Upon a Painted Ocean

Chapter 13: Escape

Myklos Island
1596

Ran had always thought himself a rational man. The truth was, he had to be: to efficiently captain the Redemption and to make the name he had so painstakingly earned required a clarity of thought and an absence of emotion that was unsurpassed by all. In fact, he had rather prided himself on the organized and calculated life he had created, quietly reaping its rewards and unconsciously basking in the adulation: and yet, all that couldn't stop the impulsive streak that had shot through him the moment that bastard tried to hurt Ken … his Ken … right before his eyes.

The minutes prior, when Ken had first been brought into the room, had seemed like gossamer-blurred images from a dream, the brunette moving with a natural grace that only emphasized the ethereal tableau through the sheer fabric before the redhead. And it was then in that instance that the young captain felt his whole body freeze up, his hands gripping the arms of his cushioned chair so tightly, he was certain he would have imprints on his palms for days to come.

That was Ken.

Here.

In the very same chamber.

Ran couldn't find the right words to describe his carefully hidden emotions at the realization: Surprised? Elated? Relieved?

No, not even close.

It was a sensation akin to those that Italian poet, Petrarch, would have felt if he had ever breached the wall of chivalric love with his adored Laura … it was a feeling a heroic knight would experience if he successfully slew the dragon for his lady fair … simply indescribable.

Still, nothing showed on his blank face as he had patiently watched Nikolai parade Ken before the company of devouring eyes among which he was seated, not the excitement that had begun to build within his chest, not the anticipation at having the former slave on board his ship again, not even the pride he felt when Ken had kept his posture proud and unbeaten.

But that was Ken - strong, resilient, … unbreakable.

And then, when Nikolai had brought the brunette to his knees, Ran had to exercise an inhuman amount of self-restraint to avoid leaping up and strangling the black-haired man with his bare hands.

"How much for him?" he'd asked, words business-like and emotionless as the tenseness of his jaw compensated for the detachment.

His head had begun to pound when Nikolai had made to refuse. Didn't the man know that he was not the type to be denied?

"How much for him?" he had repeated.

"Let me repeat, Sir," the dark-haired man said a little more assertively, blatantly searching for the source of the voice behind the curtains. "He is not for sale. Not yet, at least."

Ran slowly breathed out a frustrated breath as his deadly violet gaze pierced through the sheer white gauze. "Any amount you want in any currency you desire … Sir." The redhead ignored the surprised snickers around him as he added the last word derisively, surprised that he had let so much venom leak into his voice all of a sudden.

He watched Nikolai falter slightly at the generous offer in the avaricious eyes that sparkled unnaturally at the prospect of the promised gold. Money was indeed the key to almost every human heart, be it stolen of honourably earned. He could understand why Youji had had so much confidence when he'd tried to buy the Redemption's services.

Youji.

The young captain's flaring temper was assuaged somewhat at the thought of Youji and the ship's crew finding this place. It shouldn't be long before Kit and the others attacked this prison full force, so confident was he in his men's abilities at following Nikolai's trail. Then, he could finally grab Ken and get off this godforsaken island. But first, he had to stall for time … try anything to keep that conniving bastard's hands off the brunette.

"Your offer, Sir, is more than generous," Nikolai finally said, diplomatically appeasing smile artificially plastered on his face. "However, as I have yet to truly test this dear boy, I wish him to remain in my possession until I determine his true worth. If you are still interested in him next month, I will be more than happy to entertain any offer you propose."

Ran's eyes narrowed dangerously at the depