to-speak, and he has a lot of edges.

* Once you get around all the hooks, chains, and bear traps, and beneath that creepy-looking deer head of his, he really is such a sweet guy!

* At least you think so. In reality, he still acts like a complete dick to everybody else, and only shows his soft side around you, but that’s because he knows he can trust you with his lands, animals, and secrets! All those others out there only wish to hurt what he—you—have, and he’ll make them pay for it.

* Honestly, in order for him to have fallen for you so hard to have let his guard down around you, you probably would have had to be at your most vulnerable point in life, or a hunter yourself. Like a scared prey animal, uncertain of its future, waiting for something to happen, and somebody to help, or a huge predator, ready to strike out at any moment.

* Once you worm your way into his cold dead heart, there’s no way out for you. He’ll keep you close, as he doesn’t want you to be poached away like his precious animal friends from the past. He knows how cruel humanity can be sometimes.

* When you come to find out about his less-than-kind history, it’s all you can do to pity him. Your sympathy knows no bounds, and you become clingier, though he quite honestly likes it.

* You don’t want what happened to him to occur again, and with all these other traitors and murderers in the manor, you’re afraid of what the others could do.

* You keep to his side a lot more, take walks with him in the garden, and enjoy tranquil picnics from time-to-time on Lakeside. Anything to keep him close to you and away from all the pain.

* Bane can obviously see what your doing, and noticing that your protectiveness doesn’t yet border on the insane, he allows you to continue in your devotions.

* It’s honestly sweet sometimes how you both adore each other so much, even if you know that one day one or both of you will have to leave. Whether it be through death, disappearance, or another means such as escape is a question of time, and one that neither of you know the answer to.

* If you’re also a hunter, than both of you know that while you two are happier now than either of you were in life, that your individual deaths and worths will eventually determine your fates—whether that be a happy afterlife, or an eternity of endless wandering.

* It’s well known that you’ll both disappear the day the game ends, your souls being put to rest as they should’ve been however long ago. Until then however, you’ll continue to hold on to and vehemently protect the relationship the two of you have, and you’ll fight until your soul vanishes from the earth for what you have to remain that way.

* Now, if you’re a survivor, this is where the relationship can be a bit difficult.

* Avidly defending the actions of your boyfriend during and after a match to the rest of your survivor buddies isn’t a very good look for you, or your reputation. It’s been many times where you’ve almost been chased out of the dining room because somebody was pissed at you for costing them the match, or being the only one spared instead of convincing Bane for a win or tie.

* As they say, if you can’t beat em’, join em’. Some survivors, such as William, Kreacher, and Freddy, have more than once suggested that if you loved a hunter so much, you should become one to be with him. Dating the undead almost crosses the line of what is humane. Aesop thinks you’re kind of cool.

* The hunters over on Bane’s side hate you more. Are convinced that you’re the sole reason that Bane goes friendly sometimes (even in matches without you in them), and that your relationship takes away from his brutal and violent persona and nature.

* Violetta and Michiko are the most tolerant of you, mainly because you gifted them silk and a hand fan for Christmas once when they wished for them in their letters.

* All-in-all, basically everyone blames you, but you keep going forward because who cares about all the nasty bi*ches in the world, am I right?

* Once, to prove the integrity and devotion of your relationship, you set Freddy’s room on fire and locked Kreacher in a closet. You looked Bane directly in the eyes and kneeling before him stated, “I have committed arson for you m’lord.”

* You couldn’t see it because of his deerish head and all, but Bane really went “Heart eyes motherf*cker.” on you in that moment.

* You love animals and set things on fire to prove your loyalty to him? Ticket for one please, he’s riding the simp train all the way to the station.

* Just, please don’t accidentally burn down the manor, he wants to spend as much time with you as possible before he disappears.

* Also don’t joke around with your life, it’s too precious, even when you tackle your own teammate or risk getting hit by Ganji’s cricket ball to save him from being stunned.

* He doesn’t want you dying before he does—has already he supposes—or disappearing without a trace.

* You promise you’ll stick with him until the day you finally leave this wretched place.

———————————————————————

✨ Hope you enjoyed ✨

[i-am-out-of-my-vulcan-mind]

My Life in Your Hands

Summary:

Geralt gets hurt on the Path and tries to hide it from the Bard. Inevitably, Jaskier finds out and has to try keep the Witcher alive with a very limited medical knowledge.

A small part of him told him that he could trust the bard. He had been following him around for months now. He had written songs that had definitely lifted his morale - although if he ever heard Toss a Coin again, he was going to throat punch whoever was singing it. Geralt had to admit that Jaskier had proven to be a worthy enough travel companion. He barely complained about camping under the stars if contracts were scarce - only playing for longer in the evenings to build up his coin purse, or playing to pay for their rooms and supper.

  When it came to any form of animosity, that's where his usefulness fell short. They were travelling down the Path, Geralt atop of Roach's back, Jaskier traipsing slightly behind him, jabbering on about his latest fling with the Countess de whatsit.

Geralt grunted, only half (quarter) listening to the bard. He had a sense of unease growing in the pit of his stomach, the hairs on the back of his neck pricking up. He scanned the mountainous rock face they were passing, scenting the air.

  "I've never felt this way before, and I shall never feel this way again." He continued dramatically.

"Quiet." He growled, pulling Roach to a stop.

Jaskier blanched, his eyes widening. "Well now you're just being rude!" He said, placing a hand over his heart. "Here I am - pouring my heart and soul out to you and -"

"Shut the fuck up!" Geralt interrupted. His belly clenched painfully, a sure sign that danger was near. His eyes flicked around, his ears listening for any untoward sound. Jaskier thankfully, had quietened, finally realising that something was wrong. A flash of black caught the Witcher's attention. He pulled his sword out of the scabbard tied to his back.

Bandits.

Fuck.

Geralt hated dealing with bandits. He hated taking human life at the best of times, really not wanting to live up to his butcher reputation. But now that he had the bard to protect, taking life was inevitable. Jaskier was about as useless as tits on a bull when it came to defending himself.

"Run!" Geralt called, dismounting quickly as the first wave of bandits appeared. They were skinny and filthy, probably just trying to get their next meal for their families. Geralt felt sick as he sliced through the first man, nearly vomiting as his body hit the ground with a lifeless thud. He tried not to take too many kill shots, but the bandits were fighting dirty. Geralt had no idea where the bard had gone at this point, he had lost sight of him in the rocky terrain. He just hoped that wherever he was, he was unscathed. Their own coin was running low, they wouldn't have enough money to afford a healer should he be injured.

Geralt disposed of the group of bandits quickly. They were too weak to put up much of a fight. Geralt curled his lip back in distaste as he wiped the blood off his sword. One of the men had managed a hit to his abdomen and it pulsed in time to his slightly quickened heart.

"Geralt?" Geralt heard the bard's voice, echoing slightly off the terrain.

"You can come out now." Geralt called, his gravelly voice scratching against his parched throat. He walked back to Roach, patting her neck softly. She blinked in concern at him, her eyes rolling. He grabbed his waterskin, taking a few sips of the tepid water. His abdomen throbbed again, causing him to wince. He placed his hand over the worst of the pain, slightly surprised to find his fingers painted a crimson red when he pulled his hand away.

"Geralt… I need help." Jaskier's voice came again. Geralt frowned, his own injury momentarily forgotten as he made his way over to where the bard's voice was coming from. He quickly wiped his hand on his pants, thankful he was wearing all black - easier to hide the blood that way. He found Jaskier hidden behind a rock, sitting on his arse in the dirt. "I've hurt my ankle." The singer complained. "Twisted it trying to get away."

Geralt glowered down at the bard, his heart rate picking up slightly. "Can you stand?"

"Ah… I'll try." He crawled over to a boulder jutting out from the path, pulling himself up onto his good foot. He gingerly put down his injured ankle, yelping slightly before falling. Geralt caught him, grunting as the added weight tugged on the wound on his abdomen. He stood the bard back up, leaning him against the rock. "Geralt… I can't walk."

"Fuck." Geralt growled. He sat him down on the rock, bending down slowly to inspect the injury. "Can you move it?" Jaskier flexed his foot slightly, not able to hide the wince, but the foot moved. Geralt gently removed his boot, inspecting the foot, prodding softly. "Hmm." He turned and walked away, bringing Roach back towards him. "The next town isn't far." He said, helping Jaskier up into the saddle. The next town was at least a day's ride away, if they were lucky they would make it before nightfall. He brought his hand to his side, hiding a wince as a sharp pain ripped through his gut.

"We don't have any money for a healer." Jaskier complained. Geralt just frowned up at the bard incredulously, subtly wiping his hands on his pants again. Jaskier didn't notice, too caught up in trying to keep his sore foot in the stirrup.

"You think I don't know that?" He growled. "You've just twisted it, Jaskier. You just need rest. We have enough coin to stay in the tavern." Where he would be able to patch up his own wound, he thought. He didn't need the bard knowing about his injury until they were safely in their own room. Jaskier would only fret and make the situation worse.

They started down the beaten track, Geralt leading Roach, she had nickered in protest at Jaskier riding her while Geralt led. They carried on that way for a couple of hours, the terrain changing to forest. Jaskier prattled away about this and that, occasionally whining about his foot.

If Geralt was honest, he was starting to feel quite unwell. His vision had started swimming an hour ago, he was dizzy, his head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton wool. His belly had started gurgling with nausea and each step sent tendrils of pain shooting through his abdomen. He was cold, so very cold, but when he reached up to wipe his brow, his hand came away wet, sweat glistening on his face and soaking through his shirt. He shivered, crossing his arms across his chest. He snuck one of his hands down to the peak of the piercing pain, biting his lip when he felt how saturated his shirt and waistline of his pants were.

"-Geralt? Did you hear anything I just said?" Jaskier asked from atop of Roach. The Witcher ignored him, not turning around. "Geralt?" Jaskier called again.

The world was spinning, a vortex of colours, flickering sickeningly, dark spots dancing in his periphery. His heart was fluttering dangerously fast, blood roaring in his ears. Jaskier urged Roach forward, anxiety growing in his chest. He was starting to suspect Geralt wasn't ignoring him, but more so that he couldn't actually hear him. Geralt stopped suddenly, bringing a hand out to brace himself against a tree. Jaskier carefully dismounted Roach, using the mare to support himself, as he made his way over to the Witcher.

"Geralt?" He whispered again, reaching out and placing a hand on his shoulder.

Geralt felt Jaskier touch him, just as the world tilted dangerously, his vision greying. He swayed, trying to take a couple of deep breaths. His nausea increased, roaring in his belly, before his eyes rolled back in his head, darkness swallowing him.

Jaskier yelped, diving down to catch Geralt's head before it hit the ground, his sore foot long forgotten. "Geralt?!" He exclaimed, laying the unconscious man gently on the ground. Jaskier gasped when he finally saw Geralt's face for the first time in hours. He was pale, practically grey, and his skin was clammy, glistening with sweat. When the bard reached out to pat the other man's face, he realised with dread how cold he was.

What the fuck was going on?

He started patting the Witcher down, trying to work out what the problem was. He placed his hand over his stomach, pulling his hands back with a disgusted grimace as he touched something wet. His heart stuttered as he looked down at his own trembling fingers, glistening red blood coating his hands.

"Fuck… Geralt!" Jaskier called, desperately trying to get his friend to answer. Geralt's face twitched, but he didn't wake. "Ok, ok, ok, ok… don't panic…" Jaskier muttered, running a shaky hand through his hair. He brought his attention back to Geralt's abdomen, reaching out to carefully pull the Witcher's shirt out of his pants. Both bits of clothing were drenched in blood, and Jaskier realised with trepidation how much blood the other man had actually lost.

Why hadn't he said anything?

Guilt set like lead in his belly. Geralt hadn't said anything because they had been too worried about his stupid ankle.

"Fuck!" Jaskier cried, frustrated with himself and their situation. The stab wound itself was a couple of inches thick, blood still oozing steadily from the wound. Jaskier reached up, pulling his pack off of Roach's back, thankful that she had stayed by his side the entire time. "Good girl." He whispered, patting her leg. He quickly started rummaging through his pack, not even caring that he was getting blood over everything. He pulled out a clean shirt, bundling it up into a ball, before pressing down on Geralt's wound. That elicited a response from the Witcher. He groaned, weakly trying to bat the bard's hand away. "I know. I'm sorry I'm hurting you… but I need to try and stop this bleeding." Geralt's eyes fluttered, rolling in their sockets, but he never returned fully to consciousness.

Jaskier looked around, noticing a small clearing not far away. He needed to get a fire going. Geralt was freezing cold and the dimming light meant the sun was setting. The days were still warm, but the leaves were changing, the nights growing colder. If either of them stood a chance surviving the wilderness, he desperately needed to light a fire. He pressed down on Geralt's wound, this time the Witcher waking, grunting in agony.

"Oh thank fuck." Jaskier exclaimed, holding the bloodied shirt down on Geralt's abdomen. Geralt's eyes found the bard, blinking heavily to try and clear his greying vision. "Geralt… I need you to hold this down. I'm going to light a fire."

Geralt looked at him confused, but brought his hand down to replace Jaskier's, pressing down with a grunt. He shivered, his breaths coming out short and fast. Jaskier pulled his own cloak off, draping it over the other man's body. "I'll be right back." He whispered, before he quickly fished his other shoe out of his pack, pulling it on with a whimper. He swallowed down his own pain, pushing it to the back of his mind, before carefully placing his foot on the ground. He cried out, but managed to put his full weight on it. He looked back at his friend, offering a shaky smile, before limping off towards the clearing.

The clearing was thankfully well sheltered. Jaskier got to work, quickly gathering sticks and bits of wood for the fire. He mostly crawled around on his hands and knees, trying his best to keep the weight off of his foot. It took a bit of time, but eventually he had enough kindling to light the fire and keep it going for a good few hours. He could gather more once he had Geralt settled. He lit the fire quickly, so thankful he had purchased a decent steel and flint at the last town. Once it was going enough that he wasn't worried it would go out, he carefully got back to his feet, limping back to where his friend still lay, his horse still by his side.

He approached the Witcher, thankful to see he was still awake. He crouched down beside him, clasping his shoulder. "Come on. Let's get you by the fire." Geralt nodded, taking a deep breath before sitting up, groaning as the movement pulled at his wound. He felt the blood drain from his face, blinking rapidly as his vision threatened to blacken again. "Quickly." He muttered to Jaskier, worried he was going to pass out again. Jaskier took his advice, promptly helping the Witcher to his feet, using Roach to purchase himself. He hung his now bloodstained cloak over the Witcher's shuddering shoulders, before draping his friend's arm around his neck and biting back a cry as they started towards the clearing. The added weight of the Witcher nearly sent them sprawling back into the dirt, his injured foot spiking in pain. They limped to the clearing, practically collapsing in front of the fire. Roach following behind, snorting in concern.

Jaskier quickly pulled the rest of their packs and bedrolls off of Roach, laying them down beside Geralt. He helped him shuffle onto his bedroll, before he pulled out another clean shirt, pressing down on the wound again. "Fuck… it just won't stop bleeding." Jaskier lamented desperately.

Geralt moaned in pain when Jaskier pressed down harder, trying with all his might to get the blood flow to slow.

"Cauterize." Geralt rasped. Jaskier's eyes widened in horror.

"Melitele's tits Geralt… I-I can't do that." Jaskier stuttered.

Geralt grunted, reaching out to grab Jaskier's collar. "Please." He murmured. Jaskier swallowed, nodding softly. He wiped his bloodied hands on his trousers, pulling his knife out of his boot. He placed the blade in the fire, before returning his hands to the wound on Geralt's abdomen. "My pack… potion." Geralt slurred, the blood loss weakening him to a point where he could barely think straight.

Jaskier scrambled to Geralt's pack, bringing it back to the Witcher. With the aid of the other man, Jaskier finally located the potion Geralt needed. He uncorked it with his teeth, allowing the bard to help him sit up as he swallowed the concoction with a grimace.

The Witcher eyed the heating blade. "I'm probably going to pass out… when you -" He shrugged, not really wanting to think about the pain that was in his near future. "You'll need to wrap the wound tightly… I'll be unconscious for a while… the potion I just took will aid in healing the wound, as well as restoring my blood volume." He was tiring quickly, but he could see how scared the bard was. He had never had to deal with something like this in his privileged life. He reached up, taking Jaskier's bloodied hand in his own. "You can do this." He slurred.

Jaskier blinked, willing himself not to cry. His friend needed him. He would seal the wound, Geralt would sleep and then it would all be ok… right? Geralt held his gaze, squeezing his fingers, before nodding slightly. It was time.

Jaskier removed the blood soaked shirt off of Geralt's injury, wiping away as much of the blood as he could to try and find the small, yet deadly wound. "Okay." He muttered. "Here goes everything." He reached out, grabbing the hilt of his knife. He looked at the Witcher's pale, clammy face one more time, before pressing the red hot knife straight onto the wound on his belly. Geralt yelled out, a gutteral scream emitting behind clenched teeth as his skin sizzled and steamed. Jaskier had to clamp his own mouth shut to stop himself vomiting from the smell of burnt flesh. Geralt let out another haunting howl, before his eyes rolled into the back of his head, his body going limp.

Jaskier pulled the knife off of Geralt's skin, gagging slightly as the heated blade stuck to his skin. The threw the knife to the side, inspecting the wound again. The skin was an angry red and raw, alreading beginning to pucker and blister, but the bleeding had stopped. Jaskier quickly sat the other man up, holding his limp body against his own as he quickly wound the bandage around his abdomen. Once the bandage was secured, he gently lay the unconscious man back onto his bedroll, softly wiping his silver hair off his face. He covered him with a thick blanket, pulling it up to his chin. Jaskier breathed a sigh of relief, falling back onto his arse. He had done his part, Geralt's potion just needed to do the rest.

Jaskier spent the next few minutes gathering a bit more firewood, and filling up their water canteens from the nearby stream. He took a few extra moments, carefully washing the blood off his hands. He felt nauseous, watching the water turn pink as it carried the blood downstream. He returned to camp quickly, not wanting to leave Geralt alone for too long should he wake. He packed the camp up a little, setting his own bedroll right besides Geralt's so he was able to keep an eye on his friend. Now that his adrenaline was starting to wear off, Jaskier's foot started throbbing like hell. He slowly took his shoes off, hissing in pain as he wiggled his toes. A deep purple bruise was blossoming up the side of his rapidly swelling ankle.

He sighed, stretching out his leg, trying to keep the limb as still as possible. He would wrap it later, right now he just needed to nurse his own ego for a short while. Images of Geralt collapsing, to the bright red blood and the stench of burning flesh, had Jaskier trembling. He knew he was going through a particularly rough adrenaline crash, possibly going into shock. His grandmother had always taught him "If someone's upset, offer them a good cup of sweet tea." So that's what he did. He pulled their kettle out of one of the packs, setting to work boiling some water.

While he waited for the water to boil, he quickly wrapped his injured foot, sighing slightly at the relief the stability brought. Once the water was ready, he made himself a cup of chamomile tea, hoping it would help soothe his frayed nerves. He sipped at his cup, eying his friend wearily. The Witcher hadn't so much as twitched since Jaskier had lain him back down. His face was ghostly white, dark rings shadowing his eyes, making him look more dead than alive. That thought had Jaskier scrambling back over to the Witcher, tentatively placing a hand on his chest. The soft rising and fall of his chest, made Jaskier nearly pass out in relief.

He placed his fingers on Geralt's forehead, sighing at how cold his friend still felt. He added a few more logs to the fire, before making a quick decision. He pulled his own blanket over, before crawling onto the bedroll, carefully wrapping the ailing man in his arms. He could feel Geralt's muscles trembling, small shivers wracking his large frame. He pulled the blankets up, covering them both securly. Jaskier hummed softly, running his fingers up and down Geralt's arm, hoping that whatever he was doing, was helping the other man.

Geralt groaned slightly, his face contorting in discomfort, as his eyes fluttered open. Jaskier crawled back to his side, bringing his water canteen up to his lips. Geralt took a few mouthfuls before pulling away. "How're you feeling?" Jaskier asked, reaching out to place his hand on Geralt's forehead again. His temperature was normal.

Eventually his exhaustion won and he fell asleep, not waking again until the early hours of the morning. He woke, groaning slightly at the weight pinning him down, but was relieved to find that the other man was warm, and not overly so. He shuffled out from under him, squinting in the growing light to try and see his face better. A little colour had returned to his cheek, his face a lot more relaxed.

He crawled out from under the blankets, wincing as his foot throbbed at the movement. He ignored the pain, poking the embers of the fire, before adding a few small dry sticks, trying to get it to catch again. After a few minutes, the fire was crackling merrily again, lighting up the small clearing.

"Alive." The Witcher replied, shuffling slightly to sit up. He brought his hand to his midsection, grimacing at the movement. "I passed out?" He asked, though the question was mostly rhetorical. Jaskier nodded, helping his friend get comfortable by placing one of their packs behind him.

"Pretty promptly." Jaskier murmured, filling the kettle from his own canteen and placing it on the fire to boil. Geralt frowned, looking at the bard in concern.

"Are you alright?" He asked, his voice gravelly. The question took the bard by surprise. Geralt wasn't usually one to show care this forthcoming. He just nodded, poking the fire with a stick. "You… ah… you did good."

Jaskier looked up at the Witcher, frowning slightly at the other man. Geralt looked uncomfortable, clearly out of his comfort zone. Jaskier chose to smile, not wanting his friend to suffer any more than he already had.

"I… ah…when you're well… when you're feeling better… would you teach me some basic skills? Like how to stitch a wound properly… what your potions are and what ones I need to know to save your life… I just… I felt so helpless yesterday… I didn't know what I was doing and if you hadn't have been able to talk me through what to do… I don't know what would have happened." He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

Geralt frowned at the bard. All these months he had tried and failed to get the other man to leave him alone, but it seemed now he had definitely proven more useful than not. It wouldn't hurt to teach him the basics. The Path was dangerous, and while Jaskier might not be able to defend himself, he could definitely help patch the Witcher up should the need arise. "Ok." He said, choosing not to make too much of a fuss.

Jaskier looked at him in surprise, but schooled his features quickly, nodding. "Thank you." He murmured, his voice cracking slightly. The water started boiling, and Jaskier got to work, quickly making Geralt a cup of tea, adding a generous amount of honey. He knew that the sugar would help with the blood loss, though from the looks of things, the Witcher was well on his way to healing. His potion and his Witcher mutagens, both working to get the other man back to full health quickly.

"Your foot?" Geralt asked, gesturing to Jaskier's awkward crawl as he handed him the cup.

"It's alright." Jaskier muttered. He didn't want to talk about his injury. If he didn't hurt himself, Geralt wouldn't have ended up as sick as he did.

Geralt chose not to comment, though he would find a way to get a healer to look at it when they made it to the next town. He took a sip of the tea, nodding his approval at Jaskier's watchful eye.

They decided to stay in the clearing another night, Geralt's body not quite recovered enough for travel. He had asked Jaskier about the sleeping arrangement, and Jaskier had quietly mumbled about how he had kept the Witcher warm during the night, hoping not to embarrass his very proud friend. Geralt kept his face impassive throughout the explanation, though inside, an unfamiliar feeling was clenching in his gut. The bard had kept him alive.

Yes.

He was definitely proving to be more useful than not. He could definitely trust this man. He had already saved his life once, with absolutely no experience, and he would definitely put his life in his hands again.

[obsidiantheghostfaced]

Kung Fu Panda - THE MIRROR - chapter 2

-{-[]-}-Kung Fu Panda-{-[]-}--The Mirror-

 II 

        Shifu climbed to the top of the hill, and what he saw made his heart shudder with despair. A small village lay before him completely in ruins, any signs of life having been silenced. In a doorway a few feet away, something caught Shifu's eye - it was a doll, seemingly untouched by the ashes. "What happened here..." It was as if someone left it there to be found. "It's a memorial", Shifu said quietly. There were some wildflowers growing nearby. He decided to pick a few to leave next to the doll in the doorway. "I wish I could have saved you, any of you..." When he stood, he started walking on. Shifu took one last look at the village, his eyes wet with tears.

        He followed the rocky path up to where the tree line ended. Gradually the forest gave way to grassy hills, with large rock formations dotting the landscape. As Shifu went on, the terrain became much rockier as a mountain range came into view. "This is the Mountain Pass...but...then that means...". The realization began to dawn on Shifu - he was home. But something was terribly, terribly wrong. "It can't be..." The Pass was the only route through the mountains, and on the other end was a thousand-mile long canyon called "The Devil's Mouth". Crossing it meant traversing the "Thread Of Hope" - a lengthy rope bridge spanning the massive chasm. Except, the bridge was no longer made of rope and wood. It was iron. 

        "That bridge was never made of iron before." Shifu mulled over the entirety of the situation, and just could not make sense of it. As he looked back at the bridge, Shifu noticed sentries armed with long tubes banded with strips of iron around them. The sentries were wearing some strange-looking armor too. "Wait a minute, where have I seen those?" Cannons. Lord Shen used these destructive things against him, the Five, and the Dragon Warrior in Gongmen City. Shifu could still remember the thunder and fire spewing from the mouths of those infernal machines. Further down at every other point were larger tubes mounted on poles that could swivel about to take on multiple threats. It had smaller tubes around the mouth, apparently to fire more cannonballs. "Lord Shen has invaded the valley. But isn't he dead? And where are the Five and Po?" he pondered. He had to get to the Jade Palace, but how could he do it without alerting the sentries along the way?  

        Shifu hid himself behind a small pile of rocks overlooking the bridge. After a few tense moments, a long caravan of merchants came into view. "They must be delivering supplies into the Valley." Most of the travelers were wearing cloaks to protect against the wind. Perfect, I can use one of those cloaks to sneak in with the merchants, Shifu thought. Waiting for the last cart to pass, he whipped off a blanket and wrapped it around himself. Hopefully the sentries wouldn't notice another merchant traveling with the long line of carts. Shifu looked around warily as the armed rhinos watched him pass, but didn't seem to pay him much attention. After a few hours, they made it to the closest village just outside of the Valley, Artisan Village. Just like the bridge, the village was surrounded by sentries and cannons. And there were tall pillars with smoke billowing from the tops towering over the homes and shops. It's just like Gongmen City, there were factories manufacturing cannons. Shifu noticed some villagers walking from one of the factories with pieces of armor and cannon barrels. A few of the merchants had empty carts and were filling them up with cannons and armor. So where are they taking them? 

        The Valley of Peace lay a few miles ahead of the Village. Shifu had opted to hide on one of the carts, letting his tired body rest. Suddenly the cart came to a stop. "Halt! State your business in the Valley!" he heard a gruff voice say. Since when are there guards in the Valley? Shifu thought. "We are merchants here from the forges. There are fresh armor and cannons with us." Shifu quietly slipped out of the back and stood near the other carts. When he looked toward the entrance, there was a huge gate blocking the way. The gate was followed by massive walls traveling out from both sides. He could see one the guards looking down from atop the gate. Unlike the sentries along the bridge, these guards wore large mechanical suits of armor with cannons equipped on the arms. Occasionally jets of steam escaped from vents along the sides. "Call over the captain! We need to make sure this shipment checks out." Another armored suit walked over to inspect the carts. "This had better be important soldier, the Master hates having uninvited guests come into his city." The metallic voice caught Shifu's attention almost immediately, and oddly enough it sounded - feminine. "These merchants have supplies for the Master's forces Captain." After looking them over, the captain gave the all-clear to open the gates. "Very well, but don't waste my time again. Because if you do, I will rip you from that armor and grind you into the dirt. Is that understood?" "Yes Mistress!" the soldier replied anxiously. That voice, no...it can't be...Tigress?

[labyrinthof-fan-fiction]

Matters of Importance Part 4: The Padawan Years

Series Masterlist

A/N: Hello! Thank you for your patience as I wrote this part, I’m working on updates as I post this, not sure when they’ll come, but thank you for all the love on this fic!

Warnings: Torture (I have separators in for you to skip the torture if that is something you don’t want to read), Violence, Blood/Gore, Angst

Summary: (Ages 16-20ish) A glimpse into the years of missions as Padawans and what travels through the connection. Years of separation and training makes you cling to the connection, wondering if Obi-Wan is as invested in it. It’s not until your mission goes wrong that you both realize the importance of the connection.

Rating: M

Word Count: 2,861

You were sixteen when you felt a shift in your connection with Obi-Wan. After a few years of training under Master Yoda, he was put under the tutelage of Master Jinn. Master Windu and Jinn promoted a fostering of the Force connection between the both of you, years of meditating and communicating through the Force had made it so you could sense the other, even across Coruscant. There was never a need to test the connection further, at least, that was until the missions began. Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon had been sent on a mission to Mandalore. Your knowledge of their mission was limited, but you knew that there was unrest in the planet, that the duchess was in need of protection. The danger must have been significant if it required Jedi.

Within a few weeks of his time there, you felt him withdrawing from you, not a complete break, but distancing from you. The past few months there had been a consistent flow between the two of you, your Force signatures were constantly entwined. You could sense his unease, his concern, then you sensed his concern focus. On what, or who you weren’t sure, but you could feel his mind shift to one thing. It had been a matter that intrigued Master Yoda, even planets away, you were able to connect like you were next to each other. But slowly you felt Obi’s Force signature ebbing away from you. You tried to shake off your confusion and sat down, crossing your legs to begin meditating. Inhale, exhale, inhale….. You feel the Force draw you into its arms, wrapping you in peace.

You reached out to Obi-Wan, only to find a wall blocking you from him. He had never put up walls against you, you both had sworn that you would never let anything come between you, but here it was. A wall. Blocking you out. Hurt and fear rushed through your veins. You pushed them away, control. Even though a part of you wanted to push against the wall, maybe break through it.Control, you snarled to yourself. Reaching inward to find peace and clarity. Search your feelings. You are hurt because he cut himself off from you. You analyzed. You are scared, he could be hurt. You would feel something if he was injured. He couldn’t keep that from you. Someone could be in his mind, searching it. He might be protecting you.

While you analyzed your feelings a turmoil began to boil in the pit of your stomach. He could be intentionally cutting you off. He probably is. You don’t matter. You are insignificant. You began the inner battle, feeling Master Windu’s Force energy reaching out to you, filled with clarity and calmness. You anchored yourself to his energy and began to battle your inner self.

Your insecurities, your doubts, bringing each to the surface, only to wrap them in clarity, in rational thought. Obi-Wan may have had his reasons for blocking you, but they would not rule your existence. His actions were not in your control, but your reactions were. Fear and anger would lead down a path of no redemption, to the dark side.

When you opened your eyes, Master Windu sat across from you. His eyes opened as yours did. “Nice work, Padawan.” He said, “Now, to sparring.” He rose from his seated position, you rising as he did.

You walked a step behind your Master to the sparring ring. It was empty today, odd. You heard Master Windu ignite his saber, the amethyst light glowing in the arena. You ignited yours, a pale yellow light falling on your face. Windu made the first move, a direct attack, you brought your saber up to counter his, dancing out of his reach and beginning a quick burst of counterattacks. He parried each blow, pushing forward, but you held your own against him. Even with your sabers set to the lowest settings, you could feel the heat when they collided. He gave a shove and you fell onto your back, you rolled over your shoulder and leapt to your feet.

“Good, very good.” He murmured, his saber retracting. “What is it that troubles you?”

You retracted your saber and looked at him. “I felt Obi-Wan block me from the connection.” The connection was not something that Master Windu claimed to be an expert in, but he never ignored its importance to you.

Windu hummed for a moment. “Mandalore is in a fluctuating state. The mission he is on, is not an easy one.”

You nodded, glancing down at the ground. “What if the connection is lost?”

Windu rubbed at his chin for a moment. “We never had you attempt to keep the connection across the galaxy, perhaps there is a limit when it comes to distance.” You could feel his eyes staring at you. “There is no reason to lose yourself to worry, you can only control how you react.”

More weeks passed before you felt a fluttering across the Force during meditation. Obi? You asked tentatively, reaching out, keeping your reach light as a feather, afraid that if you reached out too aggressively he would disappear.You could feel him retreating from you. Promise, your mind grumbled insistently, Never shut us out.

Then his voice appeared, danger, running, alive. He started to fade from your mind, the connection breaking.

Air rushed from your lips in relief. He was alive, that was a comfort, the only comfort you had from the news. Time continued to pass, every so often you would receive a snippet of emotion or a simple, alive. You continued to train with Master Windu, sparring daily. During your sessions with him you had noticed other masters in the doorways, around the area when your sabers were ignited. You decided to ignore them and focus on the battle at hand. It was no secret that you had become skilled with the blade, but it was hardly a reason for the Masters to appear.

Master Yoda appeared one day during sparring practice. He watched from the doorway, leaning on his cane. You became distracted for a moment and Master Windu’s blade singed your hair. You shook your head and focused on sparring, the battle ended with Master Windu pinned to the ground, your blade at his chin. You heard a shuffling of feet and glanced at the door, Master Yoda was nowhere to be found.

The year came to a close and Mandalore was set right. When the news that their mission had been completed you were excited, Obi would be coming home. You reached out to him in excitement and felt a cloud surrounding him.

Obi? You reached out tentatively through the Force. You could feel him reaching for you.

I’m here. His voice whispered in your mind. It’s alright.

You sensed the lie, anyone would have been able to. Liar.

A chuckle traveled through the galaxy to you. I understand why the Jedi forbid attachment.

You could feel the tinge of sadness that laced his words. The frustration, the hurt. I’m sorry. His Force signature leaned into yours, and they mingled together for a moment. You wanted to press him for more information on what had happened, your mind was racing trying to understand.

We’re entitled to our secrets, even from each other. His voice murmured settling your racing mind.

The years continued, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were sent on missions to maintain peace throughout the galaxy. You remained with Master Windu on Coruscant, taking missions when the Council mandated it. Master Windu’s dedication to the preservation of the Jedi arts fueled your late teens and early twenties. As master and apprentice you had brought several younglings to the Order, delivered safely to begin their training. You had found joy in the missions, the smiles of the younglings when they joined their clans. Every return to the Temple you were greeted by eager little ones to meet the newest member. You had found peace in the missions.

That all changed when you landed on Oosalon. You were aware that Padawans had been missing, and their masters along with them. But you hadn’t realized what the warlord Guattako was doing, the army of children he was amassing. Windu had explained the missing Padawans, but no one had been aware of just what Guattako was planning.

Landing on Oosalon you noted the barren terrain, high cliffs and mountains littered the landscape, not a single plant grew. You tried to tap into the planet’s Force, but it was feral, filled with fear and anger.

“Stay alert, we don’t know what lies ahead.” Windu warned as he lead you up a steep incline.

You continued climbing, looking for signs of the lost children and Masters. You froze when a rock fell from the path above you. You glanced up and a flurry of red landed on you, knocking you to the ground. You grasped for any hold, but were pinned on your back. Master Windu went to ignite his saber and a blade appeared at his throat.

“I wouldn’t try it, Jedi.” A green skinned Kyuzo barked, knife biting into Windu’s throat.

The girl dragged you to a standing position, your arms pinned behind your back. She unclipped your saber from your belt and shoved it into her pack. “Don’t forget to bag his.”

You were shoved to your knees in front of, what you assumed was a man. Clothed in dark stone armor and a red cape, his face was concealed behind some kind of deer mask. He sat on a throne, hewn into the side of the cave, his legs crossed over the arm as he lay across it. A staff lazily gripped in his right hand.

“Guattako, we found them on the trail.” The red haired woman snarled, the child had ran into the darkness.

The man, Guattako, appraised you and Master Windu. “Another apprentice and master, I wonder, will they turn to me just as quickly as the others when I kill the master?”

“I would never.” You spat out, Windu giving a warning murmur as the warlord’s full attention turned to you.

“Never?” He asked, “Aren’t you angry, they stole you from your family, trained you, robbed you of the place you belonged?”

“I am where I belong.”

“Oh dear child, how would you know?” Guattako chuckled, “I will make a deal with you. Join me and I will spare you from death.”

“Never.” You spat out.

Guattako whirled on Master Windu, “And what do you have to say, Master?” He stated the title in a mocking tone.

“My apprentice is free to make their own choices, and it would seem, they made their choice clear.” Windu answered calmly.

Guattako’s eyes glowed his eyes landing on the lightsaber in his accomplice’s hand. He reached out his hand and she placed it in his hand. “I will break your apprentice, then I will kill you. All on the holonet, for others to see. They will see, my cause is even greater than the Jedi!” Guattako snarled, he looked down at Windu’s saber in his hands and broke it over his knee. He snapped his fingers, causing the red haired woman and another to grab you and toss you against the wall.

They tied your arms to the chains hanging from the walls. A droid hovered in front of you, it scanned your frame then a red light began flickering on its face.

——————————————————————————————————

The red haired woman approached Guattako and placed two knives into his waiting hands. He spun them, the light glinting of the blades, he turned to Windu. “Shame, I could have had a new lieutenant.” Then he swiped down on your dominant arm, slicing through your robe and into the flesh, you screamed as he dug the blade into the wound. He ripped the blade out and you felt the blood dripping from your arm.

He brought the blade up to your cheek and dragged it down, a long cut following its path. He chuckled, “I’ve always liked the color red.” His blade notched a small cut in your robe and he ripped it open, exposing your front. He sheathed his blade and held his hand out to the girl over his shoulder. “Saber.”

Your lightsaber was placed in his open palm, you flinched when he ignited it. The hum filled your ears, that hum had always been comforting, but in this moment, your blood ran cold. Guattako chuckled.

“In all the Masters I have killed, I haven’t used their sabers against them.” He stepped back for a moment and twirled your saber in his hand. “I’ve heard of the damage Jedi do with these, sure, there’s the ability to cut through anything. Metal, bone, stone. The Padawans I saved, spoke of burns that they had when learning how to wield the saber.” He smirked before setting the blade of your saber against your side.

Heat burned at your side and a scream ripped from your mouth. Your saber was removed from your side for a moment before it was set against your other side. The smell of burning flesh made you wretch.

You could feel eyes on you, not just the ones in the room, but familiar ones. You looked up and swore you saw Obi-Wan before you. This thought was a small distraction before your saber blade was pressed against your body so many times that you were wondering how much of your skin wasn’t burnt by your lightsaber.

——————————————————————————————————

“Would you die for the Jedi Order?” Guattako asked, you could hear the sneer in his voice under his mask.

You glared into his red eyes. “I would.”

You could sense the smirk on Guattako’s face, hidden by his mask as he raised your lightsaber to your throat, the heat pulsing as you took a breath. You raised your eyes to his. If the bastard was going to kill you, you would look into his eyes. Blaster fire echoed in the cave, Guattako fell, your sable rolling across the cave. A young Padawan stood opposite you, blaster in his shaking hands.

“I want to go home.” The boy whimpered. He gripped the blaster and his eyes traveled to Master Windu, who he ran to and began untying him.

“And we will go home.” Windu told the boy before he stood and raced to you, he manipulated the Force to break the chains that held you up, he caught you in his arms as you slumped forward. He gripped at your chin, turning your gaze to him. “I am proud of you.”

You felt tears forming in your eyes. “Master…”

He shook his head, “Sleep now.” He waved his hand before your face and your eyelids drooped and you felt sleep overtake your mind.

Pain burned through the connection, Obi-Wan felt panic rise in his throat. It had been months since anything had passed through the connection. He reached out to you, trying to understand why he was feeling the pain. He tried to send soothing energy to you, something from him. He felt you lock onto his energy for a moment before more pain filled his senses. Master Qui-Gon had sequestered himself in the holo room of the ship. Obi-Wan pushed himself into the room, his eyes wild as he searched for his Master.

Qui-Gon stared up from the holonet projection, Obi-Wan’s eyes fell on your projection. He flinched when the masked figure used his knives against you. He froze when your lightsaber ignited in the figure’s hands.

“Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon greeted solemnly. “The mission on Oosalon has turned. Guattako captured them. He plans to execute Windu, after breaking his apprentice.”

Qui-Gon’s apprentice gripped at his head as pain rippled through the connection again. “So we’re just going to watch? We have to go to them!”

“We are across the galaxy.” Qui-Gon murmured. “We wouldn’t make it in time. The Council is aware of the sacrifice they make.”

“Is sacrifice all the Council cares about?” Obi-Wan snarled.

A chuckle escaped Qui-Gon’s lips. “I think I’m rubbing off on you.”

Then your voice cut through the room. “I would.”

Obi’s eyes grew wide. “No, no!” He reached out with the Force, wildly grasping for your signature. He locked on just as the blaster fire rang out. Guattako fell and you remained breathing, your eyes focused on where Obi stood through the holonet. Alive. He heard your voice in his mind.

“We are returning to Coruscant.” Qui-Gon stated, standing from his seat and turning off the holonet projection. Obi’s head whipped to his Master, who offered nothing more as he walked to the pilot’s seat.

Obi-Wan sighed, he hadn’t realized the security that single word had brought to him. It had been years since the mission on Mandalore, he wondered if you had felt the same when he sent that one word. Alive. He sat on the floor and closed his eyes, willing himself to meditate, to calm his mind. He was consumed by calm as your voice echoed in his mind. Alive.

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Desiderium

Fantasy Masks AU: Chapter One

A JSE Fanfic

Hey! Hey! New AU! :D I’m really excited for it! As you can probably tell from the title, this is a fantasy-themed one. Taking place in the kingdom known as Glasúil, where magic and strange creatures are common, a man called Chase lives a simple life in a mountain village with his family. But of course, something just has to happen, and, well...you’ll see next chapter ;) Feel free to ask me anything about this AU, even though it’s still in its early stages I have a lot of ideas that I’m eager to share!

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

The forest floor was blanketed in a layer of fallen leaves, red and orange and yellow matching the colors of those still on the tree branches. Bushes and shrubs made the terrain difficult for most people. But a single rabbit hopped across the ground, unhindered by the underbrush and making no sound on the crunchy fallen leaves. It stopped by a small bush, sniffed its leaves, and started to nibble on them.

Thwip! An arrow suddenly appeared next to the rabbit. It had barely landed when the rabbit was already running, darting off quickly. “Wait, no! No!” Someone shouted. A man appeared, shooting to his feet from where he’d been hiding behind a nearby bush. He nocked another arrow and let it loose, but it missed by a mile, landing in the trunk of a nearby tree. The rabbit was already gone.

“Damn it,” Chase cursed, looking down at his arm. That last shot had been sloppy; if he wasn’t wearing his arm guard, the bow string could’ve really hurt him. He tightened the guard straps and went to collect the arrows from where they’d landed. The one that hit the tree had its point chipped a bit. “Damn it,” he said again, whispering this time. If he kept chipping arrows, he’d have to buy more, and they couldn’t afford that right now.

Maybe he’d missed because it was starting to get dark. Chase looked through the branches of the trees towards the sky. He could see the rosy hint of a sunset in the distance. Well, if that wasn’t a sign that it was time to head back, he didn’t know what was. He’d already checked the snares he’d set up yesterday and set up new ones; there was nothing more to do. Disappointed, he turned back and headed east, towards town. Hopefully tomorrow he’d find more in the forest than three squirrels and a rabbit that he failed to shoot.

The trees soon thinned. Chase walked down a familiar slope of land and quickly saw the familiar buildings at the edge of town. Well, it wasn’t really a town. It was too small for that. It was actually a village, but people called it Hilltown, and so naturally it was shortened to just town. People said things like “Hey I’m heading back to town,” or “The millers live on the edge of town.” That might be confusing in a more urban setting, where there were more cities and towns close together, but they lived in the mountains. The village was the only “town” for miles.

Chase slipped in between two buildings and officially entered the village. These buildings were made of wood, and a bit rickety due to being built on sloping ground. When the village was founded, it was first built on a relatively flat area. But as it slowly grew, it had to creep upwards onto the incline that led up to the forest. The way the buildings continued onto the slope was the reason people started calling it Hilltown, though Chase had never been fond of the name.

“Hey! Is that you, Chase?”

“Huh?” Chase stopped, and looked around. He quickly spotted the source of the call: an older man, with a black beard streaked with gray, standing in the doorway of a house. “Hi, Kieran. How’re you doing?”

“Doing fine, boy,” Kieran said good-naturedly. “Come back from hunting so soon?”

“Well it is sunset. Do you expect me to shoot in the dark?” Chase commented, raising an eyebrow.

Kieran chuckled. “So...did you shoot any beaver today?”

“No, Kieran, there are no beavers in the mountains,” Chase sighed. The older man had been living here for three years, and he couldn’t seem to grasp that.

“Ah, if you say so,” Kieran waved away. “If you ever do catch one—”

“—I can bring the pelt to you, I know,” Chase finished. And again, he’d been offering that same proposal for three years.

“That’s the spirit! I’ll be seeing you around.”

“Be seeing you.”

Chase headed onward. As the ground started to level out, the buildings became sturdier, with more made of stone bricks, and grew closer together. The streets weren’t paved, but they were cleared, dusty paths well-trod. A few people were out, though not as many as there would have been earlier in the day. Mostly small kids running around and a few people taking turns getting water at the well in the center of the town. Chase waved at them, and they nodded back. One of them, Terrance the tailor, called out “How’re you doing?” and Chase answered, “Doing fine!”

Shortly after passing by the well, he came across the tallest building in town, and was once again stopped by someone calling his name. “Mister Chase!”

He stopped and turned to face the building: the temple. The couple that ran it were standing outside the doorway. One of them, Mother Aoife, was waving at him. “Hello, Mother. Is everything alright?”

“Oh, well, can I ask you a question?” Mother Aoife said. She gestured at the entrance. “Do you think we’d have room for another holy symbol up there?”

“Uh...” Chase took a step back. The doorway to the temple had two symbols on either side of it, showing that members of either faith could practice inside. To the left was a blue candle, almost as long as a person’s arm, burning and dripping wax. To the right were two interlocking circles the size of someone’s head: one gold-ish with small triangles around the edge, one silver-ish with a line down the center. “I mean...I guess you could put one above the door.”

“No, we can’t do that!” Mother Aoife said. “That would imply that one faith is higher than the others.”

“Right. Then, I’m guessing it would be the same if you put a symbol in the space beneath one of the other two?”

“Exactly.”

“I told you it wouldn’t work.” Pastor Cait frowned. She was the other leader at the temple, and was Mother Aoife’s wife. They’d actually held two ceremonies, one for each of their respective faiths. That day had been one of the most active days Hilltown had seen in the past ten years. “Besides, nobody in town follows the Forger.”

“But it is becoming popular with those down in the flatlands of Glasúil,” Mother Aoife insisted. “What if someone comes to visit and spread the faith?”

“Well, neither of us even know anything about the Forge, anyway,” Pastor Cait pointed out.

“We could always find someone.”

“That runs into the problem of nobody in town following the Forger.”

“Um...is that all you wanted me for?” Chase asked awkwardly.

“Oh no, I just thought I’d ask you first,” Mother Aoife said. “Stacia stopped by. She said to tell you that she was leaving early and would be home when you were done hunting.”

“Really? That’s strange.” Stacia usually worked all day, and with the fall harvest coming up, she’d probably be out on the farms from sunrise to sunset. “Why?”

“She said something about Quentin,” Mother Aoife said, frowning as she tried to remember. “I think he might’ve been getting sick? There was something wrong.”

Chase felt his heart drop, leaving his chest cold. “Why didn’t you start with that?!”

“Well, I—” Mother Aoife’s explanation was wasted. Chase was already running.

It wasn’t too far from here. He sprinted down the street, not bothering to look at any of the people he passed by, heading for the other edge of town. The buildings started to spread out again, small patches of vegetable gardens dotting the rows of low stone houses. He kept running until he reached his own, recognizing the garden of radishes outside and the rough chalk drawings on the stones outside, drawn by children. Without waiting, he threw open the wooden door and rushed inside.

“Dad?” Amabel, his daughter, was sitting on the edge of the rough wooden table, carefully trying to  tie the end of a string into a loop.

“Hi, Amy. Where’s your mother and brother?” Chase asked.

“Bedroom,” Amabel said, pointing at the doorway, blocked off by a hanging length of cloth.

“Thanks.” Chase ruffled her red hair as he walked past, not wasting any time and ducking underneath the cloth. “What happened? Is it bad?!”

Stacia looked up, clearly surprised. “Chase? What do you mean what happened?”

“Mother Aoife, down at the temple, she said that you said something happened with Quentin a-and that you were leaving early because of it,” Chase hurried through the explanation. “Is everything okay?!”

“Did she...well I guess it would sound bad if that’s all she said,” Stacia muttered. “Don’t worry, it’s fine.”

“Hi Dad!” Quentin was lying in the big double-bed that Chase and Stacia usually shared, propped up against the wooden frame. Their thick winter quilt was wrapped around him, his little face and dark curls being the only thing to poke out of the patchwork cloth.

“He fell in the water trough for Rainer’s sheep when I looked away,” Stacia explained, sighing. “Got pretty wet.”

“There was a goat staring at me!” Quentin said. He didn’t seem any worse for wear.

“It’ll probably be fine, but considering his...constitution, I-I thought it’d be best if I took the rest of the day off to keep an eye on him.” Stacia pulled the blanket up over Quentin’s head, much to his delight.

All the tension immediately drained from Chase’s body. He stumbled against the wall, losing his balance in the flood of relief. “Oh thank the elders,” he breathed.

Stacia stood up. She walked over to the bedroom window—the only one in their cottage to have glass—and made sure it was firmly closed. Then she turned to face Chase. “Did you...did you get back to town early and decide to check on us?”

“No, I just got back, I ran all the way here,” Chase said, catching his breath for the first time.

“Oh.” Stacia glanced at the arrows in his quiver, then at the three squirrels he had slung over his back. “Sorry, I guess I just thought, since you didn’t seem to find that much—”

“It’s fall, Stacy, animals are starting to hibernate,” Chase said, rubbing his eyes.

“Right. I always forget that.” Stacia nodded.

“How are things going at the farm?”

“Alright. Busy. You know, Jane told me that down in the flatlands, where it’s warmer, they grow potatoes through the winter. Which makes sense, but it’s strange, isn’t it?”

“Yea, pretty strange.” Chase stood up straight. “Well, I’m going to go take care of these squirrels.”

“Oh!” Stacia’s eyes widened. “Wait, before you do, do you remember that you’re going to start teaching Amabel shooting on Hunt’s Day?”

“Yes, don’t worry,” Chase assured her. “I already have a great spot marked out.”

Stacia let out a breath. “Good. With everything today, I almost forgot until now.”

“Well, clearly Amabel didn’t forget. I saw her trying to make a bow string in the main room.” Chase smiled. “It looked pretty good, for her first time doing it on her own.”

“Wonderful.” Stacia turned back to Quentin, who was picking at the seams of the quilt. “Now go take care of those squirrels. Are you going to make dinner or should I?”

“Uh. You seem busy, I’ll do it,” Chase offered. “Right after the squirrels.”

It was well into the night by the time everyone was settled down. Quentin was fine, he hadn’t caught a cold, which was a huge relief. He’d been born a bit weaker than other children, and didn’t have as much energy as them. He often fell ill, and it was always a worry to Chase and Stacia. Amabel was heartier, but she was a quiet child. She often wandered about on her own, and was very familiar with the layout of Hilltown and the potato farms on the edge of the village, where many people worked, including Stacia. At ten years old, it was about time for her to start taking up more serious chores, and she’d asked Chase to take her hunting more than once. Of course, she had to learn to shoot first, and luckily for her, he was ready to teach her soon.

They had mutton for dinner, which they’d traded for with Rainer. Chase had managed to shoot down a bird last week, and the farmer had gladly traded a sheep for that. Now they were all sitting, taking the time to rest. Stacia was sitting in the rocking chair, patching up a hole in one of her tunics, while Amabel and Quentin were sitting by the stone fireplace, both of them now under the winter quilt.

“Don’t get too close, kids,” Chase called from his position near the window, where he was drawing their curtains closed. “A spark could fly and catch that fabric on fire.”

“It’s fine,” Amabel said, pulling the blanket closer and wrapping it around her and Quentin’s legs. “Dad, we need new curtains, those are old.”

“I know, Amy,” Chase muttered, glancing at the threadbare fabric. “But we can’t get any right now, so we’re keeping these until they fall apart.”

“Hmm.” Amabel hummed. “Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Can we have a story?”

At that suggestion, Quentin perked up. “A story! Yes!”

Chase’s eyes lit up. “Oh, well, I guess we could have one.”

Stacia looked up. “It’s late. And you need your sleep, Quentin, just in case.”

“It’ll be a short one, then,” Chase said. He walked over and sat down in one of the three rickety wooden chairs by the table. The kids spun around so their backs were to the fireplace and scooted a bit closer, though not out of range for the heat of the fire. “Where do you want your story to be from tonight? Down in the flatlands? Maybe along the coast or in the ocean? Or even in Suilthair, where the king lives?”

“What about...here?” Amabel suggested. “In the mountains?”

“Hmm...” Chase stroked his chin, fingers running along his beard hair. “You know what? I think I could work with that.”

Quentin cheered. Amabel stayed quiet, but she leaned forward, ready to hear. Stacia sighed quietly, continuing to patch, but occasionally glanced upwards, showing she was listening as well.

“Do you know what our mountain range is called in the flatlands? It’s just home to us, but to them, we live in the Dragon’s Teeth.” Chase paused for Quentin to gasp. “It’s called that for two reasons. One, because of how high and pointy they are, looking a bit like teeth. Two, because years and years ago, before people moved up into the mountains, dragons lived here.”

“What?!” Quentin whispered. “Big dragons?! Like in the warrior story?”

“Even bigger! Because up in the mountains they had a ton of space to grow into. They lived in caves, and each dragon had its own mountain.” Chase smiled. “Of course, there aren’t any dragons anymore. At least, not in our kingdom. Who knows? Maybe there are more across the seas. But dragons were very magical, and a whole bunch of other magical creatures gathered around the spaces where they used to live, sucking up all the leftover magic.”

“Do wizards get their magic from dragons?” Amabel asked.

Chase shrugged. “I don’t know. Our family’s not that magical, so I never learned that. Maybe you could find that out one day.”

Amabel nodded, her little eyes determined to answer this question someday.

“But even though there aren’t any dragons anymore, there are a lot of other creatures. You know what I always say to do if something bad happens in town?”

“Run to the forest,” the kids said in unison.

“Exactly.” Chase nodded. “Mom and I will come find you. And if nothing’s happened by the next sunset,  you come back to town on your own.” That last part was added at Stacia’s request, since she was concerned about food and woodland animals. “You know all the rules about avoiding wolves and bears, but...there are magical things in the forest. So I have three more rules for you: if a deer has golden antlers, don’t bother it. If you see a horse out on its own, don’t touch it. And if you hear a woman crying, don’t go after it.”

Quentin nodded, but Amabel tilted her head to the side. “Why? And that last one, what if it’s Mom?”

“Well, you could recognize Mom’s voice,” Chase said. “I mean if it sounds like a strange woman. Because that might not be a woman at all. That could be a banshee. They won’t mean you any harm on their own, but if they see you, they’ll try to tell you about coming tragedies. Sounds like a good warning, right? Except that hearing this warning makes the tragedy more likely to happen. So you should stay away. One time, while I was out hunting about, um...ten years ago, before you were born. I was out with Micheal down the bend, we heard someone crying. I decided to walk away, but Micheal chased after it, and when he came back he said he found a banshee. And the next morning, very suddenly, his mother died.”

“Oh no,” Quentin breathed. “What about the other two?”

“A deer with golden antlers probably isn’t a deer at all. It could be the Elder Horned One in disguise. If you disturb him, you could find yourself whisked away to join his hunters. And a horse out on its own definitely isn’t a horse at all. It’s actually a kelpie. And if you touch a kelpie, you’ll get stuck to it. It’ll run into the nearest water and drag you under, and you won’t be able to let go.”

“Alright, I think that’s enough for the night,” Stacia said, standing up. “Amabel, Quentin, you’re all washed up?”

“Yes, Mom,” they said in unison. 

“Good. Off to bed with you.” Stacia hurried the kids over to the corner, where the small bed the two of them shared was tucked against the wall. “We’ll be seeing you in the morning,” she said, pulling back the blankets and tucking them in once the kids were under.

Chase wandered over. “Good night, Quen. Good night, Amy.” He gave them each a kiss on the forehead.

“Good night Dad,” Amabel said. Quentin was already yawning, face buried in the pillow. “Good night Mom.”

“Good night,” Stacia said, giving her and Quentin a kiss as well.

With that, the two adults retreated to the separate bedroom, quickly getting ready for bed. “You ended that story abruptly,” Chase commented.

“Well you did say they were going to get drowned by a kelpie,” Stacia pointed out.

“No, I said that they wouldn’t be if they didn’t touch it. It was a cautionary tale.”

“Still, not the best to hear at night.” Stacia ran a comb through her hair. “And also, I don’t think we should tell them to go into the forest anymore. Not without an adult there.”

“Really?” Chase frowned. “Why?”

“It’s dangerous.”

“Oh, come on, Stacy. I know it is, but you can’t tell me you didn’t run around the forest when you were their age. I know I did, and I walked out. Michael did. Terrance did. Wendy and Emilia did.”

“Things are different now,” Stacia said slowly. She shifted uneasily on her feet, then glanced out the window, as if making sure nobody was outside. “Look, you know Rose, Aodhan’s wife?”

“No, but I definitely know Aodhan, he runs the potato farms.”

“Well, Rose is married to him. The past week, she’s been working with us for the harvest, and...she says there are...new things in the forest.”

Chase paused. He’d been about to blow out the candle in the sconce by the door, but something about the way Stacia said that made him pause. “Like...what?”

“Townsfolk have been seeing the figures of...people,” Stacia whispered. “But not your regular, everyday people. These ones carry weapons, a-and they wear...masks. Masks shaped like animal faces. They move quickly and silently, and some think that they’re spirits of some kind.”

“I’ve...never heard of spirits wearing animal masks,” Chase said in a low voice.

“Neither have I. But here’s the thing: Rose doesn’t believe those rumors.” Stacia paused. “Did you know there’s trouble down in the flatlands? People are...unhappy. With how the king is running things.”

“What? That’s strange,” Chase muttered. “I remember hearing that he’s the best king Glasúil ever had.” Though now that he was thinking about it, it had been a while since he’d heard something like that.

“Well, it’s trouble either way to have people thinking that about a king,” Stacia said firmly. “And Rose thinks that these spirits in masks are just people running around the forest, hiding out, being rebels. And that’s dangerous, Chase. Animals and magic behave by certain rules you can expect, but people...you just don’t know with them.”

“I guess you’re right,” Chase muttered. He paused, then blew out the candle and headed back towards bed. “Well, I haven’t seen any of these masked spirits. And I’m in the forest every day. So it’s probably nothing to worry about yet.”

“That forest is big, Chase,” Stacia said, clearly worried despite his reassurance. “You’ve probably only explored a tiny part of it, and the same goes for anyone else in town.”

That was true. Even in his farthest hunting trips, he’d only gone far enough to find his way back to Hilltown relatively quickly. “I still say it’ll be fine,” he reiterated. “I don’t see why any rebels would bother us, even if they were out there.” He climbed into bed. “If I see something weird when I’m out tomorrow, I’ll reconsider it. Besides, it’s not good to think about things like this before bed, as you pointed out to the kids.”

Stacia sighed, and got into bed as well, pulling the blankets up. “I just...don’t want anything to happen to them.”

Chase nodded. “I don’t either,” he agreed softly. Then he took a deep breath. “Good night, Stacy.”

“Good night, Chase.” Stacia leaned over and blew out the candle on the bedside table, leaving the room dark except for the moonlight coming through the window. 

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

The next morning went the same as every other morning. The family had breakfast, either Stacia or Chase went out to manage the garden while the other took care of the kids—today it was Chase for the former and Stacia for the latter, though they switched every other day—then Stacia got ready to go to the farms and Chase got ready to go hunting. As always, the kids went with Stacia, wandering around within eyesight and earshot of her while she worked. Though Chase could tell Amabel was eager to start going into the more dangerous forest with her dad, judging by the way she kept looking at her miniature bow, still unstrung. He ruffled her hair and reminded her that Hunt’s Day was just two days away, then headed off, waving goodbye to Stacia and the kids.

Passing through town was the same as ever as well. Some people were lined up at the well, as they always seemed to be. It looked as though the temple was unchanged, so clearly Mother Aoife and Pastor Cait had resolved their issue. Kieran waved goodbye as Chase walked past, and reminded him to look for beavers to shoot. 

And from there...the day was largely uneventful. Which was not good. Hunting was always a lot of waiting and wandering and being quiet, occasionally interrupted by action as you aimed and shot at an animal. But in the fall like this, that last bit of action was becoming rarer. And it didn’t help that it was really starting to get cold. Chase could see his breath in the air in front of him, and he kept pulling his felt hat down over his head. It was old, and almost nobody else in town had one like it, but he kept it because it had a handy brim for blocking the sun. It was also good for cold days like these, when he hadn’t grabbed his jacket because he mistakenly believed it would be as warm today as it was yesterday.

The sun passed overhead. Chase stopped around midday to have a lunch of bread and jerky, then moved on. He stopped by his usual snares, but found that nothing had stumbled into them. Not even a few squirrels like the day before. Growing frustrated, and more than a little desperate, he wandered farther into the forest, but still found nothing. This was bad. Sure, they had a stockpile of preserved meat and jerky from his hunts during the summer, but that would run out eventually. And what if Quentin got sick, and needed something more hearty than dried, stringy meat? What would they do then?

It was starting to get late when he saw it. Just a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. Chase stiffened, and slowly turned. There, right in between two trees, fully in view of him...was a deer. Its coat was dark brown, almost black, and it was grazing peacefully, not paying him the least bit of attention. It had been a few weeks since he’d seen a deer. That was a bit unusual, really. But it didn’t matter anymore. There was one here now. Slowly, he drew his bow.

The deer raised its head and started to walk away. Carefully, Chase followed it. He stepped carefully, making sure there were no twigs or crunchy fallen leaves before putting his foot down. After a while, the deer stopped again, grazing for a bit. Chase made sure he was in a good position, then raised his bow and reached towards the quiver on his hip. Then the deer started walking away again.

Chase followed it, for longer than he probably should have. The shadows grew more slanted, then started to take over, but he kept following the deer. Every time he got into a good position to shoot and started to grab an arrow, it moved on. After a while, it felt like a game. A game of...chase. He almost laughed when the thought occurred to him, but stopped just in time to catch the sound.

It was well into dusk when the deer wandered into a small circular clearing. Chase stopped, still hidden by the trees, and gritted his teeth to stop them from chattering. Once the sun went behind the mountains in autumn, the temperature dropped rapidly. But it wouldn’t be long now. He had to get this deer. They needed it. And now it was just standing there, ears twitching. Chase raised the bow again, and this time when he reached for an arrow, he pulled it out and slowly nocked it, steadying his stance to take aim.

But then...no, something was different. The deer’s antlers...had they gotten bigger? More...curvy? Chase paused, puzzled. Then he took a closer look.

The antlers were...glinting. He was sure they were ordinary bone before, but now they looked almost...golden.

Gasping, Chase instantly let go of his bow and arrow. They landed in the undergrowth with soft thumps.

The deer’s ears stopped twitching. But instead of running away, it turned around. And it looked at him. And there was something different about its dark, dark eyes. Different from other deer eyes, from other animal eyes, that Chase had seen before.

He slowly raised his hands. “I—I didn’t kn—”

The deer looked away from him, turnin to the side, staring off into the distance. Then it broke into a run in the opposite direction, hooves making no sound on the forest floor.

For a long, long while, Chase just stood there, shivering, breath pluming in the air. Had that...really happened? Or had he just imagined it because he’d been out in the cold for so long? After some time, he bent over and picked up his bow and the arrow he’d dropped, putting them away. Well, it was also dark. He could’ve been just...seeing things in the moonlight. And speaking of moonlight, he should really be heading home by now. He was late. Now...which way was it?

He’d wandered a long way following that deer. It was dark and he wasn’t as familiar with this part of the forest as he was with areas closer to home. So by the time he found his way back, it was definitely night, no longer twilight. Stacia and the kids must be so worried. Chase picked up the pace.

Wait...if it was night, then why was there an orange glow in the distance? It was well past sunset. Chase squinted, and in a split second, he realized a few things: First, the glow was coming from the direction of Hilltown. Second, even if it was sunset, the forest was west of town, and therefore the town wouldn’t be between him and the sunset. Third, he was getting closer to the glow. Closer in a way that just didn’t happen with a setting sun. His heart froze. And he burst into a flat run, easily clearing the edge of the forest.

The village was on fire.

Chase just stood and gaped for a moment, feeling the heat from here. The wooden buildings that ran up the sloping ground were all ablaze. He could see dark shapes in the streets, and the figures of people running around, with—horses? A lot of horses. There were only about four in the whole town, and this was definitely more than that.

Snapping out of the daze, he ran, but in his haste, lost footing on the uneven ground and fell, tumbling head over heels for a bit before he managed to stop himself. “Ow...” he groaned, lifting himself up and coming face to face with the flames. Quickly, he threw himself backwards, scrambling to a safe distance.

Now that he was closer, he could definitely make out what was happening. The dark shapes on the ground between the burning buildings...were bodies. He couldn’t recognize anyone, but then again, he couldn’t bring himself to look for any longer than necessary. And there were strangers wandering around. Some on foot, some on horses, but all wearing chain mail armor underneath dark tunics. Chase stared at them, wide-eyed. The strangers were shouting. To each other? To their horses? To anyone left? It was hard to tell.

But they hadn’t noticed Chase. Quickly getting to his feet, he started running around the edge of town. He had to get home! At this time of night, Stacia would be there, Quentin and Amabel would be there—were they okay?! They had to be okay! He didn’t know what he would do if—He wouldn’t forgive himself if he was away and missed being able to help them.

Going around town was a lot slower than going through it, but everything—everything—was on fire. Even the stone buildings! How was that possible?! If the stone buildings were on fire, their cottage could—he pushed himself to run faster.

He couldn’t avoid it anymore. He had to run into the town to get home. But the smoke—even from here, his eyes were watering. So he took his hat off and pressed it to his face, filtering it before he could breathe it in. And he plunged into the raging flames. Even staying in the center of the path, the heat was almost unbearable. But Stacia—Quentin, Amabel—

The cottage. Their home. It was also on fire. The old curtains were ash, the vegetable garden was a raging inferno. “Stacia!” Chase shouted. “Stacy! Quentin! Amabel! Stacy! Quen! Amy! Where are you?!”

Voices. Chase turned and saw some of those strangers nearby, one on a horse. And...he hadn’t noticed this before, but there was a symbol on the back of their dark tunics. A shield, black and blue striped, with a green circle in the center, a black dot in the center of that. The symbol was—it was—the symbol for their kingdom, the kingdom of Glasúil. Chase had never seen it in person, but everyone grew up learning of that insignia. And they also learned that, while local militia may wear a simplified green ring on their clothes, only soldiers working directly for the royal family were allowed to wear the full crest.

Chase recalled this fact dimly, but it didn’t really register. One of the strangers—the soldiers—started to turn around. And gasping, coughing a bit, Chase turned and ran right back out of town, never stopping until he was well clear of the last few houses, out onto the potato fields. In the distance, he saw the house of Aodhan and Rose, the farm owners. It was also on fire.

What was he supposed to do now?! Stacia, and the kids...were they...? No, no they couldn’t be.

The forest.

He’d told the kids to run into the forest if there was ever any danger in town. And sure, Stacia was concerned about rebels in the woods and those strange masked figures, but in the face of this? Maybe she would do the same. Well...it was all he could think of. The only straw he could grasp. Stumbling, Chase turned around and ran back the way he came.

The trees enveloped him in a strange sense of calm, a world removed from the blazing horrors of the burning town. He stumbled for a moment, tripping over some brush, then ran faster. “Stacia! Quentin! Amabel!” he yelled. Even with the distant light from the flaming ruins of the village, the trees above blocked out most of the light, leaving him in shadows. His eyes darted about for any movement. “Where are you?! Can you hear me?”

Abandoning all his hunter’s instincts telling him to stay quiet, he ran through the woods, staggering over brush and rocks that he couldn’t see in the darkness. “Can you hear me?! Answer me! Stacy! Quen! Amy!” Chase’s cries pierced through the silence. There was no sign of them. Maybe they’d gone farther. Thinking that, he plunged deeper into the trees.

Things quickly became unfamiliar. Whether it was because of the distance or because of the darkness, he couldn’t say. But the strangeness only spurred him on. What if his family was lost out here? Alone in the woods? He’d taught the kids something about foraging for food, but not enough, not in this situation. And Stacia was a farmer, not a hunter or a forester. He had to find them. He had to—

Chase noticed the lack of ground beneath his foot a split second after stepping forward. Then he fell. Luckily, it wasn’t off a cliff, but he did land with a loud splash! as he fell into some shallow water. Pebbles and rocks bit into this arms as he extended them out to brace for impact. He sat up, spluttering, now completely soaked. What was this, a stream? A pond? He couldn’t quite see in the dark, but he did know one thing: there were no streams or ponds near the town, and certainly not in the parts of the forest he knew.

Securing his hat, he stood up. His bow and quiver knocked against his side, and he then realized that the fall had caused most of his arrows to fall out. Well...that wouldn’t be good in the future. But he couldn’t see where they’d fallen into the water, and there was no time. He pressed onward.

The trees were close together, heavy branches blocking out the sun. Chase kept his arms out in front of him, to make sure he didn’t run into a trunk. If he couldn’t even see the trees, he definitely wouldn’t be able to see a person. And they wouldn’t be able to see him. “Stacia! Kids! A-are you out h-here?” He gritted his teeth to stop them from chattering. It was cold before, and now it was later, and he was wet, making it positively freezing. “Stacy! K-kids! Are you here?!” But he kept going.

The rush of emotion was starting to fade. He was getting tired. Maybe if he took a rest...no! No, what could be happening to them while he rested?! And besides, he’d be easy prey for any predators out here if he slept. He staggered forward. The forest was practically pitch black, but he kept shouting, his voice growing hoarse, and hoping to hear a reply. 

The underbrush must be thicker here, because he kept tripping up. He fell down twice, but pulled himself to his feet and went onward. His hands were shaking...shivering. “S...Sta-asha. Quen...Quentnn…Ammbel,” he mumbled. It was hard to keep his eyes open. Where was he? Shouldn’t he...shouldn’t he have found some town by now? No, the forest went on for...for acres. He knew this. How could he forget...“Plea...pl’se...say y’r here...I...wher...?”

He couldn’t...couldn’t stop now. He needed to find them. Couldn’t...leave them. On their own. He kept pressing onward. It was getting so hard...he had to use the trees for support sometimes. Stop to take a break. But not to give up. “Can’...give up...St-stace...Quen...Am...ple-please...”

And once again, he stepped somewhere without support. But now he couldn’t even register it. He just knew he was falling, rolling down, down a hill. Coming to a stop when he hit...something. A tree? Those felt like...roots, beneath him. His arm moved a bit, trying to grab something to pull himself up. Fingers drifted across a bark-covered surface, but couldn’t...couldn’t grab. So his arm fell back down. Maybe...he should rest for just a few minutes.

But after just a few seconds of staying still, he heard a strange rustling sound. Raising his head weakly, he saw...a strange sight indeed. People. No, not quite people. Human bodies, dressed in dark clothes...but with white-feathered bird faces where heads should be. Four or five of them...Wait. No, not bird heads. Bird masks. Masks made out of some sort of white material. Hadn’t...hadn’t he heard something about masks recently?

The masked figures drew closer. Chase stared up at them. He was so...so tired. He wouldn’t be able to run even if the thought had managed to...to get through. 

One of them knelt down next to him, pulling off a glove. They pressed a pair of fingers to his neck, and he shivered. He wasn’t cold anymore. Or he was, but this bird person’s hands were colder.

They stood up again, and turned to the others. He heard the sound of voices, but his head couldn’t process the words. What were they...were they hear to...help? Or...?

He was too tired to think about it. He let his head fall back to the forest floor.

The last thing Chase felt before losing consciousness was the sudden lift of someone picking him up.

[thefinalcinderella]

Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru Chapter 7 - The Qualifiers (Part 1)

It’s here

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

1. The Kansei Reforms is a “series of conservative measures promoted (largely during the Kansei era [1789–1801]) by the Japanese statesman Matsudaira Sadanobu between 1787 and 1793 to restore the sinking financial and moral condition of the Tokugawa government.” (Source: Encyclopedia Britannica)

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“The weather’s good today.”

Kakeru stretched deeply and breathed in the refreshing autumn air. According to the weather report they had heard on the radio before heading out, it was thirteen degrees and humidity was at eighty-three percent. And there was almost no wind—for the middle of October, the weather was relatively easy to run in. It’s fitting for a battle, Kakeru thought.

Next to Kakeru, Jouji was looking at a family with a picnic blanket. Being a Saturday, the park was already filled with people who had come to watch the qualifiers while relaxing and taking a walk.

“It looks like fun. My bladder’s been acting funny for a while now, though.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing comes out even when I go to the toilet.”

Jouji had already gone to the washroom more than ten times since getting up, but it would be pointless even if Kakeru told him not to be nervous. The sound of the taiko drums from each school’s cheerleading squad resounded through the Showa Memorial Park in Tachikawa—it was an unavoidable reminder that the qualifiers would soon begin.

By noon that day, it would be decided whether or not they would be able to participate in the Hakone Ekiden. Unable to find any words that would soothe Jouji’s high-strung nerves, Kakeru only said, “Me too.”

Jouta was sprawled out on top of the grass a little farther away, his eyes tightly closed. His hands, which were resting on his stomach, sometimes twitched, so it didn’t seem like he was sleeping. Even though everyone at Chikusei-sou had woken up before dawn and taken the train for about an hour to get to Showa Memorial Park, Kakeru didn’t feel sleepy; every single corner of his consciousness was clear.

“I’m going to go jogging one more time. What about you, Jouji?”

When Kakeru asked that, Jouji answered, “I’m going to the washroom.” Kakeru parted with Jouji and left the lawn, then started running through the large park.

The runners from the other schools were also concentrating on warming up and familiarizing themselves with the terrain of the park. Every time he caught sight of the blue jerseys of TSU, Kakeru’s heart leapt awkwardly; he didn’t want to run into Sakaki. If his concentration before the race was disturbed, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself after just quarrelling with him this time.

A wave of spectators had already started rushing towards the start point to cheer on their favorite schools and runners. There were cheering squad members dressed in gakuran holding large flags and many musical instruments, and they were having heated arguments with the cheering squads of other schools in order to secure the best possible spot.

He had already warmed up enough. He didn’t feel like he could stay still, but he couldn’t tire himself out before the race, Kakeru told himself. He stopped jogging and returned to the grass near the start point.

The banner made by Yaokatsu and the plasterer had been put up, so Kansei’s camp was easy to identify. The people from the shopping district were sitting on picnic blankets, waiting for the signal gun that would announce the beginning of the qualifiers. The residents of Chikusei-sou had all gathered after having finished their running preparations. Scattered around them at suitable distances were the other schools’ camps, their multicolored banners dyed with the names of their school.

“Our banner is pretty good.”

King, seeing Kakeru, started talking to him immediately. Is it? Kakeru thought, but noticing King’s trembling fingers, he obediently nodded, “Yes.”

“To begin with, Kansei U esteems the spirit of Lord Matsudaira Sadanobu, who carried out the Kansei Reforms (1)…”

Perhaps because he was nervous, King began discharging miscellaneous trivia like a broken tape record at a tourist information desk. Kakeru sat down while making half-hearted interjections—Hanako had prepared blankets and water bottles, so the plastic sheet had become a comfortable space.

“We did a trial run, so I’m sure you all understand what we’re doing, but let’s review today’s strategy,” Kiyose said. Shindou and Musa were staring at the TV crew’s equipment admiringly, but hurriedly went over to Kiyose. Kakeru drew a rough map of the qualifiers’ race course on a whiteboard.

“What’s that, a maze?” Prince’s brows knitted together.

“The course is simple,” Kakeru started explaining the diagram with a hint of objection aimed at Prince. “We start at the JSDF garrison that adjoins the park. We do two laps around the runway and the taxiway. Then, we go out onto the road, go along the street in front of the station, go under the elevated monorail, and then return to the park. We do one lap of the park, and the finish line is next to the grass clearing.”

Kiyose pointed out important points about the course.

“We didn’t do a trial run at the garrison, but just think of the runway and taxiway as a very spacious track. Those two laps are five kilometers. It’s our first time running in this place, and there are no landmarks or signs, so it will probably be hard to grasp the distance. I don’t know how the race will unfold, but don’t get influenced by the runners who are running fast from the starting line; figure out your pacing by yourself. You’ll have done ten kilometers about the time you pass under the monorail. You’ll turn back at the eleven or twelve kilometer point, and you’ll be at fifteen kilometers immediately after you return to the park. There’s a water station, but don’t worry too much if you don’t happen to get any. And then from here, it’ll be a battle of whether or not you have enough strength left. The park has a lot of small ups and downs, but give it one last push and run to the finish line as fast as you can.”

“I have a question.” Musa raised his hand. “In order to pass the qualifiers, what are the times we need to set? I would like to know a rough estimate.”

“I don’t want to tell you too much because I don’t want you to panic, but…” Kiyose hesitated.

“These guys need to panic a bit. If you leave them to their own devices they’ll just crawl the whole way,” Yuki said. “It varies year to year, depending on the weather and the development of the race, but if the ten of us have a combined time in the ten hour and twelve minute range, then we’ll be safe.”

“Hie!” The twins let out strange sounds.

“So, what you’re saying is that it’s twenty kilometers per person and we’re running them in a little over an hour?” Jouta said.

“That’s just over three minutes per kilometer, Nii-chan!” Jouji said.

“And we don’t have intercollegiate points,” Nico-chan supplemented. “If we finish seventh or lower for time, there’s a high chance we’ll suddenly lose because intercollegiate points will get involved. We want to break into the top six, where it’s decided purely using just the total times.”

“We’ll be fine,” Kiyose reassuringly calmed their agitation. “Kakeru and I will make as much time as we can. There’s a lot of participants, so run together at first and maintain your pace. While you’re doing your first lap on the runway, those who don’t have enough energy should be shaken off. Never be tempted by a pace that’s too fast or too slow.”

“Okay,” Jouji responded like a good boy.

“However,” Kiyose added, “if the leading group is too fast I’ll give you a signal, but otherwise you’ll have to keep up with them, or it’ll be hard to pass the qualifiers. If all ten of us don’t get to the finish line with all our strength, then everything will end today!”

Most of them had resolved themselves inwardly, but Prince and King already seemed to be getting cold feet.

“Can we do this?” they muttered to each other. “It seems tough…”

“I have a question too.” The owner of Yaokatsu raised his hand.

“Dad!” Hanako admonished him, but he continued talking without minding her.

“The other universities seem to have more people in uniforms than you do. What’s up with that exactly?”

“Katsu-chan, I was wondering about that too.” The plasterer looked around. “I counted, but there are twelve people wearing uniforms at TSU and NKU. We only have ten people.”

“You noticed something unfortunate, sir.” Kiyose forced a smile. “For the qualifiers, a team can register a maximum of fourteen people as expected participants. Taking into account physical conditions and other things, they whittle it down to twelve people on the day of the race."

Yuki pushed up his glasses and added to his explanation.

"In Hakone, the universities all compete against each other with the combined times of the top ten people among them. That means teams with lots of members have two extra people for insurance.”

As Kansei only had ten runners, if any one of them failed to reach the finish line, their path to Hakone would be severed. Learning once again the weight of the responsibility he was bearing, Prince paled and clutched at his stomach. Conversely, Kakeru’s fighting spirit reached its peak, and he couldn’t wait to start running.

“Let’s do our best.” Jouji said cheerfully, perhaps having given up on his bladder that wouldn’t obey his will. “Today we’re avenging the landlord!”

“He’s not dead,” Kakeru muttered.

It was almost time to assemble at the starting line.

“Let’s go,” Kiyose said readily.

“We’re not going to form a huddle and cheer?” King asked nervously.

“Do you want to do that?”

“No, but…” King mumbled his words. Conscious of the TV cameras, he was fretting about not looking good if they didn’t do something. Kiyose guessed what King was thinking.

“The mountains of Hakone are the steepest in the world!” He said. “Now, let’s go.”

Kiyose, who started walking at once, was as calm as usual. Either dumbfounded or stifling their laughter, the members of Chikusei-sou followed him.

“Go!”

“Win and come back!”

The people of the shopping district saw them off.

“We’ll be waiting for you at the finish line!”

Everyone only waved back at Hanako’s words. Once the runners started moving, the spectators began to make their way across the large park towards the finish line. Hanako and the others carried their bags and made preparations to set up camp in the grass clearing.

“What’s the matter with them? Having those soppy looks on their faces,” Yaokatsu and the plasterer huffed.

There were cheering contests for each school beginning; helicopters circling in the sky; TV cameras set up here and there; bikes keeping pace with the runners while filming them; leading cars with speakers; the noise of the spectators along the course, waiting for the runners to pass by. Experiencing this brilliance and enthusiasm for the first time, Chikusei-sou couldn’t help but shrink back.

“I didn’t know the Hakone Ekiden was this popular already starting from the qualifiers,” Shindou said, moved.

“I went to the washroom with Prince-san just now,” Jouji said. “I was shocked. It was my first time seeing a men’s room with a line for the stalls. The participants were taking turns going number two.”

“I used to have a prejudice against people who did sports.” Prince was still rubbing his stomach. “I thought they were all muscle down to their brains, but it seems that everyone has delicate nerves, surprisingly.”

Jouta had been lying down like a corpse, but incredibly, he was now walking with a bounce in his step. It seemed that he had overcome his nervousness with concentration.

“We’re finally taking our first step towards winning Hakone.”

Winning? Kakeru glanced at Kiyose. Even if they could pass the qualifiers, it would be impossible to win the main race with these members. Kiyose noticed his gaze and silently smiled a little. Don’t say anything that would lower their morale right now, his eyes said.

The participants crowded the start point. They could see the TSU uniforms beyond the wall of people. Kansei would be setting out from the rear.

When you look at it like this…Kakeru thought. Their builds were completely different. The runners in front of him from schools that frequently competed in Hakone had tight and lean figures. However, some of the university students starting from the back had obviously heavy frames and leg muscles that suggested that they hadn’t been running long enough. 

But the biggest difference was the expressions on their faces: the runners from schools that were called weak weren’t experienced and looked unsure of themselves before the race. It’s cruel, Kakeru thought. Even though long distance running was a sport where it was relatively feasible to manage somehow with hard work, the cold hard truth was that there were still the physical abilities and constitutions that one was born with. In addition, whether or not the runners could prepare an environment, equipment and coaches that would allow them to devote themselves to the sport depended on the financial power of their school.

Nevertheless, there was no difference in the level of seriousness in aiming for Hakone among the people gathered there. No matter what one’s position or circumstances were, in running, everyone had no choice but to stand at the same starting line. Success or failure were brought forth by one’s own body right at that moment.

That’s why it’s fun as well as painful. And freer than anything else.

Kakeru looked at the members of Chikusei-sou, dressed in their black and silver uniforms; bodies with no extra fat and supple muscles stretched thinly over their frames. They were the bodies of living beings built for running, not inferior to the runners of the regular schools. They were not afraid, and their eyes sparkled with curiosity and fighting spirit.

We can do this, Kakeru thought.

He didn’t think about anything else. Once they started, there was only running. Kakeru fixed his gaze ahead and waited for the departure signal gun.

It was eight-thirty in the morning. The qualifiers began.

Thirty-six schools—four hundred and fifteen runners—started running at once. It was the opening of the battle where the right to participate in the Hakone Ekiden was at stake.

Only nine schools can go to Hakone from here. We’ll definitely be one of them. Kakeru kicked off the ground with all his strength.

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[chrotethys]

Daily Writing Challenge - Day 10 - "Feast/Sleepless"

The day started with promise as the sun rose. Warmth filtered over the mountains and heated the lake below. Several guards patrolled the bridge as the sound of hurried feet kicked against the cobblestone.

"Whoa, whoa, where's the fire this morning?!" One of the guards said as they stopped Kaden in his tracks. The young boy was panting heavily as he adjusted a small bag on his shoulder.

"I'm-... I'm in the process of finding my first familiar! And I have to do it during daylight hours, sir!" The boy looked absolutely winded as the guard adjusted his helm.

"Lad, you shouldn't go about on your own. Don't you have a friend or a guardian to accompany you?"

"N-No sir, but I know magic! I can defend myself!" Kaden made a point to assume a stance for combat. But to the guard, it looked loose and open with vulnerability.

"I'll tell you what - if you want to go across the bridge here and into the wilderness, you have to prove to me you can handle it." The guard raised an armored hand to gesture at a pallet of stone blocks. "Move one of those blocks to me, and I'll take your word and trust your meddle. Failure to do so though, I will forbid passage to the other side until you have someone to accompany you."

Kaden looked to where the guard had gestured and frowned. "That's not fair! And you know it! That stone block is likely twice my weight and glued down. This is a rigged test and you know it!"

"Make no mistake, lad. This is no trick or deception, but a testament to what you may face. Not all your enemies will be the same size as you. So it's better to understand reality rather than imagine yourself capable. Do I make myself clear?"

The young mage pouted and set his bags down. He went over to the block and studied it. He knew physically the strength wasn't his to muster, but maybe...

From the vantage point of the guard, the boy had begun to wedge a large piece of wood beneath the block as his comrade emerged beside him.

"What are you asking this poor child to do?" She asked giving her subordinate an unhappy look.

"He wants to leave Lakeshire on his own, I'm simply preparing him."

As they spoke, the block fell to the ground unceremoniously. Kaden then knelt down and tried to push and lift the block over. It was... comical in its own right.

Though to both of the guard's surprise, he did make progress. When Kaden had reached the endpoint, beads of sweat adorned his brow. His robes were disheveled and his hair unkempt from his painstaking efforts.

"Alright lad! Next time I may be able to humor you in some spirits!"

At that, the other guard elbowed him and scoffed. But Kaden quickly gathered his bags and darted by them both.

"Kids these days," the guard said and shook his head.

As the young mage scaled the hill, he regarded the paths that split to Duskwood and Elwynn Forest. He knew of the magic that lingered in Elwynn, but... he found himself staring in the direction of Duskwood. Stories of the Dark Riders and Karazhan had filled his mind. What if he could acquire something of power? The temptation had caused a wry grin to make its way onto his face. And quickly he moved behind the tree line. The guards in the tower didn't seem to take any notice of him as he slinked towards the brook that bordered Duskwood and Redridge.

The air of Duskwood was noticeably different. Its stark cool air was an unsettling contrast to where he had been moments before in Redridge. An ominous presence waded in the shadows in the deep forest ahead, but he substituted his own courage with reckless ambition. The terrain was not hard for him to sprint through as he felt the tightness in his lungs. Every now and then he would pause at a tree to catch his breath and mind the creatures of the night.

Several worgs had made a kill nearby and were fortunately distracted from the young boy's presence. And even the spiders seemed unwilling to leave the trees as they prepared for the night hunt. Within the hour, he would find himself on the outskirts of Darkshire. Yet... no magical familiar was in sight.

He was not yet discouraged as he began to climb the hill that led towards Deadwind Pass. And once more... Kaden eluded the detection of the Darkshire Night Watch. Or so... he had thought.

A voice called out to him, but his feet did not dare stop. He was running towards a mountainous ravine as his pursuer had fallen too far behind. Even if they had caught up to him, he was nearly there!

Looking around the pass, he saw several carrion birds flying overhead and opened his bag to pull out a small waterskin. He drank greedily from it and raised his head towards the path that had matched the description of Hell's final bend.

In a starved manner of ambition, he rose once more and made his way along the path. Albeit this time he traveled much slower - more cautious among the dangers that likely would have compromised the greatest of travelers. He crept low to the ground as he heard the shout of a nearby ogre.

"HEY!" The ogre's voice bellowed. Though what had followed was not a verbal response. Along the stone wall, he could just make out the shadow of the ogre and his opponent. A great horned beast approached him and lashed out, causing the smallest point of the ogre's shadow to fly off like a projectile. Kaden fought back his shock with a startled gasp as the head of the ogre rolled out in front of him. The eyes were wide with apparent surprise and its jaw clenched tightly.

In a fit of panic and the painstaking realization that he shouldn't have come here; Kaden weaved behind the decrepit remains of a tree. It had become a husk of a trunk that was large enough to hide his smaller form from the sight of the monster. He watched with unease and trepidation. He felt his fingers curling so tight that the white of his knuckles mirrored the coloration of his bones.

Upon the road in front of him, a massive hoof emerged first, followed by the shape of a strange-looking Tauren as he moved forward. This had been Kaden's first time seeing one, and from the texts that he read in class - They were a very spiritual and noble race that had strong warriors.

However this warrior... he did not fight with the pretense of mercy. It was as if he were bloodthirsty and that the death of his foes was all he sought. Kaden's throat grew tight after swallowing. He could feel his body shaking as if any breath he drew in would likely attract the evil that permeated from the Tauren in front of him.

Watching the large bovine as it knelt down, he noticed a large hand reach out for the Ogre's head. Three meaty fingers wrapped around it as he raised it to his face for inspection. Kaden didn't know what to expect, but he had hoped it was just a trophy for keeps or pure examination of his battle.

But the sickening crunch of the ogre's skull followed shortly after the fingers of the Tauren's hand clenched shut. Blood poured out between the Tauren's fingers and spilled onto the ground in an unholy display of carnage.

If he had not been afeared before, the child certainly felt the heat of urine in his loins. The humility he would have faced was a small price to pay for his own survival. And he didn't think waiting for the Tauren to go away was a plausible outcome. It stood like a damn sentry with its arm outstretched over his kill.

Where were the heroes that Kaden had read about? Was this a new threat to the Alliance? Did they know of this monster?! Kaden wondered if the right choice was to stay in hiding or if it was better for him to run and warn the unsuspecting inhabitants of Darkshire. All he had wanted was a familiar... and the thanks for his magic was the Death in the flesh. And he knew it would be foolish to try to attack this enemy with magic.

He didn't expect the shift of his foot in his hiding place, as a rock rolled out from his place of hiding. And the Tauren's head slowly turned in his direction.

Oh, gods! He had drawn its attention!

Reason and hope were cast aside as he made a desperate effort to retreat to safety. His robes catching on a branch as he tore the fabric behind him. He didn't care for the possessions that he lost and he most certainly didn't want to look behind him. The winding road he had traveled on stretched out like a leviathan. And it seemed endless when he sought salvation so fiercely.

Would he make it? Did he want to take the risk of seeing if the monster followed? The notions were dropped as the unease from the unknown enveloped him. He looked over his shoulder as he ran now and saw no sign of the Tauren following. And slowly, his sprint began to ease into a walk. His chest rising and falling with a rapid need for air. The shaking in his arms and legs grew even more unsteady. Even with the solid earth beneath him, he felt like he might collapse from fright.

Staring back at where the Tauren had been, he considered what he saw and start to felt a sense of composure after the ordeal. His eyes closed as relief flooded through him and the disgusting revelation that he had in fact pissed himself. He shook his head and placed his hands upon it in exasperation. But when he had turned... the maw of a completely different monster was closed behind him. As large white fangs emerged and the darkness that laid within, Kaden let out a blood-curdling scream.

Now what remained in his place... we're just two stalks of his small legs and blood...

In the weeks that followed, posters were strung up in Darkshire and Lakeshire for the disappearance of Kaden Stanford. Though.. the closure that could be gained would not bring peace to anyone's hearts or souls... And many sleepless nights would await the Stanford family, as the monster's feast had only just begun.

@daily-writing-challenge

[mourntheantagonist]

Please Don’t Jump (it’s Christmas)

tw; suicide attempt(s) and implied/referenced child abuse

read on ao3

“Another year’s over, the snow starts to fall.

Just like you would if you ended it all.”

It’s Christmas time in Hawkins. The Hargrove’s first in the new town. The new home. Billy wasn’t exactly prepared for just how different this year would be. Christmas morning is just him, his father, and Susan. Max lucking out and fucking off to spend the holidays with her Dad in California. While Billy is stuck alone in the house that doesn’t feel like a home. With a Dad that doesn’t feel like a parent. Feels more like a guard. It’s a prison. Six inch deep snow blockade surrounding the house requiring chained up tires if you wanted to go anywhere. Sun blocked by gray clouds. Breath visible against the cold air. It wasn’t California. It wasn’t his home. It was an icy Hell.

Susan tried her best to maintain the usual festivities, but she was clearly upset by not spending the day with her daughter. Believing her ex-husband to be out there corrupting her daughter. Teaching her masculinity and independence. She thinks that’s wrong. It’s bullshit. Billy hopes Max never comes back from California. At least one of them would make it out.

It’s a quiet and boring fucking day to say the least. Past Christmases were spent hopping from house to house. Their blended family resulting in many visitations to random families that you’d only see twice a year around the holidays. Billy only ever liked going to Susan’s brother's house. His son who was just a year older than him actually proving to be pretty fucking cool. Evenings spent out on the back patio smoking a joint, much to each of their respective father’s disappointment.

But that didn’t happen this year. Only being in the shithole for two months they didn’t know anybody. No family nearby. Left to their own devices and Susan’s shitty cooking. It was lonely. The dinner table is quiet. Sounds of cutlery clinking against the nice plates that were reserved for special occasions. His father sitting across from him, waiting patiently for Billy to do something so he could get his fists dirty.

It was lonely.

“But tonight’s not the night.

If only you’d answer my calls.”

Steve was alone. Completely and utterly alone. His house is empty and bare of decoration. The snow outside his house and the music on the radio being the only indication that it was Christmas at all.

He got a letter in the mail. A store-bought Christmas card that looked to have come from the same stack they send to all their colleagues. No additional message. Just signed ‘Mom and Dad’ with two hundred dollars inside.

He felt like just a name on a checklist. Not like he mattered. But maybe he should just be grateful they even remembered. They didn’t even call. The only person to wish Steve a merry Christmas this year was the guy behind the counter at the gas station. He must be having a lonely Christmas too.

Steve holed up in his room, working his way through a case of cheap beer trying to make himself feel warm inside despite the shivering outside temperatures. Numbing the pain and forgetting the fact that his parents won’t answer the phone. He eats a two day old turkey sandwich and calls it his Christmas dinner. No point in making a whole turkey for just himself to eat alone. Even if he knew how to make a turkey.

Last year he spent Christmas with the Wheelers. Years prior spent with Tommy H. and his family. This was the first Christmas Steve spent truly and utterly alone. He didn’t have Tommy or Nancy anymore. He didn’t really have anyone but Dustin, who was off in Chicago for the holidays.

Nancy had Jonathan. Tommy had Carol. Steve had nobody. But who’s surprised?

Nobody would care if he disappeared. Swallowed up by the deep snow.

He was just a name on a checklist.

An afterthought.

Forgotten.

He calls his parents one last time. A glimmer of hope that they’ll pick up.

But all he gets is ringing.

“Please pick up now.”

They got in a fight. If you could even call it that. More so Neil didn’t appreciate Billy’s nonexistent attitude and made it known with an open handed slap to his cheek. The skin breaking upon impact. Neil told him to get out and not come back until morning. His instructions were to ‘find another ungrateful queer to take you in’.

He left without hesitation. Getting into his car underdressed for the weather. Cranking the heat as high as it would go to end the teeth chattering. He just drove. Bumpy along snowy paths. Slower than his preferred speed. He just drove. Nowhere to go.

He turns down an unfamiliar road. It’s dark and there looks to be no sign of life near. Just trees upon trees covered in snow. Maybe he’ll get lost out there. Maybe the car will shut off. He’s heard freezing to death is peaceful.

But the car powers through over rough and tractionless terrain until it stumbles upon headlights in the distance. There’s a clearing up ahead where the car is parked. There’s a figure sitting on the hood. He doesn’t recognize them until he’s parked beside them.

“Harrington?”

“Oh no, another Christmas alone.

I would talk you down,

if you would answer your phone.”

“Not thinking of jumping are you?” Billy asks, it’s only supposed to be a joke.

But Steve doesn’t answer, which is concerning. He’s not answering the question and he’s at the quarry by himself at ten pm. Billy counts three beer cans scattered in the snow below. Steve is crying and staring at the frozen over water that is just a few steps away.

“You know they say it’ll only break bones if you jump in the water from here. You think it’ll work better when it’s frozen over?” He says it so bluntly. Like he expects Billy to cheer him on as he lets himself walk over the edge.

“Shut the fuck up Harrington.”

Steve gives him a determined look before he downs the rest of his beer and tosses the empty can over his shoulder. He doesn’t move his eyes from where they’re staring into Billy’s soul. Tear-stained with frozen lashes. He’s been out here for a while. He doesn’t remove eye contact as he takes a step forward, no longer resting on the hood of his car.

He looks away as he takes the second step. Back towards the cliff in front of him. Just a mere four feet separating him and the drop off.

“This isn’t fucking funny Harrington.”

He takes another step. This stride longer than the first two.

“Please,”

Billy grabs him hard by the shoulder before he can take another step forward.

“Let go of me.” He says it calmly. But he still struggles against Billy’s hold on him. But Billy’s grip is strong on him. His feet are planted deep in the snow. He’s not going anywhere. And neither is Steve.

“Don’t,”

“Let me go!” He cries this time. He’s pleading with Billy in between sobs. “Let me go, let me go, let me go!” He’s sobbing. Hot tears dripping down and melting the snow beneath him. Fighting as hard as he can against Billy’s grip.

Billy pulls him towards him and away from the cliffs edge. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, just allowing basic instinct to take over.

He pulls Steve close. Arms wrapped tightly around him leaving him immobile. Steve is warm against him. In all the chaos Billy hadn’t noticed how cold he had gotten. Steve sobs into his jacket. A combination of snot and tears soaking the denim.

Steve is slamming a free fist into Billy’s chest as hard as he can. Whispering demands to free him. To just leave him alone. Billy squeezes tighter.

After about a minute of struggling against him Steve collapses to the ground bringing Billy down with him, knees buried in the snow.

Billy doesn’t recognize the weight of the situation until that point. He just stopped Steve Harrington from killing himself. He forcefully dragged him away from the literal edge.

“Let’s get you home.”

“Jump.”

Steve is silent the whole ride to his house. He failed at most things, why did he think this would have been any different? To make matters worse it’s fucking Billy Hargrove who manhandled him off the ledge. He definitely didn’t care about Steve. Probably just wanted to be the person to do the deed. Steve would probably let him at this point.

Billy holds him up as they walk in through the front doors of his house. Steve must be borderline hypothermic. His finger tips are still blue and absent of all feeling.

Billy guides him to his room and Steve just lets him do what he wants to him. No more energy to fight back. His last attempt proved unsuccessful.

Billy sits him down on the bed. Neither of them have said a word yet. Billy is shaking as he rummages through Steve’s drawers, unsure if it’s due to him still being freezing or the nerves and adrenaline from what just happened. What the fuck just happened?

He picks out a pair of pajama pants and a tshirt and tosses them to Steve. Wordless instruction to change. Steve however, makes no attempt to move.

“You going to make me dress you?” Billy asks. The first words he’s said to Steve since the breakdown at the quarry.

Steve still doesn’t move. Just stares intently at the floor. Physically and mentally numb.

Billy sighs as he moves toward Steve and begins by pulling his jacket off of him. Steve is cold to the touch. His arms are limp as he removes them from each sleeve. He pulls Steve’s sweater over his head. It crunched as it has been wet and frozen from the snow.

Steve starts to shiver as the article is removed from him and he is left bare chested. Billy grabs the blanket from the foot of the bed and tosses it over his shoulders.

Steve moves for the first time to grip the blanket and wrap it around himself completely. Billy gets onto his knees and unbuttons Steve’s jeans. Both boys try to ignore the awkward tension in the room as Billy’s hands graze too closely to his dick. He lowers the zipper with careful hands and pulls his jeans down his legs by the waist band. Pulling off his shoes without unlacing them before pulling the jeans over his ankles.

Quickly he puts the picked out clothing on Steve. His eyes are still fixated on the pattern of the wooden floor below him. Memorizing each marking in each plank. Avoiding Billy’s gaze as best he can.

He has to be in some kind of dream. Or a nightmare. Because why else would Billy Hargrove be helping him out. So tenderly undressing him and acting so caring. So human. It’s not normal behavior.

Steve is right. It’s not. Billy could see himself just a couple months ago seeing Steve standing on that edge and just driving away. Leaving him be and not giving a shit about his death being on his conscience.

But tonight? It was different. The drive over he had those same thoughts in his head. It would be so much easier if he just died out there. Easier for him and everybody else.

But then he sees it. Sees that same pain inside of him eating at someone else that they’ve too reached that conclusion. And it freaks him out.

Because Billy doesn’t want to die. The thought is nice, but it’s also terrifying. He just needs someone to talk him down from that cliff. So does Steve.

Once the clothes are on Steve lays down on the bed and buries his face into the pillow. Billy just stands there, unsure whether it’s okay just to leave him like that.

“Stay.” It’s muffled under the pillow, but he definitely just asked Billy to stay. “Please.” This time he looks up at Billy with teary eyes. No use in shame now. He moves over, opening up a space on the bed for Billy.

And Billy doesn’t have anywhere to go. And he’s freezing and he’s exhausted and he doesn’t want to find that Steve died because he left.

So he crawls into the bed and lays down beside Steve, who clutches his jacket and pulls him in close to him and starts to sob again. Billy doesn’t know what to do so he just rubs his hands up and down Steve’s back until he eventually cries himself to sleep. Billy doesn’t fall asleep. Too focused on keeping this broken boy safe like it’s his responsibility. And he hates that. That soft feeling he’s letting creep through. The buried feelings rising to the surface he desperately wants to push back down.

When Steve wakes up in the morning, Billy is gone.

There’s a sticky note on the nightstand.

‘Merry Christmas Steve. Don’t kill yourself.’

“Another year’s over, you’re spent on the floor.

You burn all the pictures you hang from your door.”

Billy’s only been out of the hospital for a month once Christmas finally rolls around. Living at home has proven to be a worse Hell than the upside down. His father is constantly on his case about being lazy by laying around all day. Constantly threatening to kick him out on the streets. And that was hardly the worst of it.

Billy being gravely injured did not halt Neil’s abuse. It only aggravated it more. Plus the fear of leaving marks became less worrisome as Billy was not only bed ridden and wouldn’t be seeing anyone, but he was already so scarred up from the Mindflayer that nobody would even bat an eye anyway. His body was free real estate.

He stopped caring about whether or not Max was aware of everything. Billy was no longer a child. Nobody would care even if she told. Neil didn’t bother being quiet, sometimes didn’t bother taking it into another room. Disciplining Billy in his own unique way right before Max’s eyes.

Max would yell at first. Tell him to stop. To stop hurting Billy. But it just made things worse. Eventually she stopped. Stopped yelling at Neil and started yelling at Billy. Telling him he has to get out. That he has to fight back. It was a ridiculous idea.

“Don’t be stupid, Max.” Is all he’d say before locking her out of his room.

Christmas evening is when it all hits the fan.

“You’ve got family and friends,

But you don’t really talk anymore.”

Steve isn’t alone this Christmas. Not necessarily. The Henderson’s invited him over for a Christmas brunch before they headed off to Chicago for the rest of the day. It was nice. She even sent him home with a casserole for him to heat up for dinner. It was probably one of the best Christmases he’s had in a long while, which is really depressing when you think about it hard enough.

Steve can’t stop thinking about last Christmas all day. How he was too close to that cliff and Billy Hargrove had been the one to pull him away. Had been the one to dress and undress him in his number state. Had been the one to lay next to him in his bed while he sobbed into his shirt. Until he fell asleep.

And then they never spoke of it. It got to a point that Steve half convinced himself it was a dream. But it wasn’t. Because a dream couldn’t have conjured that note on his nightstand. The note he ashamedly taped to his mirror as a reminder. A reminder that someone out there cared if he lived or died. Even if that someone was Billy fucking Hargrove.

He never figured out why exactly Billy was put at the quarry that night. He vaguely remembers a cut on his cheek, but not much else. Figures he must have gotten into a fight, it’s Billy after all.

He’s sitting at his dining room table eating up the microwaved casserole and thinking about how Billy is doing this Christmas. The guy nearly died and Max had mentioned one time or another that their home life wasn’t exactly spectacular. Not the place for a speedy recovery.

He’s not expecting his phone to ring this year. His parents never called anyway. That’s why the sound causes him to jump and drop his fork onto the plate below.

He’s not expecting to hear Max’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Steve. It’s Billy. He- he left, and he’s hurt, a-and it’s cold out and he doesn’t have his car… he’ll die out there.”

Steve shushes Max into the phone. He can hear her sniffles over the receiver.

“It’s okay. Relax. I’ll go find him okay? I promise.”

“Don’t bring him home. Take him to yours. Promise me.”

“I promise Max.”

Steve hangs up the phone and drives straight for the quarry.

“Just like last year.”

Steve is there before Billy. Which, albeit, makes sense considering Billy is traveling by foot. But Steve is waiting just a little longer than he’d hoped and starts to get concerned that Billy has died somewhere out in the snow.

The traveling figure in the distance shouldn’t calm his nerves as much as it does. Because he knows exactly why Billy came here. When Billy gets closer to him and he can see him better he gets nervous again.

Billy is covered in fresh bruises and cuts. Bruises and cuts that had to have occurred in the safety of his own home. He remembers that the Hargrove home is not a safe space.

“Oh no, another Christmas alone.

I would talk you down,

if you would answer your phone.”

“What are you doing here pretty boy?”

“I should be asking you the same thing.”

Steve digs his heel into the snow, contemplating.

“Max called my house.”

“How’d you know I’d come here?” Billy asks, curious.

“Wishful thinking.”

Billy steps closer to where Steve is standing. “I’m not going to have to pull you from the ledge again am I?” His voice is deep and slightly pained.

Steve shakes his head.

“Good. Don’t want to be a part of a double suicide. They’ll start to think you’re a fag like me.”

Steve doesn’t know which revelation should shock him more. That Billy is queer or that he’s planning on jumping into the quarry. Steve steps closer to Billy, putting himself in between him and the ledge. This could quickly turn into a murder-suicide of he’s not careful.

“Don’t do that.” Is all Steve says.

“Just leave me alone Harrington. Just making snow angels.”

Steve steps even closer.

“Why should I? You didn’t have the same courtesy for me.”

“That was different.” Billy almost whispers.

“How so?” Steve inches closer, hoping Billy will take a step back. He doesn’t. The two are nearly chest to chest.

“People actually care if you live or die.”

“Max cares. She called me crying. And fuck you. I care too. You fucking saved my life. You expect me to just let you end yours?”

“You hit me with a car.”

“Shut the fuck up Hargrove.”

Billy pushes him away. Hard enough that he steps back, but not hard enough that he goes stumbling over the edge.

“I should have fucking died.”

“Please,”

“Billy stop!” Steve grabs onto Billy like he’d done for him last time. But Billy is so much stronger.

“Billy I promise it’s going to be okay, just don’t do this.” He’s trying to maintain his cool but Billy’s showing no signs of slowing.

“Don’t you dare,”

Steve tackles him to the ground. Showing no remorse for any pain he might’ve caused him because the alternative is worse. Billy’s body is buried in the snow and he’s sobbing beneath the weight of Steve on top of him.

Steve wipes at his tears with his thumb.

“I’m taking you home.”

“No. Please.”

“I’m taking you to my home.”

“Jump.”

Billy is sitting on the couch in Steve’s house wrapped up in the blanket and sipping on hot cocoa. Trying to figure out how he ended up here. Everything that happened at the quarry and before becoming one huge blur brought on by copious amounts of alcohol.

They’re watching a fucking Christmas movie side by side on the couch like nothing even happened. Like they’re friends. Which they’re definitely not.

“Was it your Dad?” Steve asks him when the movie goes to commercial. He’s not afraid of Billy anymore to ask the questions he has.

Billy sees no point in denying it now. He nods his head and takes another big sip of cocoa.

He’s not expecting Steve to take his hand. To rub circles into his palm. Something inside Billy melts at the constant. The warmth receding from his hand into the pit of his stomach.

“And what you said back there, about being… was that true?”

Billy nods again.

“Yeah. I’m a fucking faggot.”

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t let go of his hand like Billy expects him to. “About your Dad. Not the gay thing. That parts okay.”

“I didn’t ask for your approval.”

“I know. But sometimes it’s nice to have anyway.”

Steve adjusts his hold of Billy’s hand and interlocks their fingers.

“Merry Christmas Billy. Don’t kill yourself.”

“Don’t Jump.”

Note: Hello beautiful person reading this. I know things can feel rough this time of year and I want you to know that you are so incredibly loved. The hardships will pass, even if they feel like they won’t right now. Just keep on breathing because you are so much stronger than you believe you are.

Love, mandi

[remmushound]

Curse of the Clans part 13! @scentedcandlecryptid @selfindulgenz

Leonardo kept his promise. The jet lag from his normal, nocturnal lifestyle proved to be an advantage to the plan he had Usagi had set out. In the night, when Usagi and Nuriyuki would rest, Leonardo was awake and rested enough to pull them along through the dark. Come morning, Usagi was an early riser and he would take over while Leonardo slept through the warmth of day. Together, they were making exceptional progress. After three days into nonstop walking over the harsh, frozen ground, Leonardo wasn’t sure how much more of it he could take. The snow and the rough terrain had burned calluses into his feet and hands, and staying awake through the cold was proving more difficult with each passing night. But moving would be warmer than staying still, he figured, and he had no intention of breaking his promise to Usagi or being late to meeting his brothers.

He was desperate to rest. Not desperate enough to stop, but enough to slow. Enough to cry, but only when he was sure Usagi wasn’t listening. He barely let himself cry, not in front of anyone that wasn't family— barely even in front of them! The fun guy shouldn’t be seen crying or be seen giving up because he wasn’t giving up! He was just tired and sore and burning, too much so to even entertain himself with his usual commentary. This was the type of stuff that builds character, right? He wondered bitterly when that would start to take hold.

His mouth was dry. He stuck out his tongue to catch falling snow on it, hoping that could quench his thirst, but it was too little too slow. He knew it wouldn’t cost him much time to simply stop and get a bottle of water out of the cart, but he knew that if he stopped he wouldn’t be able to start again. He knew his muscles would give out on him, and he knew he’d end up falling asleep if he rested for more than a few seconds. He didn't know why they needed to take the cart with them in the first place when it was so damn heavy—

Leonardo stopped the cart. He cursed himself the minute he realized he had, but it was too late. His aching muscles were already screaming their praise and encouragement at him to just lay down and sleep. His eyelids became heavy like cinder blocks trying to weigh him down. Then he heard the sound again that had stopped him in the first place and the conscious and animal sides of his brain were both at war; the conscious side won, and he started to look around.

This night was darker than the night he was used to back home, but he had the advantage of a lit lantern on each side of the harness to light the path and guide him like some twisted version of Rudolph and Santa’s sleigh. Beyond the circle of light that offered him shelter, the trees were dark and ominous, and the sky a beautiful shade of dark purple with a few twinkling stars poking through the clouds. If Leonardo had ears, they would have been pricked at attention. There was only one thing that noise could be: footsteps.

From the corner of his peripherals, Leonardo could see Usagi sit straight up in the cart like Dracula out of his coffin, his eyes searching around the darkness for any sign of movement. Once he was sure there was no immediate danger, he hopped out of the cart and went to Leonardo’s side, providing him with his Odachi.

“Stay here with Nuriyuki.”

“What?” Leonardo gawked, “Come on! I can help!”

“I’m sure you can.” Usagi whispered back to him, his ears and eyes still on a constant swivel. “But I need you to stay here with Nuriyuki. You know what is at stake. They’re after him, not me.”

“But—” Leonardo tried with a soft whimper in his voice.

“I’ll be back. Just please, keep him safe.” For the first time, Usagi forsook his eyes! wandering search to let them settle on Leonardo. There was nothing but genuine trust in the rabbit samurai’s eyes, watering but not quite crying. “Please.”

Leonardo found himself unable to reject the eyes that held so much emotion in them, and his response came with an awkward bow that he hadn’t quite mastered the art of yet. He never had to do such a thing for most of his life, and the only reason he knew so much about it was from the Lou Jitsu movies! Usagi’s lips curled into a smile before he ran off into the darkness, and into a fight that Leonardo could hear but not see.

Nuriyuki still hadn’t woke and Leonardo was glad for it. He climbed back into the cart, the exhaustion leaking out of him and leaving him tense and unsure. He hated feeling this way. He didn't belong on the sidelines, listening to the yells and shouts of strain and pain as Usagi fought who knew how many in the surrounding darkness. But Leonardo sat there and held Nuriyuki for as long as it took for Usagi to send the offenders fleeing.

The next night it was the same. The noise, Usagi waking. Leonardo being left with Nuriyuki, hugging him through the fight and hoping he wouldn’t wake. Nuriyuki gave a soft grunt at the strange texture of Leonardo’s thick skin and the residual cold from the turtle walking in the snow, but he eventually snuggled up to the mutant for the comfort of his presence.

The next night and the next were the same. Leonardo was growing angry and frustrated, Every time Usagi came back from the fight, he was covered in scratches or missing fur or bruises. Once he had even come back with a claw broken down to the nail bed, bleeding profusely into the snow until Leonardo figured out a way to clean and bandage it. Leonardo was always glad to play medic, even if he wanted to be out there protecting Usagi from the new ninja that stalked them every night. Night four was different.

The fight went on for longer than usual, and this time Nuriyuki woke up. The sounds of cries and shouts and flesh striking against flesh. Metal against flesh. He whimpered and clung tighter to Leonardo’s shell, his short arms not quite able to reach around the length of the plastron, but it was enough for comfort. Leonardo wrapped his arms around Nuriyuki, squishing him in a comforting embrace. Silence reigned for the longest time. Then came a rustle of bushes getting closer and closer to them.

“Usagi?” Leonardo called out to the forest, to no reply. Still hugging the badger cub, Leonardo clambered out of the cart and into the grass. He tried to see past the shadows of the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of the familiar, floppy eared samurai.

“Lenado, I’m scared…” Nuriyuki whimpered; he still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of Leonardo’s name.

“It’s okay…” Leonardo caught the glimpse of a figure just before it ducked down out of sight. It was close; too close for his comfort. Definitely not Usagi. “Okay… okay. Hang on.”

Leonardo felt he had no choice but to run, and the moment he started sprinting, Nuriyuki in his arms and the cart forgotten, the bushes exploded with life. Life that was a threat and gaining on them fast. Leonardo crushed Nuriyuki tighter to his chest, squinting his eyes against the stinging buffer of wind. He was the fastest of his brothers— surely the fastest in New York, even when compared with the other mutants! But he was nothing compared to this.

Already he could see the silhouettes at both sides of him. Leonardo’s heart skipped several beats when he witnessed the kappa running after him; like some weird hybrid between a turtle and a duck, the dark green skin and the shell entirely terrapin, despite the ducks Bill on their faces.

Leonardo stopped with such a suddenness that he fell flat on his back, still holding Nuriyuki tightly and absorbing most of the impact so the only thing the badger got was a sudden jolt. Still, that was enough to make him start crying. Leonardo grabbed his odachi, forcing Nuriyuki behind him as he held the blade out to the enemies that had made their way in front of him. Each of them wore a long bonnet over their heads, covering their water dishes to prevent leakage; at least, that was Leonardo’s fleeting theory.

“You don’t wanna do this.” Leonardo said with a smile. “My sword? Waaaaay bigger than yours!”

The creatures exchanged curious looks, their breaks crinkling in laughter at the smaller turtle's decree.

They started to advance. Leonardo really didn't feel up to fighting. He was holding his odachi so tightly that the sores on his hand burst open again and started to bleed, but the pain was hardly felt. His focus was entirely on the enemy, eyes searching for advantages even at the distance. One was favoring their right leg, but only slightly; enough to cause a limp, with no clear wound or distress. An old childhood injury maybe. Another seemed skinny, muscles there but not as defined as one would expect for an experienced soldier, and with eyes wide and bright. A rookie. The third one was harder to read, but Leonardo didn't need to. He gave his odachi a twist and ran into battle.

[unstoppableforcce]

always

—CHAPTER ONE: dusk

pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x reader ( royal au )

next part | masterlist

a/n: oo so this is a long time in the making and was finally decided to be an obi wan fic, my first one!! I hope y’all enjoy this two being sickly sweet bc I’m so soft for them rn !!

There was a beauty to the onset of dusk, the last minutes of light as the two suns began to lower down to the horizon.

The light was warm, incredibly warm, pouring over the valley, illuminating the fields outside the city walls and the spires of the palace in an overwhelming surge of orange and yellow. And as the minutes passed, the warmth began to disappears but the colors only became more and more electric, streams of red flowing to purple, the whole valley a glowing landscape that you couldn’t pull your stare away from.

“I knew I would find you out here...”

Part of the beauty was the silence, you would be eager to remind him, but doing so would only further break the silence. Besides, for being fleeting on his feet as a solider in a fight, he had already shattered the quiet with his boot steps through the grass as he came up behind you.

All you wanted was to breathe outside the palace walls, all you wanted was to watch the sunset...

He took a step closer behind you and you couldn’t ignore him anymore.

“Where else would I be?” You countered, reaching down to pick at the grass that poked up around the fabric of your dress where you sat.

His chuckle was deep, verging on mocking in tone but never quite getting there, he had too much respect for you to ever really mock you, “I believe there were some diplomatic meetings that were awaiting your presence.”

“They can manage without me, they always do.” You let out with your somber sigh, exhaling as the wind picked up, whipping over the crest of the hill where you sat and blowing your hair back from your face, jostling the grass around you.

It was a beautiful sound, the wind echoing through the surrounding nature. All you could hear back in the palace was the sound of guards pacing by and people coming and going, coming and going...

Taking another step forward, he finally came into your view even as your head remained pointed dead ahead, his boots and his legs peaking into your peripheral. You couldn’t help but spare a glance to them, the leather over his feet somehow immaculate even after having made the same hike you had to get up to the top for the view.

“It angers him that you sneak out. Eventually he’ll lock you up for good, you realize that, don’t you, your highness.”

Your lips pursed on their own as your head gave a minuscule nod, just enough for him to recognize as a response, but even then, unnecessary. He was a man trained to spot a threat from miles away, a man ordered to protect you no matter what, and from this distance, he could pick up on even your subtlest of emotions without batting an eye.

Even now, he was searching the surrounding wilderness for any sign of a threat, scanning every inch of land that he could see, which from this vantage point, was nearly everything.

As he finally finished his scan of the terrain, he took another step forward and settled in on the grass next to you, “If you keep doing things like this, I’m inclined to agree with such actions.”

The piercing color of his eyes could kill, you were sure of it. Why keep the blade strapped to his thigh all hours of the day when surely one look from him would be enough to ward off even the largest of threats?

“I don’t believe you.” Pulling your knees up to your chest, you held them in snug with your arms wrapped around, turning your head to lean against them and gaze to him at the same time. Though, he didn’t turn and look back to you as you did to him. His stare held forward, his shoulders tense and his back sat painfully straight, just waiting for an attack that had yet to come your away, always waiting.

“To keep you safe, there is little I wouldn’t consider.”

“And yet, you let me come out here.” You mock, not quite as quick to hold your tongue as he tends to be. “You know that I leave the palace, you have to know, but you let me.”

There had to be some tell, some shift in his stoic disposition to give something away, something to allude to there being a real man under the soldier who stayed so close to your side. But all the setting suns illuminated was the blonde in his hair, on his head and face. He was a painfully blank page that you had been trying for months to figure out how to read, yet, still nothing.

“It is not my responsibility to get you to your meetings, just to keep you safe,” he sighed, finally dropping his eyes from his continuous scan, considering the grass mindlessly for a moment before letting his stare drift to you. “If you’re here and I know you are, you’re safe.”

Your own chuckle fell from your lips as you held his stare, “locking me up would certainly save you the hike.”

“I don’t mind the hike,” he shrugged as he turned back to his scan of the perimeter. “It’s quite the view.”

Getting to his feet, he reached down his legs to dust off some grass and dirt before finally offering a gloved hand your way.

“I’m not leaving.” Your shrug came just as easily, rolling off your shoulders almost too nonchalantly as one of your brows raised in a challenge his way.

“Your highness...”

“I came up here to watch the suns set, Obi-Wan, I’m not leaving.”

He dropped his stare from the surroundings again, back to meet yours, but found nothing that hinted at surrender behind your eyes, only the stubborn nature he had swore he would never grow used to.

“I have orders to bring you back to the palace.” He reiterated but you only moved your focus back to the glowing horizon.

Shades of purple began to fall over you as the clouds pulled away and the setting suns unleashed a marvelous palet across the sky, illuminating every inch of your complexion, making you a radiant light against the green grass of the hill. The wind blew through again, this time coming in from a slightly different angle and blowing your hair into your face instead if away, forcing your hand to slowly lift and tuck it back behind your ear. It was such a small movement, but so languid, so distracting—

“I’m not going.” You added again, maintaining your tone of finality even as he kept his hand extended to you.

“Yes, you are.” He urged, gesturing with his hand again but you still held in your conviction. “I don’t wish to carry you back down the mountain, but we both know that I will, your highness.”

You bit your tongue but the words came out anyways, “to keep me safe?”

It was a challenge this time, he was sure of it.

A challenge to which he wasn’t sure if he knew how best to respond to, so he kept his hand out towards you and pleaded with his stare for you to take it, to make this as simple as possible.

“Your highness?”

Sucking in a deep breath, you finally conceded as you realized you didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. You would thrash the whole way down out of stubbornness, but he’d still carry you, the same conviction running through his veins. It wasn’t his fault, you reminded yourself, he was doing his job.

Slipping your hand delicately into his, he easily hoisted you to your feet, the soft edges of your fingers digging into the worn leather of the glove until you were stood toe to toe with him and his the more rational side of his brain forced his hand from yours. He took a substantial step back, holding out his arm to gesture you ahead of him, and surprising both of you, you nodded and followed the direction.

The path wasn’t paved, it wasn’t even well maintained, but you had navigated it enough times to know nearly every pebble by heart, and it seemed that either Obi-Wan did too or that he trusted each step of your foot enough to take the same one as he followed close behind. Though, he had a significant advantage in his boots where as your feet were bare, dirt and grass bending beneath your toes where each step he took sounded off with a crunch.

It was your element, it wasn’t his.

And as another gust of wind whisked around the two of you, you turned back over your shoulder to catch sight of him, a half smile working it’s way to your lips while he had on his same stone-cold disposition. He wasn’t even looking at you, his chin up and his eyes continuing to scan while his hand rested on the sword sheathed to his side.

The soldier was not exactly a conversationalist, not that he was lost around a discussion, but more in the sense that he wouldn’t be one to initiate. And apparently he was sticking to his own tendencies as you looked back at him, hoping to catch his attention, and came up with nothing, not even a glance.

A couple more minutes down the path, the suns coming to touch the horizon just before dipping below, you stole another glance over your shoulder, appearing in his vision sun-coated and absolutely glowing. But he still said nothing, leaving the game in your hands.

“Why do you chase after me?”

His step almost faltered, almost.

Thankfully, he was trailing behind you on the path only wide enough for the two of you to go one-by-one. Even though you were staring, you didn’t catch it, your eyes remaining secure on his face and the way it was equally illuminated by the setting suns.

“It’s my job, your highness.” He answered with a steady voice as he kept pace behind you.

Your laugh this time was softer as you turned back to focus on the path before you. “I certainly don’t make it easy for you.”

“No, you don’t.” He sighed as the path widened out and he stepped up to walk alongside you, “that doesn’t make it any less my job.”

You stole a glance to the side as he settled into pace, boots hitting the ground in time with your simpler steps, “no, I suppose it doesn’t.”

Your pace began to slow, forcing him to adjust and slow beside you until you came to a full stop, leaving him no choice but to stop as well. Clearly something was weighing on your mind, he didn’t need to be an expert in you to see that as your feet twisted in the trampled grass of the path.

“Your highness?” He urged as he noticed the first sun finally dip below the horizon, the air around the two of you dropping in temperature almost immediately. But as he glanced back to you, he found your brow furrowed on your face, the skin between your brows crunched together as thoughts clearly poured into your head. So, he urged again, “your highness?”

“What if it wasn’t your job?”

There was no response he could give. There was one he wanted to give, there was the truth, but he wasn’t entitled to either of them, even as you took a step forward, closer than he typically allowed you to get.

He wasn’t allowed to answer questions like that, he wasn’t your friend.

He was employed to keep you safe; he was bound by the position and his duties to professionalism just as he was bound by his place in the world, several miles below yours. You always aimed for casualness, and he tried his best to give you that, to not put you on the pedestal he knew you resented, but sometimes he couldn’t.

Sometimes the best he could do was his job, and sometimes that meant keeping a strong line in the sand even as you tried to blur it with your bare feet.

“Your highness,” he tried again to urge you forward, to move you back down the path but instead, you took another step forward and his breath caught.

“What if it wasn’t your job?” You repeated, your brow no longer furrowed in confusion but your stare twisted into a desperate plea for an answer he just couldn’t give.

“The sun has set, princess, we need to keep moving—“

“You didn’t answer my question.”

No, he didn’t, nor did he expect you to move on without realizing he was avoiding it, but he had to try.

“I know. We need to keep moving—“

“What would you be doing right now if this wasn’t your job?” There weren’t many inches left between the two of you and you stepped up to take one of the last ones, making it possible for him to avoid your stare now, no matter how hard he tried.

And he really did try. But eventually, after a deep breath in, he stopped fighting and allowed his stare to meet yours directly, “I don’t know.”

Your head quirked, like another question was brewing in your head as a smirk began to rise to your lips. It wasn’t a question surging behind your eyes, not as your stare grew sly, it was an idea.

And he didn’t like the look of that.

You took one step back up the path and he gave a brief warning, “your highness...”

It didn’t work.

As the second sun dipped behind the horizon, the temperature dropped again and your took another step up the path, forcing him to take another step to follow. “What are you—“

You stole a few more steps back before trying to run, but it didn’t last long. He was much quicker, catching up to you and stopping you with a hold of his hand, not touching you but easily keeping you from going any further. He didn’t have to warn you this time, his stare and broad shoulders did it even with his mouth remaining shut.

But instead of trying again, you lowered yourself down to the ground on the grass there and sighed.

“Your highness...” he extended his hand with a disappointed sigh of his own.

“Why don’t you call me by my name?” You asked next, angling to look at him as the light continued to decrease around the two of you.

The purples grew deeper and deeper as his stare grew more and more aggravated, the highlights of his cheeks bones cascaded in midnight blues while his hair bounced back the last traces of light, sparkling like the stars that slowly became more visible as the clouds pulled back.

“I cannot, your highness...”

“You can, I’ve told you a thousand times that you can—“

“We need to get going, your highness.” He pushed his hand further into your line of sight, trying to urge you forward, to grab it and get going but you merely stared at the worn leather grasp he was offering. “Please...”

“If I didn’t have to be here, I’d be anywhere but...” you sighed, leaning back into the grass, further from his hand. “I’d travel, take my horse and just ride as far as I could... I’d go to the mountains, to the coast and out into open water, you’re from the coast, aren’t you?”

He shook his head slightly before reluctantly admitting, “Yes, your highness.”

“See, you just answered a question, clearly you know how—“

“We need to get you back to the palace.” He corrected his stance, back straight again, his hand still held out for you. “Now, your highness.”

“I’m not leaving until I’m satisfied.”

He bit his lip, looking back to recheck for any emerging threats before he looked back to your reclined form, “something tells me that’s near unachievable...”

Your smirk only grew, soaking in the mere second of a break in his typically reserved disposition like it was the best wine that had ever been sat in front of you, deliciously coating your sly tongue as you responded, “never took you as one to shy away from a real challenge.”

“Your highness—“ he gave one last desperate attempt to protect his position as you sat up and threw a clump of picked grass at his perfect uniform.

“Call me by my name!” You chuckled out as he brushed the grass away from his tunic. Another brief second of something real flashing behind his eyes as he plucked a piece of grass from his holster and, just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone again.

“Yes, your highness.”

Whether it was intentional or not, the direct disobedience covered in a slick gesture of his respect sent a wave of heat over your bare shoulders and down into your stomach. It was like he was willing to play your game, just not willing to admit that he was. It would have annoyed your more if it didn’t amuse you so much to watch his golden curls, now darkened by the evening light, bounce as he moved his stare away and to the surrounding tree lines again.

You picked up another clump of grass and tossed it his way again, trying to break another real moment from him but what you got was far more than you had been trying for.

“I have orders, your highness, to get you back to the palace. The suns have set, it’s just going to get colder and we need to return before they worry and send armies out after you.” His serious tone showed no sign of breaking anymore, and it certainly quenched any heat that had been burning in your gut, the wind coating your skin in the same drop in temperature he had been referencing.

Though this time, you weren’t sure if it was the fault of nature or his suddenly icy disposition.

And as your face fell to your lap and the grass still laying on your gown and around it, you missed the way his own face fell in regret from seeing the playfulness vacate your form right before him. He wasn’t out of line, if anything, he was the greatest embodiment of order that could be asked of a bodyguard, but knowing that didn’t help the shiver that ran down your back.

“I’ve been missing for longer,” you solemnly admitted, brushing your hair back behind your ears with both hands before glancing back up to him. But his stare was further away than it had ever been, maybe looking for threats, maybe just avoiding you.

He extended his hand again, still covered by the thick leather, protecting it from the elements that your gown left you bare to, and you took it, slipping your hand into his and letting him bring you back to your feet. It wasn’t fair to make him bad at his job, it was just a job to him...

But then again, you still weren’t satisfied. As he tried to pull his hand away, to guide you back to the city, you kept your grip, all but forcing his stare to meet yours again.

“What would you do if I truly ran away, not up here but as far as my legs could carry me?” You asked, not letting him pull away, if anything, using his reciprocal grip to pull yourself in closer to the heat he radiated.

“Your highness...”

“You can’t avoid every question I ask you, Obi-Wan.”

He shook his head, finally pulling his hand from yours, “I’m afraid I can...”

You didn’t fight him the rest of the way back. He gestured for you to move ahead of him and you, even solemnly so, complied. The grass and dirt that warmed your feet on the way up now just froze you, as did the chilly aura emanating from the man behind you. And once you hit the stone of the city floor, it only got worse, especially as the palace lights illuminated ahead did nothing to warm you.

Never more than a few feet behind you, even once you two were safe within the walls of the palace, the number of guards around increasing exponentially, he still kept you in his sights as you led the way back to your room. Staircase after staircase, the staff around you bowed to your presence while your steps grew faster and faster, not typically one to ignore those around you but speeding ahead like they weren’t even there.

He couldn’t let his head hang with the guilt of sending you into your own icy shut down, he had to keep you close until he knew you were secure in your room, as he swore he would do.

Making it to your floor, he quickly waved the guards off who stood by your door, choosing to escort you the rest of the way himself, but you couldn’t care less, all you wanted to do was put the gilded door of your bedroom between the two of you as quickly as you could.

You grabbed for the door, attempting to throw it open and throw yourself inside when he moved up right behind you, caught the door and held it shut, warming you with an anger now as you turned back towards him and his golden hair, brightly illuminated by the surrounding candles.

“You win, go tell them I’m back and get your reward—“ your sarcasm heated you the rest of the way up as you stepped into him where he held his ground.

“Your highness—“

“I’m going to bed, Kenobi—“

“I would follow you.”

He slowly brought his eyes from your bare feet to your pointed stare, his breath catching in his perfectly poised throat as he watched you soften at his words.

“Follow me?” Your voice barely qualified as a whisper as your hands reached up yet again to brush your hair back behind your ears.

“If you were to run, truly run, as far as your legs could carry you...”

The candle light around the two of you flickered as the wind blew through the open windows of your hallway, the shadows on his face making him look older and far more tired than you ever really noticed he was. But in a second, the light was back, his hair glowing like the golden decorations around your room did, his eyes piercing much easier now, not necessarily capable of killing anyone but only a degree separate from it now as he held your eyes with his.

“You’re telling me the truth?”

He nodded, dropping his head as he grabbed your hand in his gloved one yet again, his lips pressing a hesitant kiss to the crest of your knuckles.

“Always, your highness.”

Taking a step back from the door, he let his hand fall and allowed you open it once again.

“Goodnight, Obi-Wan...” you muttered as you took your first step through the door.

He called the two guards back from the end of the hall and gave you one last nod before leaving for his own chambers with the rest of the palace guards about four stories beneath where the two of you stood. “Goodnight, your highness.”

As the door shut, you felt your hand tremble slightly from where his lips had pressed against it, the warmth never really leaving.

—

no tag list yet but I’m willing to open one if there’s interest!

[ev-pierce-writes]

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The Heir Chapter 2

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9K

Notes: This chapter jumps back in time a bit from Din's perspective, giving us a glance into his crash landing on Mandalore and his first impressions of You. Mostly just a lot of feels (or the suppressing thereof).

---

"Mando."

Where was that voice coming from?

"Mando. Come on, wake up."

The hiss of hydraulics and Din's helmet lifted, forcing him to squint his eyes while trying to make out the face above him. The glare of a hot desert sun obscured its features and the pounding in Din's head made it difficult to focus.

"Help me get him on the speeder."

Arms under his legs and armpits lifted Din and placed him gently on a hard seat. He slouched forward, unable to sit up straight, the pain so great and so extensive it was hard to pinpoint exactly what was broken or bruised. The vehicle took off across the desert with a lurch, spraying sand in its wake.

A hot wind burned against Din's face, further drying his mouth and making it hard to keep his eyes open. He drifted in and out of consciousness, unaware of how long they sped over the sandy terrain.

Maybe only minutes passed, maybe hours. Eventually, the speeder entered one of the large domes that had been visible from space. Inside it was much cooler and darker, a relief after the harshness of Mandalore's surface. Din continued to drift in and out, dehydrated and covered in sand, unable to comprehend if he was safe. He was too concussed to take in his surroundings or catalog his injuries. Finally, exhaustion hit him like a mudhorn to the chest, and Din fell hard and fast into a deep sleep.

When he awoke, his helmet, armor, and underclothes were removed, leaving him nearly naked. Panic seized at Din's throat and he sat up quickly, surveying the situation and already planning his escape route. In this recently awoken state, Din couldn't remember where he was or what he had been doing. His thoughts flew immediately to the kid, his instinct telling him to find the child, whatever the cost. But then he noticed a neat pile at the end of the bed, beskar stacked alongside his clothes and helmet, and the terror eased.

He was on Mandalore. Din steadied his breathing and dressed. This was where he was meant to be. The kid was safe, Moff Gideon was defeated, the Darksaber was his.

The Darksaber. Din prayed to the Maker that it had survived the wreck. Or maybe not. At least that would have rid him of this devastating responsibility. But there it was, alongside his blaster and spear, hooked into its slot on his belt. The little metal ball was there as well, and Din breathed a final sigh of relief.

He was okay. For farrik's sake, he was okay and he could take a moment to reorient himself. Din looked around, taking in the small bed he had awoken upon, the gray walls of the room, the solid stone of the floor beneath his feet. He seemed to be in some type of infirmary. He reached his arms over his head and stretched out his neck, feeling the lingering pain of broken ribs and compressed vertebrae. Thank the Maker for bacta shots; he probably would have died without them. But even now, his age made it difficult to heal. He would be feeling this for a while.

Din lifted his helmet, ready to place it on his head, but he paused. He caught a glimpse of his face in the reflection of the beskar, of exhaustion, worry, and sadness staring back at him. He wasn't used to seeing his own face so much or reading his own emotions, and it felt like a stranger was glaring back, not his own eyes. He felt removed from the man in the reflection, the man with the scar across his nose, still not faded from the fateful day a droid had saved his life.

Was this the face the child had touched with his tiny hands? Could he love this face, truly?

Din shoved the helmet on before he could linger on his reflection any longer and stepped out of the small infirmary.

The dome was even larger on the inside than he had anticipated. He stood on a walkway that appeared to circle the entire structure, and more paths crisscrossed different layers of the dome, making for a giant maze. From this vantage point, Din could look down to the ground level, which was left open to the floors above. It was incredibly quiet. A few people meandered below, looking like ants from this angle, but not nearly as many as he would have expected in such a large structure. The place felt deserted.

Din began to make his way around the circle, looking for an elevator or some stairs to take him to the ground floor where most people seemed to be. The ache in his ribs had not eased and he found walking to be incredibly difficult. Din's hips and legs had taken much of the impact of the crash, making every movement a painful one. He didn't make it far before a voice stopped him.

"Woah, there Mando, you need to sit down."

The voice came from behind him, unmodulated, soft, old. Din turned to find an ancient woman hobbling toward him. White-haired and wrinkled, skin tanned and spotted from the sun, the woman was not what Din had expected from the locals of Mandalore. And yet she was unmistakably a Mandalorian, strong, back straight as a rod, with the signet of her clan sewn into the sleeve of her shirt.

How humiliating, being helped into a chair by someone who was twice his age. But Din did not complain.

"You need to eat," she said, pulling him into a side chamber and sitting him down at a table. "You're going to hurt for a while. Bacta isn't easy to come by around here and we gave you as much as we could afford. The rest of the healing you're going to have to do on your own."

A bowl of broth appeared before Din and then the old woman sat across from him, taking in his appearance and the beskar of his armor.

"It's been many years since I saw that much beskar on one warrior. What is your name, Mando?"

Din set his helmet on the table and took a sip of the broth. He wasn't sure what it was meant to be made of. It mostly tasted like water.

"I am Din Djarin. Clan Mudhorn." Here he paused, hesitating. "Child of the Watch."

Din wasn't sure how much the old woman knew. Did she recognize the Darksaber at his hip, know the history of his upbringing? If she did, she didn't let on, and Din felt it best not to explain any further. Maybe it was best to keep quiet about his claim to the throne for now.

"My name is Yollil Darron, Clan Kryze. You must be searching for answers," the old woman said. "Is that why you have come? That was quite an entrance to make, crashing through the atmosphere like that."

"There was nowhere to land. Is there no port? No shipyard?"

Yollil chuckled softly. "There is no need when no ships come and go."

"None?"

"Occasionally. Rarely. But those can't be the answers you came here for."

Yollil was right. Din finished his broth before he continued, choosing his words carefully. "There are so few people here. What happened?"

"Ah, child, that is several questions all rolled into one."

"I have time."

Yollil smiled knowingly. "I will start at the beginning then," she said. "The Children of the Watch have long been separated from the Mand'alor, but the wars started before them."

---

The Mandalorian's holomessage flickered before you. You'd watched it on repeat four times now. Listened to it again and again in an attempt to decipher some hidden meaning in his words. Even virtually, the man seemed to fill the space, leaving you breathless. Thoughts of how he'd made you feel last night, even though he was entirely in your head, rushed through your brain. But you tamped them down.

"When you see this message, I'll be gone already. I need to make contact with others scattered across the galaxy." Maybe it was your imagination, or the modulation of his voice through the helmet, but this is where his resolve would begin to waver, each time you watched, each time seeming more and more reluctant to have gone.

"You-- I didn't--." A sigh.

"There's still a lot to do. And I can't do it alone. I'm sure I'll need your help." I'm sure I'll see you again. I want to see you again. You needed to stop putting words in his mouth but with each iteration, it seemed even more like the truth.

You scolded yourself for trying to find a reason to get attached, for searching his words for some type of acknowledgment that he felt the same way. Mandalorians were restless beings, travelers with no home. It was irrational and irresponsible to expect anything more from him. You needed to rein in your temptation. And yet--

Finally, you shut the holopuck off, putting it in the drawer of your desk for safekeeping.

---

"There are twelve other domes on Mandalore," Yollil explained as she guided you slowly around in a tour of the structure. "Many are divided by clan. Tensions run high, but we abandoned the fighting long ago though. It's much easier to survive when you are unified as a larger group. Or at least the illusion of conciliation."

As Din had finished his watery broth, Yollil had explained the history of the Mand'alor, how civil war had erupted over loyalties to the Empire, over who would inherit the throne. Eventually, the group of religious zealots, the Children of the Watch, had split, leaving the planet entirely to start anew, recruiting foundlings from across the galaxy and training them in the original way of the Mand'alor. Those who remained warred one another to ruin, eventually destroying what was left of the planet and retreating to the safety of the domes.

It was becoming apparent to Din that his greatest challenge might be uniting the fractured clans.

Yollil showed you the greenhouses, the armory, the living quarters. Most were nearly empty, dormant as an abandoned pollinator hive.

"About four times a revolution we get a shipment of supplies, distributed among the clans. It's barely enough to sustain us but we have little to give in return. It's the best we can do."

"Who brings the supplies?"

"The Queendom of Nhora. Their ships land in the desert, unload and reload, and are gone." Nhora. A sign of hope in the darkness. "The crew have been asking about a certain Mandalorian. Have you heard?"

Din shook his head and Yollil continued. "They say the queen is in search of the Mandalorian who claimed the Darksaber. Perhaps you know of him."

Din stopped dead in his tracks. So much for staying discreet. The old woman gazed knowingly at the helmet before her, recognizing without needing to see the expression on his face that Din was the Mandalorian this Nhoran queen was searching for.

It could have been a trap. Or it could be an opportunity. Next time the ships came, Din would be leaving with them as well.

---

Twenty-six years. That's how long you'd been alive. Twenty-six years today, to be exact, and eight of them spent as queen.

The Warming was arriving in the northern hemisphere of Nhora, signaling the approaching farming season as well as all the celebrations that came along with it. Fertility festivals, diplomatic dinners, and of course, your birthday. Though your focus should have been on supply distribution and preparations for religious ceremonies, your thoughts lingered on the somber face that graced your dreams nearly every night.

You wanted nothing more than to ditch your own birthday party. They were always the same, too much attention trained on you, on what you wore, on who you spoke to. No one was safe from court gossip, not even you, and by tomorrow every woman on Nhora would be styling their hair the way yours was tonight.

You preferred solitude and quiet, which you would not get tonight. Djarin would like solitude and quiet too, you thought. But you suppressed the thought as quickly as it had come.

"Knock knock," Zena called. She had a tendency to enter and then ask for permission afterward. You were laying on your bed, spread out like a star, avoiding getting up to get dressed.

"If I asked you to, would you put on my clothes and pretend to be me for the night?" you asked without sitting up. It was only a half sarcastic request.

"We aren't twelve anymore, Your Majesty. We can't get away with switching places like we used to."

"We could totally do it, Zena. And then I could not deal with any of it and you can be queen for a night." You and Zena had actually managed it successfully before, trading places without anyone noticing. But she was right, that was years ago and you looked too different now.

Zena flopped onto the bed next to you. "This isn't very regal of us is it, contemplating ditching parties and laying in bed instead," she said.

You were silent for a moment, thinking back on the years before your coronation where the two of you had spent your days doing that exact thing. You'd known Zena since the Clone Wars, since before the attack, since before your mother and sister had died. And then the attack had come, and suddenly she was all you had, and it only seemed natural that she would become your most trusted advisor.

And then she was saying your name, your real name, calling you back to your body and pulling you from your reverie. She knew where you drifted in moments like this, to the thoughts of what life would have been if they were all still alive, if you weren't queen, and the world was yours to explore. "Come on, we can do it together."

The party, or parties in this case, since the festivities lasted over a week, usually culminated in a large banquet. It was customary to feed the entire city for free on your birthday, which you didn't mind. You liked that part, in fact, seeing the prosperity and joy of your people, the excitement as temperatures rose and crops were planted.

What you did mind was having to deal with all the suitors who found it perfect timing to come up to you while you were just trying to enjoy some roasted cherfer meat.

You watched as one particularly bold man approached your table in the banquet hall, trailed by what appeared to be several personal guards. You leaned over and whispered into Zena's ear.

"I don't remember inviting him to my party. I'll bet twenty credits he's a prince from Coruscant. Thirty says he'll ask for my hand in marriage."

"Be polite, You Majesty," Zena said, but she was already smiling and shaking your hand. "I'll give you forty credits if you scare the Dank Farrik out of him."

Zena may have been your best advisor, but she was also your worst instigator.

"Your Majesty," the young man bellowed as he kneeled before you. He was tall and barrel-chested, yet soft and pudgy looking. A shock of yellow blond hair was combed across his already balding head. Barely touching his knee to the ground before standing again, he took your hand and pressed a horrifically wet kiss to your knuckles. And yet, despite the averse sensation, your thoughts drifted toward the Mandalorian, kneeling before you as well, head bowed in respect and gloved hand smoothing yours. The comparison happened before you could stop yourself and suddenly you sized up every man in the room against him. No one compared.

Be polite. Be polite. You barely held back a gag as you discreetly wiped the back of your hand against your skirt.

"And who do I have the pleasure of meeting on this fine evening?" you asked sweetly, lacing your words with the saccharine tone that men liked. You would at least have some fun with this.

"Prince Adbel of Coruscant, at your service." You and Zena glanced at one another knowingly. Twenty credits down.

"Of Coruscant, you say? How many princes there must be on that... large, beautiful planet."

Prince Adbel's face fell, but only for a moment. You applauded his ability to pull the arrogant, smug look right back onto his face even as you bruised his ego.

"Yes, Coruscant is charming. But Nhora far surpasses her in natural beauty. I could pass many revolutions here and never tire of her rolling hills."

Nhora was as flat as a bantha's foot. But you had to give it to him, he was really putting on the charm. Prince Adbel was a slick talker.

"What brings you to Nhora?" you asked. "And on my birthday, no less."

"Straight to business," he replied with an awkward wink. "I like that. How joyful a day, and yet how lonely you look upon your throne, with no one to share it."

You pretended to not know where he was going with this line of thinking. "Lonely? I have the best advisors in the galaxy," you said, squeezing Zena's hand tightly to hold back her laugh and yours.

"No doubt, no doubt. But perhaps you are in need of a man by your side, to rule along with you?"

You stayed silent, waiting for him to say the words that would earn you thirty credits tonight.

"What I mean is, perhaps I could offer my hand to Your Royal Highness."

"In marriage?"

"In marriage."

Score.

Now you were upping the game. Those forty credits would be yours. But how to shock the poor man the best. He would need to be punished for his insolence in not researching Nhoran culture before so blatantly proposing marriage to a woman who had no need for it.

"Have you studied our customs, Prince Adbel?" you asked.

The pale man somehow paled even further. "Of course," he lied.

"Then you'll know what such an offer entails. First, you must travel to the plains and retrieve for me the egg of the nhora serpent. It is a difficult journey. Few survive. She will protect her young with her life, so you must bring warriors who are prepared to die for you, otherwise, you will fail." Prince Adbel's guards were starting to look as nervous as him. But you continued. "Then, you must chop off the fourth finger on your left hand as an offering to the Maker. Only then can our union be blessed."

That one got to him. Should you keep going? This was too fun, and Zena seemed to think so as well. "Lastly, you will need to share me with fifteen other men. Are you capable of that? It is tradition to take many husbands in Nhora, and the queen is no exception."

Prince Adbel nearly fainted. He gulped, a heroic attempt to suppress his fear, before taking a step back from you and nearly hiding behind his guards. "Perhaps... I should reconsider before taking such a serious oath."

"Or perhaps it would do you better to understand the culture of a people you so plainly desire to rule over. Nhoran queens do not marry, Prince Adbel. They never have, and they likely never will." You stood from your seat. And though the prince towered over you, he flinched from your hardened gaze. You knew you were probably taking it a bit too far, but you wanted to put the overconfident egotistical man in his place. "Men only distract. They manipulate. They conquer through fear rather than join through peace. I doubt that you are the exception."

And with that, the prince was gone, fleeing from your presence, his guards on his heels. Your words hadn't been entirely true. Plenty of honorable men made of your group of advisors and counselors, but the best of them knew where they stood.

"Best forty credits ever spent," Zena said with a laugh. "Although part of me is worried you're distracted already."

"Distracted? What on Nhora are you implying, Zena?" You knew what she was implying. You knew it was about--

"The Mandalorian has you in a twist, does he not? Any other day you would have at least considered sleeping with him." It was a teasing jab, though not entirely exaggerated.

"I simply look forward to pursuing a trade agreement with him." At least that's what you were trying to convince yourself, laying in bed night after night, thinking of him.

"You look forward to seeing him again, Your Majesty."

You narrowed your eyes at Zena, trying to appear intimidating. It never worked with her. "Hand over my credits, Royal Advisor."

Zena shook her head. You weren't convincing her, or yourself.

---

The royal crest painted across the side of the Nhoran freighter ships proudly displayed her wealth and beauty. They were less than subtle, Din thought.

He had waited several weeks for the starships to arrive, gathering information and gleaning intelligence about what he was up against. But the information varied widely and it was hard to tell what was truth and what was fiction. The elder Mandalorians described a brutal and ruthless ruler, one who controlled her people through fear and projected an image of prosperity to disguise rampant abuse of power.

Based on Yollil's stories, that sounded more like a reflection of Mand'alor history than an accurate depiction of Nhora.

Others, the younger ones, refused to even believe the queen existed. No one ever saw her, they postulated, unless it was at government functions or festivals. They figured she was just some figurehead, put in place to disguise the real government that controlled the trade routes of the mid and outer rims.

It was useless. He would have to find out for himself. And he had a plan.

According to Yollil and a few of the others who lived in the dome, the freighters were manned completely by a live crew. Not a single droid in sight. And while that meant Din could try to talk his way onto the ship, he also couldn't just resort to outright violence and take out everyone on board. He had to be diplomatic.

The plan was this. Sneak aboard during the short period the freighters spent on the ground, loading and unloading, and try not to get caught. But if he did, Din would have to talk his way out of it. He hoped to avoid too much talking.

Getting on the ship turned out to be the easy part. Staying on was hard.

The crew members of the ship he'd selected to hitch a ride on did not hesitate to open fire. He was discovered pretty quickly among the cargo and without giving him a chance to explain, Din found himself ass down in the sand, watching the ship take off. Damn it.

Sure, he could have gone in with a bit more violence, but he was trying to make friends, not enemies. Time for Plan B.

Powering up the thrusters of his jetpack, he shot off into the atmosphere, following close behind the departing freighter. He landed with a thump along the outer walkway of the ship, hitting the side a bit harder than he'd intended. Great, more bruises to add to his growing collection. Din ripped the exterior door open, knowing it would set off alarms throughout the ship. But discretion was no longer his priority.

There couldn't have been that many crew members on this ship, and yet they just kept coming. Din held back, only sending them into a nice temporary sleep with a knock to the head, rather than take them out one by one. He could have. Part of him wanted to. But he reminded himself that these were just people, doing their best, just like him.

Din worked his way toward the bridge, leaving a pile of unconscious bodies in his wake. The ship's upper deck was a jumble of hallways that looped back and forth on one another and he felt sure he made a few circles before finding what he was looking for. When he arrived, one final crew member stood, brave and terrified, before the doors to the control center.

"Open the door and I won't hurt you."

It was worth a shot. No success. The poor man aimed his blaster, the shots pinging off of Din's beskar. Alright, if that's how he wanted to do this. With calculated aim, Din fired his whipcord, wrapping it around the man's legs and hauling him off his feet.

Din grabbed the man around the neck, pointed his blaster at his head, and slammed the door-open button with his foot, ready to face whatever lay on the other side.

Several more terrified navigators and a couple of blasters trained at Din's head. As expected.

"Look, I'm not here to hurt you. Even though I could. I just want to speak to your queen." Silence hung heavy in the bridge. Even the man Din had taken hostage stilled under his grip. "Take me to her and I promise I won't harm you."

The captain of the ship stared at Din as if he'd just asked him to make Arvala-7 into a rainforest. For a moment Din almost thought those young Mandalorians had been correct, that there was no real queen. But then the captain relented.

"Well, you've taken out most of my ship already. And Her Majesty doesn't object to visitors. But you'll have to stay in the cargo hold."

Din could deal with that.

At least he thought he could. And then the trip through hyperspace turned out to be not hours but over a day. He was tired, in pain, and incredibly hungry. The best Mandalore had to offer was weak broth and yellowish vegetables. Din hadn't had a real meal in what felt like months. Though he tried to sleep through his hunger, he was awoken by the painful pangs of an angry stomach. Above him, the crew was probably having a meal, though he doubted they would want to invite up the man who'd knocked them out one by one.

Finally, after a restless sleep, the sound of footsteps and a voice entered the cargo hold to let Din know they were making the jump out of hyperspace and approaching Nhora. "Her Majesty will receive you at the palace. Though I recommend leaving your weapons behind you. She prizes peace above all else."

The ship landed with a jolt. Din hadn't had access to any windows aboard the ship, so this experience of Nhora was his first. As the loading hatch opened, he discovered with awe a cool, lush, and colorful planet. Though his helmet and armor dulled the sensations of climate and weather to his skin, the temperature here was significantly more comfortable than on Mandalore.

Din stepped from the ship, not bothering to bid the captain farewell, and wandered into Nhora's port. At first, he weaved through only ships, big and small. But eventually, it evolved slowly into a marketplace, lined with stalls filled with fresh fruits and vegetables, smoked meats, and beautifully handcrafted items.

Above, the sun was tinged with warmth, indicative of an approaching warm season. But a soft breeze drifted through the market, keeping the air cool and dry. Around him, Din listened to the chatter of people, all species and languages, bartering and negotiating prices, or just holding an easy conversation. It was incredibly calm and peaceful, with the easy air of a people who did not fear for their lives at every waking moment.

Already, Din could tell all the rumors about Nhora had been wrong.

But how to find the queen? That turned out to be an easier job than he expected. Spread across the skyline was a glittering city with one building obviously much taller than the rest. He headed in that direction, pausing only momentarily at a stall that was selling the most delicious food he'd ever smelled. But there was no time to stop and eat.

The walk was short, along a smoothly paved path that crisscrossed over several canals dug through the center of the market. This must have been their main source of transport, and Din watched from the top of a bridge as a small boat floated downstream below him. It was almost too picturesque and he found himself doubting if this was entirely real.

And yet it was. The palace was bustling with people, moving about in small groups or sitting beneath the tall stone columns. They spoke easily and freely, but with a polite hush that suggested a reverent atmosphere. The lower level appeared to function as a library, with books lining floor-to-ceiling shelves and people studying at tables. Free and open knowledge, it was a novel idea.

No guards accosted him. No one asked where he was going. A few people stared as he went by, but the guards stationed at the main doors let him through, though again letting him know to check his weapons at the guard station. He easily avoided this inconvenience, slipping around groups of people and hiding behind a column as another guard passed. Sure, he could have been civil and done as he was asked, but it didn't seem prudent to have to explain that yes, he was a Mandalorian and yes, this was the Darksaber, and no, he couldn't just check it into a locker with a four-digit code.

At last, up a sweeping staircase and the throne room came into sight. This part of the palace was quieter than the rest, having a more serious and somber mood than the lightness of the lower levels. Din stepped in the throne room and gazed up, unable to suppress the urge to gape in awe at the vaulted ceilings and colorful murals that lined the walls.

The queen, however, was not on her throne and not in the reception hall. So Din resigned to wait and stood before one of the grand windows that cast a glowing light onto the marble floors. The view was spectacular, even from behind the filter of his visor, looking out upon the maze of stalls of the market, the glistening blue canals, and the arriving and departing freighter ships. Beyond the bustle of the city Din could just barely make out flat plains under a setting sun, green and lush and reaching farther than the eye could see.

The world glowed.

Din's helmet picked up voices of discussion and he amplified the sounds, hearing the soft speech of a woman along with the footsteps of several other people. The queen was coming, and not alone.

And then he saw you. You entered the throne room and if the world was glowing before it now positively radiated like the sun. You were dressed in lavender and gold and somehow existed on two planes at once, both as natural as the lush plains of Nhora and as otherworldly as the stars that glittered above, tied to the earth but dancing through outer space. Din had never met an angel, only heard stories of their alluring beauty that trapped spacefarers in their orbit for eternity. Now, standing face to face with a pure embodiment of warmth and light, the stories didn't seem so outrageous after all.

This was a new feeling, one he'd never felt before. Oh, Maker, Din's heart was in trouble.

---

The doors of the throne room opened. Zena entered leading a little green head, wobbling atop a teetering body. "Look who interrupted my sparring practice. Nearly got his little hands chopped off."

"Grogu," you exclaimed with a broad smile spreading across your face. You found yourself intensely happy to see the wrinkly alien baby and reached down to place him on your lap. He immediately reached out to grasp at the metal ball hanging from your neck. Something had shifted since you'd met the Mandalorian, and now with the knowledge of their deep bond, your heart softened with tenderness for the child as you recalled his father.

"So, little one, what have you learned since you went away?"

The child looked up at you with a coo and then giggled, sticking his hands out to demonstrate whatever strange mind-bending trick he'd learned this month. What you didn't expect was to see one of your guards slowly go sliding from his post beside your throne toward the windows. You realized Grogu was the one moving him, though not very quickly and with a lot of effort, across the stone floor. With a grunt, the guard bumped gently into the window. It couldn't have hurt very much, but it was probably a strange sensation. He slid to the ground, not sure how to react.

"Oh, Maker, are you alright Ming?" you asked, barely containing a laugh.

Ming held up a hand. "Yes, yes, fine Your Majesty."

"Grogu, we only do those kinds of things to bad people, not people we like."

You weren't sure why you spoke to the child as if he were an adult, but somehow you felt he understand. He looked up at you again but this time with a pout, his bottom lip sticking out and quivering, ready to cry.

"Oh, alright little one, let's not have that now.  Here, how about some good news. I met your father. He was here."

That did the trick. The big brown eyes blinked and the giant ears flicked in recognition. Grogu grumbled out some garbled baby talk that sounded suspiciously like 'Din.' It could have been your imagination.

"You met the Mandalorian?" Luke Skywalker entered the throne room, prepared for his departure already. "So that's why you didn't accost me for information as soon as I stepped foot in here."

"I have a good feeling about him, Skywalker. What's that thing you're always talking about, bringing balance to the force? He is balanced. I can feel it."

"So you're a force detector now?" Zena said with a barely concealed laugh.

"He found the child for a reason," Skywalker replied. "The force is not to be underestimated."

That was for sure. A pint-sized kid had just moved a full-grown man across the room with his mind. That was nothing to be played with.

"I worry though, Your Majesty, that he will attract some less than welcome individuals to your planet if he returns. Bo-Katan feels she is the rightful heir to the throne, and I doubt she'll give up on it so easily. If she thinks you're his ally, I doubt she'll be very forgiving."

"Bo-Katan?" Zena questioned. You felt Grogu sink further into your robes at the sound of the name.

"Another Mandalorian. Fiercely loyal to her planet but not so much to those who would dare challenge her or her power. She prefers martial law to pacifism and has a dubious history with the Sith and the Empire. In the end, there's only one thing she wants, the Darksaber."

---

Din's thoughts drifted back to that first meeting as he punched in the coordinates for Corellia, the last planet he had any desire to visit. He wanted to look upon your glittering city, wander through the market, feel the cool breeze creep under his armor. Or even just sit across from you again and listen to you ramble about the things you loved, namely Grogu. Din realized, before you would, that there was a soft spot in your heart for the kid.

As the ship took off from the loading dock, Din watched the Nhoran moons set, wondering if you were doing the same. You're welcome to stay here as long as you need. But he couldn't. Din was a wanderer, a traveler, with no place to call home and no intention of finding one. But you--

Corellia. Right now there was just Corellia. For many years he'd avoided chasing down a bounty on that planet. Unfortunately, it wasn't going to stay that way. The polluted, cloudy, soggy planet was one Din preferred to avoid. The excessive rain made it difficult to track footprints and there was always someone who needed paying off if he was going to get any information. Bounties on Corellia took twice as long to catch, simply because it was so full of crime itself.

Except this time it wasn't a bounty Din was chasing, but a Mandalorian. So three times as long, he figured.

And he was right. The Mandalorian remained hidden, probably because he knew he was being chased. Din passed weeks in Coronet City, tracking muddied footprints here and there. Begrudgingly, he took on some extra bounties, just to make enough credits to keep his ship parked at the loading dock.

Week four came and went. Today's bounty had been particularly flighty, doing his best to remain just out of Din's reach. He caught him, eventually, but not before a muddy chase through the rainforest. Now, back on his ship, Din hardly noticed the flashing red light on his communicator, telling him he had an incoming message. It wasn't until he'd pulled off his mud-streaked armor and sat down heavily in the pilot's seat that it caught his attention.

The hologram flickered to life.

"Djarin, I hope you're well." He almost didn't recognize you without your royal robes, hair loose and drifting about your shoulders. But your voice, though distorted by thousands of lightyears of space, was unmistakably yours. With surprise, Din found himself instantly relaxed, the soothing sound raising heat to his skin. You'd barely said anything but he longed to hear more.

"I'm not sure where you are, or if this message will reach you." You paused, suddenly distracted by something happening out of view and waving your hands to quiet something down.

"Hush, please, I'm speaking," you said off to the side.

You refocused with a deep breath. "Urgent news has reached me through my trade routes. Bo-Katan has landed on Mandalore. She brings an army and is searching for you. I'm not sure how many she's gathered or how she earned their trust. But it won't be long before she traces your path here. There's no need to worry, it would be foolish to attack Nhora but I'm afraid of what might happen if you do return to Mandalore. Bo-Katan will-- for Maker's sake child I'm trying to speak."

You stopped again, bending over to address the tiny hands grabbing at the leg of your pants. A muted voice garbled some indiscernible words. "I know it's for Din. I know. Come here."

You stood again, this time with the child in your arms. Grogu. He was there, with you, in your arms. "Anyways, be careful, please. And send word if you need anything. Or just to let me know you're alive."

Din could hardly focus on your words. The kid was on Nhora, grabbing at your shirt and waving his little hands. "Say hi, Grogu. Say hi to your dad," you said.

Was that his name Din heard? Did Grogu just speak real, tangible, words? And his name, nonetheless. Din's heart swelled with pride and all the frustration he'd felt today, tracking an unfindable Mandalorian on top of simply trying to stay alive, melted away. He realized with a shock of sadness that all this time he'd been intensely lonely without his son. The ship was too quiet, too empty, but now both you and the child were here, even if only as a hologram, and filling the cockpit with a warm glow.

Din blinked back tears. It was time to get his act together. There were only so many places an old Mandalorian could hide.

Fenn Rau was not a man to be trifled with, Yollil had explained before Din had left Mandalore. If he was going to be found, Din had to think ahead of him, anticipate his moves. Rau had to be somewhere in Coronet City. If he'd left, it would have been much easier to find him.

But, as it turned out, it was easy enough to find Rau when he wanted to be found. The first cantina Din stepped in and there he was, sitting alone in a dark corner, nursing a spotchka, having predicted Din's own moves to meet him here. This was not luck, it was on purpose, and he didn't hesitate to slide into the seat across from the Mandalorian.

Neither spoke, each waiting for the other to explain themselves first. Fenn Rau was as stoic as Din despite his age. His watery blue eyes locked onto the visor of Din's helmet and did not flinch. But this was a game Din could play well, that of silence.

"Why are you looking for me?" The older Mandalorian was the first to break.

"You wanted to be found."

"I outran you for a while. But curiosity tends to be my downfall."

Din didn't respond, only unhooked the Darksaber from his belt and placed it on the table. It was an unassuming object with immense power and Rau recoiled from its presence.

"So you are the one who defeated Gideon." His words made it apparent that everyone in the galaxy knew. "I'm surprised Lieutenant Bo-Katan didn't duel you right there for it."

"Lieutenant?"

"We fought together in the civil wars." So that's why Yollil had sent Din to find Rau. He would know what Bo-Katan's intentions were. "The Lieutenant is a natural leader. She rallies her people like no other. But she has lost that damn saber one too many times and never once recovered it honorably. She will come for it and do whatever it takes to regain power."

"She's looking for me now."

"What will you do?"

Din did not answer.

"Don't tell me you're asking for my advice?" Rau said with an exasperated sigh. "Alright, here's what I think. Take what you will from this. Tarre Vizsla forged that saber. He was both a Jedi and a Mandalorian, and the first to unite them. Since his death over a thousand years ago, Mandalore has not known peace. And it never will until a Jedi rules again."

A Jedi and a Mandalorian. If such a combination were to exist, then there must be a foundling out there that was force sensitive. A foundling that Din would find and--

Grogu. That foundling was Grogu. Din stood abruptly.

"Thank you. May the force be with you."

"That's it? You don't want a drink?"

"I'll be on Nhora if you need me."

Din left the Mandalorian where he'd found him.

---

The Mandalorian was returning. You could barely contain your glee. The message had been short, typed out and sent over the comm system. Returning. Must discuss G. and B. ETA 3 days.

You had no idea what G. and B. meant. It didn't matter. It had been over a month since you'd last seen him. You hoped he was everything you remembered, strong, handsome, stoic, honorable--

No. No, you would not think about him like that. You would treat him with respect and cool composure, as the ally he was turning out to be and nothing more.

On the first day of waiting you managed to steady your nerves by focusing on each task at hand. Sector 3 needed the dams opened to flood their fields. Sector 8 required a delivery of vaccines to prevent an outbreak of the Cardooine Chills. By the second day, Zena was watching you pace back and forth across the throne room, wondering out loud what G. and B. meant. She'd plopped herself down in your chair since you had no desire to occupy it, legs slung over one arm and back leaned up against the other.

But when the third day arrived, you found yourself surprisingly calm. You received visitors from the throne you'd refused the day before, listening intently as your financial head proposed tax hikes and tax breaks and explained where every cent was headed.

And yet, despite the serenity of your outward appearance, every person who entered your throne room sent your heart beating faster, though every time it was someone other than the Mandalorian. Finally, the sun set through the windows, darkness fell, and he had still not arrived.

"I'm just worried. What if he got caught up by Bo-Katan or something?"

"Your Majesty, he's hurtling through hyperspace. I think he's fine." Zena was ever the calming presence at your elbow. "Just get some sleep."

You tried. You really did, tossing and turning in bed to find the most comfortable position. But nothing worked. It was late in the night when you finally gave up and left bed, padding softly in your nightclothes down the three flights of stairs to the kitchens. At least you could have a warm cup of hot chocolate.

It was empty and silent in the kitchen as you set a pot on the stove to heat the drink. You leaned against the counter, drumming your fingers, waiting, waiting, waiting--

"Any idea where a Mandalorian can get a meal around here?"

You jumped at the voice behind you. So much for calm, cool, composure. Heat rose immediately to your face as you remembered exactly what you were wearing.

"Oh Maker, Djarin, you have to stop sneaking in like that."

"Sorry, can't help it that your guards are useless."

"Hey, watch it. Or I'll kick you out again." Though you acted annoyed, Din could tell you were glad to see him, an easy smile gracing your lips. It appeared he'd caught you at your most vulnerable, looking tired and restless, whisps of your hair flying in all directions and in only your pajamas. Your slightly translucent pajamas.

He did his best not to stare. Really. But with a helmet, there was no one to notice that he could tell you weren't wearing a bra or any underwear or--

"I expected you earlier," you said, pouring a second cup of hot chocolate without asking.

"I miscalculated," Din said matter-of-factly, though his nerves jumped at the thought of you expecting him. "What is this?"

"The most delicious thing ever. Rare. Skywalker introduced me to it and I can't get enough. But only he knows where to find hot chocolate so I have to settle for waiting for his visits to get my hands on more."

Off came the helmet, and though you'd already seen the face beneath, it still left you breathless. The black eye was gone, the cut on his lip and cheek reduced to fading red lines that probably wouldn't even scar. You watched as he ran a hand through his unruly hair, eyeing the cup with suspicion, and giving it a sniff. Finally, Djarin relented and he took a sip.

"Very sweet," he said, brown eyes narrowed and plump lips twisted into a pucker. "Not used to that."

Oh, those lips. Every decent thought you'd been trying to focus on since the Mandalorian's reappearance in your palace kitchens immediately flew out the window, replaced by very indecent thoughts about his full lips.

You tried to bring your mind back to his words, realizing he probably ate mostly bland food. Hearty, maybe, but not seasoned with the exotic flavors your kingdom traded for.

"Let me get you some food. You must be hungry."

"The Queen can cook?"

"Oh no, but she can reheat pretty well."

Din sat, watching as you sliced a loaf of bread and eventually placed a steaming bowl of stew in front of him. In the dim light of the kitchen, you'd taken on a different appearance from when he'd first met you. Your features were softer, less angular and commanding, and more tender and delicate. You were young, he realized, and you wore your youth plainly when the opportunity came to relax. You moved with the ease and grace of someone pushed too soon into this position of power.

"What's G. and B?" you asked, sitting across from Din and taking a slice of bread for yourself.

"Not what, who. Grogu and Bo-Katan." Djarin began to eat, and you noticed he kept sipping at his hot chocolate, despite his previous aversion. "Is the kid still here?"

You shook your head. "They only stay for a few hours at a time. And it's hard to know when they'll be back. Skywalker takes every precaution to be untraceable. He'll find you, not the other way around. Is that why you're back? To find him?"

"Grogu is the heir."

"What do you mean? I thought you were the heir?"

Djarin explained his meeting with Fenn Rau, what the old Mandalorian had told him about the Darksaber and its creator.

"And you're worried Bo-Katan will target Grogu and use him against you?"

"Possibly."

"I don't understand. I thought Bo-Katan wanted to bring peace to Mandalore."

"She does. But under her terms. And her rule. That approach never goes over well with a people as divided as us."

You were starting to see his point. But how was a wrinkly green baby going to take over the throne? "Say you hold on to the Darksaber. Bo-Katan backs down, the kid becomes a Jedi. Then what? He'll have to defeat you in a duel to fulfill his destiny?"

"I haven't thought that far ahead.

Of course, he hadn't. Of course he'd rushed back here as fast as possible, thinking only of the child.

"I'll call a council meeting in the morning. Any actions I take they need to at least be aware of. And this time you're staying. Not just for the night."

Din raised his eyebrows at you in surprise. The authoritative tone you'd taken on was impressive, like you had a goal and a purpose and you were going to do everything it took to succeed. And he had to admit, he quite liked the thought of you forcing him to stay, despite knowing he shouldn't.

After he'd finished eating, you led the Mandalorian back up the stairs and through the silent palace to the room he'd stayed in during his previous visit. You lingered at the door, knowing you should say goodnight but having trouble doing so for some reason.

"Don't disappear on me again, Djarin," you finally settled on saying.

Din hadn't been aware of how much you cared for his safety until this moment. Maybe his late arrival had affected you more than you let on. The look on your face was not one of teasing but of genuine worry, eyebrows knitted in concern, unease written in the soft lines of your face. He wanted to smooth those lines, run a thumb across them to tell you everything he didn't have words for. What had been that emotion he'd felt that night on his ship, watching you and the child flicker holographically before him, filling the space with your warmth? He refused to call it home.

Djarin turned toward the door but paused and looked back at you. And then his gloved hand reached out and he ran a thumb softly across your forehead. It was surprising, that soft, leathery touch, but it accomplished what he'd set out to do. Your face relaxed and a smile spread across your lips, bringing the glow back to his world.

"I won't. I promise. And please, just call me Din."

---

The Mandalorian was up early, beating you and Zena to breakfast. He was already waiting for you to arrive, fully dressed in armor, making your heart skip a beat.

"Don't you want to know about everything that's happened since you were gone?" Zena asked, addressing Din with a glint in her eyes.

"I assume you're going to tell me whether or not I want to know."

"Smart man," Zena said with a wry smile. "You missed a very important birthday. You'll never guess how many suitors were ogling Her Majesty from across the dessert table. Although, I must admit the dress was lovely. I would have asked for her hand in marriage too if I was arrogant enough to think I had a chance."

"Zena," you said harshly, trying to shut her up.

"Turned them all down. Even made one of them run to his mother. No one compares to you Mando." She said that last bit with a singsongy voice as if trying to imitate you.

"Zena! Watch your mouth. I never said that." You gave her a little shove to shut her up. It wasn't very appropriate behavior for a queen but you knew she was doing it on purpose. "You're going to embarrass him."

Zena wiggled her eyebrows in your direction before turning on her heel and leaving you and Din alone, knowing her work was done.

"I'm sorry about that," you said.

"Looks like you're the one feeling embarrassed." Though you couldn't read Din's facial expression, his modulated voice was tinged with teasing humor.

Heat crept up your cheeks, flushing a bright pink that did not go unnoticed by the Mandalorian. "Shut up. I don't want to talk about it."

And then the Mandalorian laughed. He actually laughed, a full, whole-hearted laugh that started in his chest and shook through his body until he was bent double, hands on his knees, gasping for air. It was genuine; though sounding unused and in need of practice, it was not strained or tense at all. You wondered how long it had been since the Mandalorian had let loose like this.

"Oh for Maker's sake," you said, exasperated. "I've tried multiple times to crack jokes and that's what finally gets to you?"

Din had finally caught his breath and stood up straight again. "I apologize, Your Majesty. But you were blushing pretty hard."

And you looked pretty when you blushed, he thought. He didn't say that out loud, however, only pressed his fingers lightly against your back to lead you from the room to the awaiting council meeting.

It was already hard enough to focus in his presence. You had no idea how you were going to sit next to the Mandalorian for the next hour without him driving you up the wall. Calm, cool composure, you reminded yourself. Be diplomatic. Be an ally.

It was all about to go down the drain.

*Read Next Part*

[tentendeservedbetter]

home is where my team is - Chapter 4

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Concentrate.

He swiftly hopped over a gigantic tree root on the path with ease, catching a better momentum through the uneven terrain made by the trees as he followed the white puppy that hopped alongside him.

Concentrate.

Kiba pushed his heel into the dirt once he reached flatter land between the trees, screeching to a halt, forcing Akamaru to stop a few centimeters ahead of him and looking back to him, waiting for Kiba to relay a command.

I gotta find her before the others do, Kiba thought as he inhaled sharply, twisting his head around. Her scent now muddles with the surrounding trees that he encountered as he reached deeper and deeper into the training grounds, away from the forest reached into his beige pack and pulled out the petal he took from the pile of Kurenai's petals that left behind.

The petal was real, alright. Kurenai said it was a Genjutsu - but does Genjutsu leave behind physical remnants?

Why didn’t Kiba pay attention to that section of class closely? The Academy teachers downplayed the art, saying it required specialized training to be able to be competent in the art, and he thinks he only had one Academy teacher who actually used Genjutsu, but only to demonstrate the effects.

Even that demonstration wouldn’t have prepared him for how Genjutsu would translate out in the shinobi world. The only thing Kiba remembered was how to expel a genjutsu when you were trapped in one and when a comrade had fallen for one; either you determining that you’re in a Genjutsu, expelling the illusion itelse, physically harm yourself forcing yourself out of the spell through pain, or a simple Tiger sign and concentrating the chakra to the tips of your index and middle fingers before tapping it on your fallen comrade’s forehead, disrupting their chakra flow and waking them up.

Without even thinking much of it, Genjutsu was complicated to use, going beyond his own abilities as a straight-from-the-Academy ninja, and much more complicated to understand compared to the two other arts.

The lectures they would have on Genjutsu always consisted of learning the ins and outs of the human brain and the nervous system, having to study systems within systems and how they were different from each other, and how Genjutsu works.

None of which Kiba absorbed, only remembering that the hippocampus had something to do with learning and it sounded really close to hippopotamus (which you have to admit, is a funny word), and Naruto must have cracked a joke about not having one in the middle of class and...

Can’t worry about the details now, Kiba thought as he lifted the pink petal up to his nose. I need to follow her scent.

Regardless of whether the petals were an after effect of Kurenai’s jutsu or not, Kiba knew one thing for sure; where there is something physical, there is a scent attached to it, and since the petals were from Kurenai, Kurenai must either smell like the flowers or vice versa.

Either way, it should link back to her.

It was like using the Substitution Jutsu; you substitute yourself with an object nearby, but your traces would still be on the item because you touched it yourself when you switched with the item.

Makes sense right?

Kiba won’t claim that he’s exceptional with his sense of smell compared to others within his clan, no, he still had a long way to go before he can have the type of chakra control they had, with a longer range and a stronger sense of smell, but he knew how to pick apart various overlapping scents, given that he had a guide that would enable him to pick up the scent he wanted to follow.

And with these petals that were found, they had a scent that led down a specific path; almost like a single invisible string connecting between the petals towards the Training Ground 1, the training ground closest to the Hokage Rock. The petals were similar to cherry blossoms, yet their scent was more like a garden of roses from what he could discern. Maybe there was more to it that he couldn’t determine at the moment, but the rosy scent was evident and stood out against the various scents found in the training ground, from the dirt underneath their sandals to the various trees that populated the land.

“Alright Akamaru,” Kiba said, squatting and holding the petal towards. Even if he managed to lose her scent, Akamaru had a sharper nose, being an actual dog and all, so if Kiba's underdeveloped sense of smell leads them astray or he can’t capture the scent anymore, Akamaru would be able to take the lead.

That’s what ninken - ninja hounds - were mostly used for, after all; they’re an asset for any ninja, especially for any ninja specializing in tracking. And with the Inuzuka clan, tracking is a must-have skill that all shinobi within the clan must possess.

That and, well, the ability to assault an enemy with said ninken.

Hopefully Kiba would be able to demonstrate his and Akamaru’s teamwork together; they may not have had that much time developing their ninja skills together, but Akamaru listened to Kiba and knew how he moved, which was more than enough at the moment.

“I got her scent, Master!” Akamaru barked, wagging his tail as he lifted his nose further through the trees to their left, further away from the river that broke through the training ground they were in and further with the trees. Kiba could smell the roses going deeper that direction as well, and nodded, giving Akamaru an affirmative grin while patting his head.

“Good job,” Kiba said in a more direct and deeper voice, trying to stop himself from sounding like he was cooing at his puppy (even thought, dammit, Akamaru looked really cute when he got excited and happy over doing something right), before standing up, facing the direction Akamaru had pointed out. “Let’s go!”

With Akamaru taking the lead, Kiba followed him with equal speed. They continued through the trees until Kiba could see a clearing in the distance where they were heading, the rosy scent he had lost earlier becoming suddenly clear as they approached it.

“Akamaru, stop,” Kiba commanded as he quickly halted, letting out a low whistle immediately to get Akamaru’s attention when they were a few meters away from the clearing.

“Be ready for anything, boy,” Kiba continued, his voice dropping, as he reached to the pack that sat on his waist, feeling his way around it, making sure he had everything he needed.

Kunais? Check.

Shurikens? Check.

Smoke bombs? Check.

Paper bombs? Check.

The four main items that a shinobi must have at all times on them - also known, in his head, as: Keep Shit (together) and Smoke Paper (Bombs). Iruka had probably taught them a more appropriate mnemonics, but this was the only one that stuck in his brain.

He then reached to the blue holster wrapped around his right thigh, an easy access point for the most pertinent items he would need to defend himself, having at least one of each item inside. When he made sure he had everything set, he glanced down to Akamaru, who was waiting patiently for his next command.

“Alright Akamaru, you know what we have to do,” Kiba replied. “She probably has that headband tight on her forehead, so we’re going to have to pull it all the way back. You think you can yank it off with one pull?”

“Yessir!” Akamaru barked with intense determination, sitting down and staring at Kiba with intent as Kiba explained their plan of action.

He wasn’t as a rash as he may appear to be- he knew that in order to achieve your goal, you have to have a complete plan to back it up. You especially needed to make sure everyone in your team knew what their job is.

And his team right now is himself and Akamaru.

“Alright...I’m counting on you buddy,” Kiba finished up as he lifted up his hand towards Akamaru in a high-five. Akamaru immediately tapped his hand with his own paw, his soft, padded soles light and small against Kiba’s palm.

C-Cute, the thought slipped into his mind for a moment, feeling his hand gravitating towards Akamaru’s head, fingers itching to pet him, but he held himself back. He shouldn’t be praising Akamaru too much. Kiba is trying to be a full-fledged shinobi; and a shinobi are not the coddling type, no sirree.

And he will especially not coddle his ninken, who’s supposed to obey what he has to say to begin with.

...okay maybe this once, Kiba finally thought, giving in and gave Akamaru a quick ruffle on his head, receiving a happy whine from his ninken as he closed his eyes, enjoying the massage.

“Let’s go,” Kiba said as he retracted his hand, standing up quickly as Akamaru barked a ‘yessir!’.

They silently walked towards the clearing, each step cautiously avoiding any twigs and leaves that would make any sort of sharp sound that would indicate they were nearby. The closer they got towards the last set of trees before the clearing, the louder Kiba could hear his heartbeat against his chest.

He wasn’t nervous, no way! ...Well, maybe a little, he never had to actually fight like this before, those sparring matches at the Academy definitely didn’t help...No, wait he can’t think this way! A shinobi should never be nervous! He just needed to calm down- just take a deep breath and focus on his objective...forget about the shame of returning to the Academy, if he comes home after failing an important test like this, imagine how hard his Mom would kick his ass in front of the whole neighbourhood! She’d be more strict than she already was, he didn’t need to have her on his case more than she already was! There’s no way he’s gonna go back to being treated as some little runt who had to be watched over and babied, no way-

“You found me.”

Kiba felt his heart skip a beat as he stared directly to the source of the voice, to find Kurenai standing on the opposite side of the clearing, her jet black hair and deep red dress sticking out like a sore thumb against the green around them.

Kurenai seemed to have been waiting by the tree just for Kiba to make his appearance. She stood up straight as she usually does, arms crossed over her chest, her hands empty - no kunai, no shuriken.

She just stood there.

Kiba’s eyes shifted around the clearing quickly, looking from the flat, ground relatively worn down, likely from the amount of people training on this surface, trying to look for anything that could tip off that it was a trap; some invisible thread, that might trigger a net trap and hoist both him and Akamaru up off from the ground and swinging on a tree branch. Or, maybe some dirt that looked freshly patted back on, hiding a deep hole in the ground.

“Kiba Inuzuka, was it?” Kurenai’s smooth voice broke through the silence, still standing straight, barely moving an inch as Kiba approached her. He stopped a few good meters away to allow him to see her and her immediate area. She paused as the wind started to blow sharply against his left cheek, her long black tresses swaying to the left. “From the great Inuzuka clan.”

“Damn right I am,” Kiba grinned at the mention of his clan, a sense of pride swelling in his chest, his voice loud and confident.

“And you’re Hana Inuzuka’s younger brother, correct?” Kurenai continued without missing a beat, unbothered by his confidence, watching him carefully. Kiba could feel the atmosphere still for a moment at the mention of his sister’s name, almost out of the blue.

“Yeah, I am,” Kiba replied, now a bit forceful with his words, trying not to appear hesitant at her question as he maintained his fighting stance. “What about it.”

“I’ve worked with her before,” Kurenai said, eyes never leaving the young boy. “She’s quite a brilliant girl; incredibly perceptive, amazing tracking abilities...I was surprised when she decided to pursue being a medic- a veterinarian at that- but, that job requires incredible finesse in many skills, so her abilities aren’t going to waste.”

“She does what she wants to do,” Kiba said courtly, squinting his eyes slightly, scanning around Kurenai, trying to discern anything out of the ordinary.

“Your clan is indispensable to Konoha; and those within your family have quite the presence within the shinobi force,” Kurenai continued with a soft smile. “I wonder if you’ll live up to their precedence.”

Kurenai lifted her arms with a quick motion, triggering Kiba to pull out a shuriken from his blue holster, holding it tightly in his right hand in front of him, positioning himself. Kurenai had her hands in front of her and quickly started to create hand signs, so fast that Kiba would have missed the sequence if he had blinked for a second too long.

Tiger. Boar. Ox. Dog.

A clone jutsu? Figures started to cleave out of Kurenai’s body, smoke appearing as clouds in front of them and as it slowly started to settle, revealing three Kurenais in a line, taking a slight forward leaning stance. Kiba's eyes trailed down, noticing her legs barely splitting far enough to take a proper stance in her dress, an arm in front of her chest, while the other arm was extended, parallel over her leg that was placed forward.

How is she going to fight like that? He never saw his mother or sister wearing a dress when they left for work, opting for the typical dark cargo pants and maybe the standard navy blue long sleeve shirt, with the spiral symbols on the side.

“Your Academy profile said that your strong suit was Taijutsu,” all three Kurenai replied, synchronically waving the hand that was outstretched, beckoning him to come towards her. “And you even said it yourself yesterday. Now...let’s see what you got.”

“Akamaru, to your left,” Kiba ordered immediately as all three Kurenais started to rush in towards him, one straight through the middle, while the other two looped around. Akamaru let out a bark of acknowledgment, already digging his paws into the ground, ready to pounce.

I already know that clones are useless and they can’t do anything, Kiba thought, glancing to the left. “So…”

Kiba stepped back as he did a roundhouse kick with his right leg to one of the Kurenais, who didn’t bother moving out of the way and dissipated as his leg swung through, flicking his right wrist to send the shuriken in his right hand flying straight towards the Kurenai heading towards him.

The centre Kurenai produced a kunai in her hand, slipping out of her left sleeve, and used it to deflect the shuriken away, sending it rocking towards the side and onto the ground.

So she’s the real one! Kiba thought, as he pulled out a kunai from his blue leg holster, throwing it so it landed a meter before Kurenai, slightly to the right of her running projection from his perspective.

“You missed,” Kurenai said, continuing to run, never straying from her path.

Kiba smirked at this, a crooked smirk with his fangs bearing, saying with a scoff, “No I didn’t.”

A hiss emitted from the spot that his kunai had just landed, the smell of burning paper suddenly infiltrated the air. Light grey smoke formed strings wafting upwards towards the atmosphere from the kunai, and if you looked closely, there was a piece of paper, the size of his hand with red borders, flapping around as it was slowly being eaten by a flame.

Kiba bent backwards, pushing his hands off the ground hard to get further back from the kunai’s site, taking a stance as he crossed his arms in front of his chest, bracing himself. Kurenai quickly halted to a stop, looking straight at the kunai, piercing eyes glancing at the kunai as she side-stepped to the left, but it was too small of a step to escape from the blast zone.

A flash of bright white light engulfed the surrounding ground, before a loud blast emitted, the heavy sounds of crumbling dirt and debris being pushed out and haphazardly slamming the ground, the shrubs, the trees. Big puffs of brown dust had engulfed the smoke, slanting and drifting with the direction of the wind.

Did we get her? Kiba thought, eyebrows furrowed as he wafted away the dust that had made its way towards him, shifting his eyes around as he blinked a few times. The sound of something skidding across the ground could be heard for a moment, before Kiba could see Kurenai emerge from the smoke, sliding directly opposite to where the bomb exploded, a hand on the ground to hasten her stop.

The dust started to settle more than before, and Kiba can see how scuffed her dress looked now with a layer of dust covering over it, the edges of the white stripes that zig zagged across her body looking frayed, stinging from the bomb. The explosion didn’t seem to have left much damage to her, though, just making her look like she rolled across the ground, her skin unscathed.

Once she stopped, Kurenai let out a hasty sigh, and looked up towards Kiba, who watched her for a moment. Her face was no longer the calm one that she had on earlier; her eyebrows were pulled in slightly, her eyes narrower.

Now she’ll take him seriously.

“That was a close one,” she said, maintaining her cool tone. “I admit, I underestimated your ability to strategize. If I had hesitated, I would’ve gotten hurt just now. Good thing your plan didn’t work-”

“That wasn’t my plan to begin with.”

Kiba didn’t think twice- he quickly put his thumb and index finger into his mouth, pushing it to the sides and onto his tongue as he let out a sharp whistle. Kurenai stared at him, eyes widening as she glanced around. There was a quick rasping sound that started to get louder.

CHE-CHE-CHE-CHE.

“What the-” Kurenai let out a gasp when she glanced towards the ground around her, the sounds from there, and before she could step away in time, the dirt beneath her crumpled and collapsed, crashing deeper into the earth.

Half a meter away from her, something bursted out from underneath the ground, a small figure popping out, it’s white fur covered in a layer of brown dirt.

“Akamaru!” Kiba cheered as the small figure that had popped out of the ground let out a bark in confirmation, shaking his body quickly to dissipate the dirt off his coat.

Kurenai’s feet disappeared into the ground, then her legs, her torso, until the tip of her black hair disappeared, a loud thump being emitted right afterwards and a grunt following suit.

“Alright!” Kiba continued victoriously, clenching his fist as he punched the air, running towards where Akamaru stood. “You did it, buddy!”

“Just as you planned!” Akamaru barked, panting as Kiba gave him a pat on the head.

And he was right. Kiba wasn’t trying to hurt Kurenai at all with that paper bomb. They didn’t want to fight.

The name of the game was to get the headband. While displaying his physical prowess would be on the top of his list of things to show off to his teacher, it wouldn’t matter how good he was unless he got that damn headband off her head.

Kiba’s eyes strayed from his face to the tip of Akamaru’s nose, the dirt still stuck, before continuing down to his paws. Some parts of Akamaru’s nails had chipped from digging into the soil, the hard dirt leaving scratches on what's left.

“I’ll make sure we get all that dirt out of your nails and everything tonight, alright boy?”

"Alright!" Akamaru barked, and Kiba started towards the hole, a kunai his hand, ready to get the headband from Kurenai.

He peered through the hole to find Kurenai sitting on the ground, and he grinned as he called out, "I guess that means I win sensei! Now if you don't mind, I'll be taking that headband of yours!"

Kurenai stared back up at him, saying nothing at first. Kiba could see, however, a ghost of a smile on her lips, and before he could say anything, white smoke emerged out of Kurenai's body, engulfing her.

A clone? Kiba though in disbelief, watching as the puffs of white smoke started to settle to the ground. In the place where Kurenai had just sat in was now a log about his size. No…A substitution jutsu!

“You really are full of surprises,” a voice hummed from behind him, so close to his body that he jolted forward, strangling the small yelp that was about to escape his mouth from being spooked so suddenly.

He didn’t have time to think- a new rush of adrenaline surged through his body, his heart beating quickly as he twisted his head back around, before spinning his whole body back with his heels, swinging a hooked punch directly towards Kurenai. Unwittingly, despite his reactionary swing being fast, his fist was caught by and hit a bandaged hand, causing a surge of back that held onto his fist, squeezing it hard suddenly as her sharp, red finger dug into the back of his hand, cutting into his skin, a sharp pain coming

Kiba lifted his leg, kicking downwards at an angle towards Kurenai’s shin, forcing her to step to the side, as he did a high back kick to where she stood. She quickly let go of his fist, jumping back to avoid his heel to her chin. 

Gotta push her back and make her waste her energy! Kiba thought as he felt his breathing hitch up as he threw a punch, rotating his hip to maximize its force as Kurenai rotated her body sideways, his fist barely touching her stomach. He managed to take a step forward, making his body face towards her, and did an uppercut punch with his other hand towards her chin, however, Kurenai reacted quickly and stepped backwards, away from him.

“You’re using your fists,” Kurenai noted while she took a step back. “I thought your clan likes to gouge their enemies?”

“You want me to fight like that?” Kiba growled as he loosened his fists immediately. “I’ll fight like that!”

He flexed the top parts of his fingers in, as he swiped out across Kurenai’s face as she blocked it with an arm. His clan’s fighting style - Juujin Taijutsu or Man Beast Technique - was the Inuzuka technique that was known for being.. well...more ferocious and wild compared to other fighting styles. They continued to spar as Kiba continued to swipe his hand around, trying to claw at Kurenai, but she was too fast - she either dodged or blocked, circling around him to avoid getting hit.

He could feel his arms starting to ache slightly, the lactic acid building up and making his muscles feel stiff. There was a sharp cramp in his stomach, but he had to break Kurenai down.

“Akamaru, jump!” Kiba commanded.

“On it!”

He can feel the light step of Akamaru’s paws jumped on top of Kiba’s shoulder and running along his extended arm towards Kurenai, mouth open, fangs baring. Akamaru did a quick snap of the teeth against the side of her headband, ripping it off her forehead and yanking it through her hair, making her head snap back from the force of his bite.

“Nice one Akamaru!” Kiba said as he pulled away, Kurenai stumbled backwards from being tugged back, but planted her feet quickly and maintained her stance.

“Alright!” Kiba whooped, punching the air triumphantly as Akamaru bounced up and down around his feet. “We got it! We passed the test!”

“Yay!” Akamaru yipped with excitement. Kiba glanced down to his companion, grinning, and gave a satisfied pat on his head.

Alright! Now time to take the prize-

“You haven’t figured it out yet, have you?”

Kiba felt his heart skip suddenly, the atmosphere frozen at the coldness of her voice, distant and an echo. Kiba glanced back towards her, her torso bent forward as she stood up, facing his direction, her long black tresses covering her face. She stood up straight as she ran a bandaged hand through the middle of her hair, pushing it aside.

"What are you on about-"

“The flower petal,” Kurenai replied, barely moving an inch as her eyes trailed down to his pack. “You used it to find me, didn’t you?”

“What d’ya mean?” Kiba snapped back immediately, not understanding as he followed her gaze and glanced down. Kurenai’s silent stare made his hand slip into the pack hesitantly.

A glitch jolted through the pink petal within a fraction of a second, breaking the petal in half, before it dissolved and dissipated into his hand, disappearing without a trace.

“What the-” Kiba gasped as he lifted his hand up to his eye level, squeezing his fingers against his palm as he opened and closed it a few times, flipping his palm down to look at the back of his hand. “Where’d it go!”

“Master, the headband!” Akamaru exclaimed quickly, making Kiba whip his head back down towards his other hand that held Kurenai’s headband. He stared with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open in shock as the handband started to have jolts of empty space punctured along the headband, before becoming fuzzy and melting into his hand, leaving no traces of its behind.

“What the hell!? What’s going on?”

“I thought you would at least figure it out by now,” Kurenai replied, her voice light and airy, as if genuinely mystified by Kiba’s behaviour. “I even left a hint before we fought-”

“What hint?! What are you on about!” Kiba barked back, feeling a combination of annoyed and confused anger at what was happening before his eyes.

“...Your teammate, Shino,” Kurenai continued cautiously, and Kiba could feel his teeth grinding at the mention of his teammate. “Figured out they weren’t real immediately. Before we began, I did mention that everything was a genjutsu, after all.”

A..a genjutsu?

“So...am I even in the training grounds,” Kiba replied hesitantly. “Or am I...still at the Hokage Rock? No wait, but...everything felt normal until I got here...it was the usual distance...Hold on... wait I’m confused...shit-”

“Language,” Kurenai interrupted, eyebrows pulling in slightly. “This is something they taught you in class. Genjutsu is all about manipulation. Sometimes, it’s the little things...the things you think are there, but are actually not there.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll figure it out,” Kurenai continued, her face softening slightly. “I’ll leave you alone for now. But next time we face each other...I won’t be so easy on you. Think before you move.”

With that, Kurenai disappeared into the backdrop, leaving not a single trace of her behind as Kiba watched with wide eyes and gritted teeth.

He was confused.

And he was pissed off.

How did he manage to get himself into a genjutsu? When did he get himself into a genjutsu?

Kiba lifted his left hand up, grimacing, inhaling deeply.

He closed his eyes, to prevent his mind psyching himself out. Drawing a kunai from his pack with his right hand, he placed his left palm to face sideways, and quickly pushed the sharp tip of the kunai in, beyond the epidermis into the tissue, a sharp pain immediately following as gushes of blood slowly leaking from the parameter of the kunai, down to his wrist.

His eyes shot open as he immediately sat up with a sharp breath, wincing while pulling the kunai out of his palm. All the endurance training, physical and mental, during his Academy years and his mom’s ass kicking might have helped him with his higher pain tolerance, making the pain comparable to a slight sting, but the action of stabbing himself made him cringe in slight fright - it’s something he still needs to work on.

“Dammit,” Kiba muttered as he quickly scrunched his bleeding palm against his sleeve, putting a slight pressure against it, trying to stop the bleeding. He was sure he didn’t push too deep and hit any veins, but he didn’t want to lose more blood than he needed too. And he especially did not need to get an infection from having an open wound - he would never hear the end of it for both his mom and sister.

He levelled out his breathing, glancing around. He was alone in the same place where he was with Kurenai before - the same landing, the same ground, the same trees…everything was in place except for Kurenai’s presence.

He sniffed, concentrating on trying to capture Kurenai’s scent- but all that he could smell were the trees around him, the green leaves and the water from a stream nearby where he sat. The rosy scent was nothing more than a memory, barely a trace in the air.

But how?

A scent never disappears. Even if you cover it up, there will always be a trail that is left behind…

From the corner of his eyes he could see a small, tuff of white curled up beside, and he glanced down to find Akamaru, eyes closed, sound asleep under the genjutsu Kurenai had placed on them.

“Akamaru, wake up,” Kiba croaked out, tapping the puppy with his non bleeding hand, but Akamaru kept snoring away, barely reacting to Kiba’s touch. Kiba had to use pain to bypass the genjutsu and escape it; if it can be avoided, he could also disturb the genjutsu if he pulsed a bit of his chakra into the affected person's...or, in this case, dog's...chakra system.

Letting go off the pressure on his hand, Kiba lifted both hands up in front of him, intertwining both of his ring and baby fingers together, leaving his middle, index, and thumb to press together, as he concentrated his chakra to flow towards his hands. At least he picked up something from his lessons that he could use.

Kai! He tapped his right fingers over Akamaru’s forehead.

“What happened?” Akamaru asked with a light bark, moving his head around, surveying the area around them. “Where is Kurenai-sensei?”

“We got trapped in her genjutsu,” Kiba replied, crossing his arms, his eyebrows automatically pulled in as he replayed everything that had happened, from the moment Kurenai disappeared while they were on top of the Hokage Rock all the way until he came down to the Training Grounds and supposedly confronted her.

A genjutsu within a genjutsu…

It all started with those petals...Touching had triggered the genjutsu to start and lead him down to Training Ground 1...but those were definitely not real, they were illusions, so how was he able to follow the scent?

What did Iruka-sensei teach us, Kiba scrunched up his face as he recollected his memories, shifting through all the classes he sat in, all those times he sat in those goddamned uncomfortable benches. Think...Think…

“Besides taijutsu and ninjutsu, another ninja art that a shinobi must learn and understand is genjutsu. Learning genjutsu is quite hard compared to the other two arts, though; it requires time and practice. At the Academy, we won’t teach you any genjutsus, but we still want you to know what it is and how to prepare for it, ” Iruka’s voice rang into Kiba's mind, as he tried to recollect his teacher's words. They were in class, just like any other day at the Academy; though it was at the beginning of his shinobi Academy years and they were covering basic theory about the different shinobi arts. “First, we need to understand what Genjutsu means. It literally means ‘Illusionary Technique’- therefore, we can refer to it as the Art of Illusion.”

He remembered Iruka walking towards the board, notes in hand as he picked up a piece of chalk and started to write on the chalkboard, writing down the symbols of the word and his short definition. Iruka then turned towards the class, and continued.

“Illusions. What is the definition of illusions?”

“Illusions are things that you think are there but are not actually there. Like a mirage; it’s an optical illusion that is created by refraction of light from the sky when it’s really hot,” a different voice piped up further away from where Kiba sat, closer to the front row, a girl’s voice...it must have been Sakura Haruno, his pink haired classmate; she was always the first one to raise her hand. Smart girl, for sure, but man, was she annoying as hell.

“That’s correct, Sakura,” Iruka said with a smile. “But there is a key component that you are missing. That definition implies that it’s only illusions that we are able to see that can occur; but that’s not accurate.”

Iruka quickly jotted a word on the board that Kiba couldn’t bring himself to remember, before etching 5 lines branching out of the word he wrote, jotting down a word by each of these lines.

“I want you guys to remember this: illusions are anything that can be perceived wrong by ⬛⬛⬛⬛,” Iruka said as he returned to face the class, the words barely reaching Kiba’s ears, as Iruka tapped underneath the word that was centred between the lines. “⬛⬛⬛⬛ are manipulated and influenced by Genjutsu, either together or separately. Now, we’ll get into the intricacies of how exactly genjutsu affects our bodies. I assume you all read the assigned readings? All of this and the readings are a part of your first test, after all.”

Grumbled responses filled immediately out, as students shuffled around to pick out their notebooks and textbooks, Kiba kept staring at the board, already having everything out but not bothering to write it down, knowing that he would just cram everything and purge out the memory of Genjutsu by the time he left the Academy. Like Iruka said, they had to know about it, but how useful is it if most shinobi don’t use it?

He was such an idiot. Why didn’t he write any of this down? He remembers cramming for this test but...the moment he finished the test and handed it in, his head went back to being empty and blank.

Genjutsu is the art of illusion, Kiba repeated in his head. And illusions are anything that can be perceived wrong by...by what? Was it...was it senses?

It sounded right. Optical illusions, like a mirage, are what affects your sight and your other senses.

“She said she gave me a hint before we started fighting,” Kiba muttered to himself. “What was it?"

He looked around at his surroundings. A gust of wind, cold and dry, came through, hitting Kiba on his left cheek once again, making his head turn away slightly like he had to do earlier…

Her hair blew to my left, Kiba realised, remembering the way Kurenai’s hair sway. But the wind…

An optical illusion. That should’ve hinted that he was in her genjutsu immediately. How could he not realise that something was off right away?! Looking back at it, it was obviously an error in what he saw- how could he let that slide?!

Alright, but those are not the only senses humans have, Kiba continued his train of thought.

Sight is a major sense, for sure, but there’s also sound, touch, taste…and...

Smell.

And if Genjutsu can affect them all together or separately...

“Nooo,” Kiba groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, scrunching up his face.

“What’s wrong?” Akamaru asked, pushing off the ground with his two front legs, balancing on his two rear legs, setting his front paws on top of Kiba’s bare knees, the soft padding of his soles bringing little comfort to Kiba at the moment.

“I don’t think we’re going to be able to smell her out that easily, boy,” Kiba said with a huff, glancing up. “The flower petal wasn’t the only thing she manipulated. The scent from the smell and associating it with her...that was part of the manipulation. Makes sense...that petal was a cherry blossom but it smelled like roses…The moment the petal left, so did the scent...”

And if she can manipulate her smell, that means she can easily mislead us and push us away from her, Kiba thought, lifting himself off of the ground, staggering slightly. This is going to be harder than I thought it was gonna be, dammit!

He glanced up to the sky, the sun rising further up, brightening the sky further revealing bluer shades, higher than where it had stood when he left. An hour must have passed since this test started. That means he only has four hours left to find Kurenai, take her headband, and officially be inaugurated as a shinobi like he should be.

But the question is… how is he going to find her?

He's back at square one - he doesn’t have a piece of clothing from her or even a strand of hair; the whole fight occurred in a genjutsu. That Kurenai was far from real, and she was probably watching and controlling the illusion play out from a distance.

For all Kiba knows, she could have left as soon as she set up the genjutsu within the genjutsu...man, this the most he’s actually thought about the word genjutsu before.

“Shit...Shit, what am I gonna do now?” Kiba kicked the dirt with the toe of his sandal, trying not to let his annoyance and anger get the best of him, trying to rack his brain for a solution to this entire mess.

He knew he was wasting time; he probably lost an hour already from getting caught in that genjutsu, from the way the sun was sitting in the sky, and with every second he stands there

Akamaru was sniffing the air, his tail wagging excitedly as he started panting, as he bounced around on his paws, barking, "Master! Master! I smell someone!"

"Who is it, Akamaru?"

"Hinata!" Akamaru barked cheerfully, glancing up to him with excited eyes. "She's in the training grounds!"

"She is?" Kiba asked, lifting his head, sharply inhaling, trying to discern through any of the scents, but he didn’t necessarily know what scent he was looking for. Everything was melding together, a hodgepodge of deep, green, pine bark and moist dirt and dewed grass....He couldn’t catch anything out of place that would indicate that a person was anywhere nearby.

Everything has a scent. Everyone has a scent. That doesn’t mean, however, that Kiba was familiar with all the scents in the world.

And especially not another person’s scent.

Being Hinata’s classmate from a young age, he had a lingering notion of what she would smelled like- but it was not enough for him to recognize it instantaneously compared to how he’s able to recognize his friends’ scent, and it was definitely not enough for him to find it amongst all these other scents around him. He would need something that belonged to her with her scent, like her jacket to have a temporary sense of her smell.

But for him to really understand someone’s scent, to really etch it into your memory, well...it’s more intimate than that.

Hopefully it doesn’t get to that point with them, though.

“Where is she?” Kiba continued to Akamaru, his tongue sticking out, waiting for Kiba’s next command. “How far is she?”

Akamaru circled around a bit as he continued to sniff the air, closing his eyes slightly as he paused for a few seconds, before he sat down, his head facing straight, saying, “She’s on the edge of the area that way. About...2 km away!”

No wonder I couldn’t smell her, Kiba thought, scrunching up his nose slightly. As much as he is embarrassed to admit it, his range in scents is not as mature as it could be...he’s been trying to expand it the past year, but there’s only so many ways to expand one’s sense of smell when you were already familiar with your surroundings and nothing new really shows up to force you to focus.

I can’t let them know that though, Kiba shook his head. He can’t let that distract him. He needs to find Kurenai as soon as he can and get that damn headband off her head!

“Master! I think there’s someone else there!” Akamaru spoke up after a few moments. “There’s an unfamiliar scent in the same direction as Hinata!”

“Unfamiliar scent?” Kiba repeated, piercing eyes widening for a moment as he stared towards the direction that Akamaru was looking at. That must be...

Kiba stared at the trees before him for a moment; judging by how the sun had risen, he can only assume that the dense forest before him would lead them towards the direction of the wall that surrounded the village. Hinata should be directly across from where he was standing...maybe a bit further in, considering how much time he must have spent in that genjutsu.

“They seem to be staying in one place!” Akamaru continued, waiting patiently for Kiba’s next move. “What should we do next?”

Kiba pondered this for a moment, his gaze returning to the ground. What should he do...Should he just follow through and go to where Hinata is? What if he has to fight Hinata for the headband...Well it’s not like he’s worried about wrestling the headband out of her hand.

And it is not like standing around here, thinking too hard about what he should do, is going to make Kurenai come to him- the goal of this game is to hunt her down, no matter what.

Kiba took a step towards Akamaru, determination coursing through his body as he grinned at Akamaru. “We find them.”

She ran through the trees, not at the usual full speed that she would normally take, but quick enough to let her take in her surroundings and be alert for any changes in her environment that felt out of place.

I have to hurry...I have to find Kurenai-sensai and pass!

Hinata wasn’t sure how long she'd been running at this pace, but she knew she couldn’t stop anytime soon. Thankfully, Kiba told her which direction Kurenai was heading, and with that in mind, Hinata was able to make her way through Training Ground 1, using the tracking skills she used from the Academy to follow a clear cut path. Kurenai must’ve laid a few traps along the way- trip wires, nets, you name it- Hinata found a trail of them along the way, hidden by the grass and bushes, that she disarmed so it didn’t hurt anyone else who could have encountered them.

She thought of it as a sort of favour, she guessed, to the others. She knew that they were supposed to be her competition, her rivals in this little test to become a shinobi, but... Kiba didn’t have to tell them where she was. He could have kept it to himself, but he decided to tell Shino and her where Kurenai was heading, saving them time...

Maybe...maybe he’s not so scary after all… Hinata thought, stopped along her tracks at a small clearing between the trees, catching her breath for a while. It’s too bad we can’t be a team...Or, atleast, that’s what Kurenai-sensei said.

That’s all Hinata could really think about as she travelled through the grounds, trying to track Kurenai down, her words echoing in her head. Why would the Hokage put them into teams like this- carefully considering their skills, their backgrounds, their academic performance - only for Kurenai to tell them that she would only accept one? She did believe Kurenai’s words about being sent back to the Academy, and yet…

This felt counter to everything she was taught in the Academy. Throughout her years studying in elementary school and during the Shinobi Academy, there was an underlying emphasis for everyone to collaborate and work together, no matter what. Always trying to make things work, even if you were paired up with people you didn’t necessarily get along with (not that Hinata didn’t get along with anyone...but she wasn’t necessarily friends with anyone).

An elevated patch in the clearing in front of her drew her attention, the obvious height difference making it difficult to ignore. Hinata threw a kunai towards the elevated patch with as much force as she could muster in her arm, hitting it somewhere around the middle, and the patch collapsed from the weight of the kunai, folding into the emptiness inside.

Another trap? Hinata thought, as she carefully walked around. Kurenai must have set these up beforehand, but it was hard for Hinata to believe that Kurenai would actually take the time to dig up so many holes in the ground...

From the fresh dirt pebbles that strayed further ahead beyond the hole, Hinata assumed that Kurenai must have headed even further into the training grounds in the directions the dirt led. For a Jonin, Kurenai was pretty sloppy, in Hinata’s humble opinion...or she must have wanted Hinata to find her to begin with.

Regardless, from this point on, Hinata sensed that she had to be even more careful than before. She pulled out a kunai from her beige pack, holding it close to chin as she started to walk carefully through a pair of bushes. She could see more light coming from beyond a few trees ahead; indicating a larger clearing was nearby. Running water, bubbling and splashing rocks, could be heard distantly as she started to make her way towards the tree; she must have been near the edge of the grounds, where it laid against the wall that guarded the Village. The river fed through from the outside land, carrying fresh water and little minnows along the way, and was a place that she had seen a few students playing hooky when they were practicing their tracking skills.

As she started to reach the open landing, she caught a scent in the air that came out of nowhere, a heavy rosy perfume that filled her nostrils, and she could feel her breath hitch as she paused momentarily. Hinata continued, cautiously, quietly, and she squatted and crawled behind a few bushes when she could see the clearing in its entirety.

There stood Kurenai, her red dress a stark contrast and making her an obvious target, standing as she stared off towards the river to Hinata’s right.

She had to think of a game plan. Quickly. What should she do? What can she do? Kurenai was right in front of her and hadn’t spotted Hinata as of yet...she has the element of surprise on her side. She needs to use that to her advantage!

I have smoke bombs...maybe I could throw it at her and come behind her...no, but it could make a sound if I threw it and would give where I am away… I know! Maybe I could throw a shuriken at an angle and it can come around like a boomerang and can somehow confuse her? No...I’m not really good at throwing shurikens in a straight line anyways, how would I angle it to come around...

The silence was getting the best of Hinata, as did her rising anxiety as she tried to formulate a plan.

She could feel her heart beating louder and louder with every shuffled step she took towards Kurenai, her ears and wrists throbbing from her blood pulsing through her veins. She subconsciously tightened her grip on her kunai, so tight that her hand started to shake slightly as it started to turn pale.

She can’t see me, Hinata told herself, taking a shallow breath. I just have to make sure I don’t make a sound-

SNAP!

Hinata froze as she looked down, biting down on her lip hard to stop herself from yelping at the sight of her foot stepping on a twig - a small, harmless twig. Kurenai’s head snapped immediately towards the direction Hinata stood, eyes immediately meeting hers, unwavering.

“Who’s there?” Kurenai asked, never moving a muscle. Hinata, slightly embarrassed by her amateur mistake, shuffled past the bush into the open landing, keeping the hand that held the kunai in the same place, except her grip was tighter.

“Hinata,” Kurenai said, her tone inflecting, slightly surprised to see the young Hyuuga. “You found me. That was pretty fast. How were you able to do it?”

“I-I-” Hinata stumbled over her words, glancing between Kurenai and the ground, feeling her blood running cold. She could feel Kurenai’s eyes drilling into her, watching her every movement, from the way her hand shakes slightly to the quiver of her lips as she tried to form words.

“If you keep holding your kunai like that, you’re going to drop it.”

Hinata forced herself to look up to stare back at Kurenai, directly into her eyes, flecked with gold specks along the brown of her irises-

Her irises...

"Your eyes," Hinata spoke suddenly, a bit too loudly for even herself, feeling her fingers around the hilt of the kunai loosening as she continued to stare. “Are not brown.”

Within a split second, the tips of Kurenai's lips flicked upwards, a soft smile, and their surroundings melded together, Kurenai disappearing into the surrounding spaces.

“I’m happy that you figured out the genjutsu,” Kurenai's voice came from behind Hinata, and she spun around immediately, keeping her guard up, but not moving immediately to her weapon pouch. Kurenai, red irises and all, walked from behind a tree and towards Hinata, keeping a fair distance as she stopped. “I can’t say that same about your teammate, though.”

“You already faced them?” Hinata asked. Of course, Hinata was already falling behind compared to her peers. How long has it been since the test started? An hour? Two hours? Regardless, Hinata took way longer than she should have to track Kurenai down- especially if she was supposed to be a part of a tracking team.

“One of them,” Kurenai said. “Kiba, I believe his name was. The one with the dog. But he got stuck in another one of my genjutsus, so I doubt he'll wake up anytime soon.”

Wake...up? Hinata repeated, feeling her heartbeat picking up pace, louder and louder, her imagination of what her other genjutsus could have entailed. This one was easy and light; it was a simple perspective illusion, a minute detail that didn’t lead into any sort of injury.

Or, atleast, Hinata was able to get out of it before she could have been injured.

“I know your clan specializes in a unique form of Taijutsu,” Kurenai said as she started to make a few hand signs. Hinata’s eyes automatically traced them, following them, but she was not able to recognize the sequence.

And she didn’t want to find out what it was.

In a split second, she threw the kunai towards Kurenai as a means to distract her, but Kurenai simply stepped aside, the metal whizzing past her at an alarming speed. Kurenai finalized the hand sign, and suddenly puffs of smoke started to surround her, making Hinata take a step back and squinting to peer through the smog.

Once the fog settles, Kurenai stands there with...a few other Kurenais?!

A clone jutsu! Hinata thought, as she took a horse stance, and arm up with the palm of her hand facing outwards, the other hand sitting against her hip and facing downwards, open, readying herself.

The Gentle Fist - the fighting style of her clan - required her to have a more open stance and use her palms and fingers instead of her fists to attack and that more grounded stances that they are usually taught. The Gentle Fist was advantageous with the Byakugan - being able to see the inner working of the chakra network enables her to see the points that would affect the person the most to disarm them, and the Gentle Fist works symbiotically with the Byakugan, making it a dangerous weapon in itself. It was safer for her to use this as well; the style allows for evading most taijutsu attacks. And she definitely needs it; she doesn’t know what kind of fighting style Kurenai uses and she needs to figure it out before she can even think of getting her headband.

“I want to see how good your taijutsu is,” all of the Kurenais, six to be exact, said in unison, taking on a stance with one arm forward and straight, the other one up and in a fist.

One of the Kurenais started to charge towards Hinata; an unusual strategy, usually shinobi would use the clones all at once to confuse the opponent. Hinata could only assume that this was a clone and the real Kurenai was testing her out to see how Hinata would react.

Kurenai came up to her and threw a direct punch, Hinata swinging her back leg around to dodge the move in a circular motion, without ever losing balance. She striked forward with the palm closest to her hip towards Kurenai’s shoulder, who bent backwards, narrowly missing the strike and taking a step back. Hinata kept striking as she stepped forward, finding a rhythm in her strikes as her movements became faster, Kurenai blocking and bending to dodge the attacks. There was a moment where Kurenai’s stomach was exposed, no arms covering the spot, and Hinata bent lower, striking Kurenai with the push of her palm.

Hinata expected the clone to disappear immediately into the palm of her hand, dissipating and phasing into the air, but instead the clones turned into a big puff of smoke, white and thick that floated down to the ground.

I-Illusions? Hinata thought as she spun around and threw a shuriken towards one of the Kurenai clones that came towards her while the others waited and watched. The shuriken hit the clone with a sharp tack to the throat, the clone falling to the ground before a big puff of smoke was released from the clone, engulfing it. Usually the Clone Jutsu would faze out, any objects easily being passed through, but this clone seemed to have a physical, material body.

Another clone appeared through the smoke of the first clone with a punch, Hinata pivoting just in time to avoid contact, before the clone started to throw a few punches at her, pushing her back as she tried to avoid the hits. The clone quickly dropped to the ground and hooked her leg around Hinata’s leg in the middle of her stepping back, sending Hinata’s body swinging upwards in midair, before falling to the ground with a loud THUD.

“Eugh!” Hinata cried out as she fell to the ground onto the side of her hip, a sharp pain stinging through her pelvic bone and muscles, quickly putting her arm up in order to cushion her head from hitting the ground hard.

Using one hand, she waited until a punch came towards her and she lifted her hand gently and guided the clone’s fist, following along the arm pushing it away from her, circumventing the pathway before forming an open knifed hand and karate chopped the clone’s neck as she stood up with a quick flick.

She didn’t think it was as strong of a cut, but it had an intense effect on the clone, and she could hear a thud as her hand connected with the neck, feeling flesh and bone, slightly warm. The clone, just like that last one she had hit, suddenly exploded into white smoke.

Hinata shuffled back further, taken aback from the contact, even more confused than before. What is this thing?

Horse. Tiger. Boar. Hare. Rat. Dog. Horse. Dog. Hare. Rat. Boar. Snake.

Byakugan!

A sudden burst of adrenaline surged through her body, her head tensing slightly as she felt her temples start to flex. She opened her eyes quickly, feeling a slight external release of chakra from her eyes, and her vision cleared as she saw the world, in what she would describe, with an extra layer of film over everything. The colours were the same- the same green trees and the same blue sky -, but she noticed all the fine details suddenly, everything sharpening and contrasting, and within that scope she saw a blue energy spilling out of the peoples in front of her.

A substitution jutsu? Hinata thought, but upon taking a deeper look, she was shocked at the sight that laid before her. All the clones had chakra inside of them, evenly divided, the blue liquid circling around their body, eclectic and sparking with the pace of a pump of the heart.

She has never seen clones having chakra, they were always blank inside; they weren’t supposed to be carrying any type of chakra actually. It’s how she would have been able to discern which Kurenai was the real one. Was this something that she didn't learn about at school?

She didn’t have time to critique the Leaf Village’s academic learning plan; another Kurenai came towards her and she stood up immediately, spared with it a bit before she struck the Kurenai clean in the stomach, right on one of the main chakra points, white smoke cascading around her hand. There were still three more Kurenai's left; two of which should be clones. But which ones were the fakes?

I can’t tell them apart at all! Hinata said as another Kurenai came towards her. She would just have to keep fighting until there was only one left. She continued to parry and spar with the Kurenais, and she could feel her movement starting to slow down, her strikes becoming weaker, and her resorting to circular dodges in order to evade an attack that could leave her in the hospital for a few days. Her hip that she fell on continued to sting, as did her legs from taking a horse stance and sparing for longer than she expected with the Byakugan.

Finally, she managed to strike the last clone, leaving only Kurenai standing.

“I have to admit, I underestimated you Hinata,” Kurenai said suddenly, as she stood up. “I didn’t think you’d be able to endure for this long.”

Hinata could start to feel her eyes becoming wearing, stinging slightly as tears started to form, forcing her to blink a few times. How long had she been using the Byakugan for? The longest she had been able to use the Byakugan continuously was for 5 minutes, and even then, her sight started to blur slightly and her eyes became hurt, forcing her to stop and rest. She must be at that point right now where she couldn’t maintain her Byakugan any longer- if she tries to go on, she might actually cause more harm than good to herself.

I can’t… Hinata started to blink her eyes rapidly, trying to keep her eyes focused, but her eyes became even more watery. I can’t keep it up!

She can feel the veins along her temples relaxing, the sight of the chakra system disappearing, as a pulsing headache started to form. Suddenly, she felt her knees buckle, and she became self aware of how sore her entire body felt. She rarely used the Byakugan while sparring an opponent; it was always test dummies that were set up in the courtyard, and even then, it was exhausting. And Kurenai was a tough opponent to fight against; this was nothing like the Academy fights at all. She did have hands-on practice with Neji during the last year, but he oftentimes went very easy on her while they practiced sparring, avoiding any type of serious injury to Hinata (obviously, Neji was forced to spar with her and not out of his own volition, she had heard her father order him to do so behind closed doors).

She overdid it, more than she intended to; she was careless and used the Byakugan for too long, and now she can barely move. Everything started to spin slightly, and she stumbled a bit forward, closing her eyes, trying to relax herself as she fell to the ground, exhaustion taking over.

Hinata heard footsteps coming towards her, and she mustered up the strength to open one of her eyes and saw Kurenai’s feet right in front of her.

Move...move... Hinata groaned, and tried to push herself up, but she heard Kurenai say, “I’m not going to hurt you...but for now just sleep.”

Hinata felt a wave drowsiness suddenly fall over her head, and before she could say anything, everything went black.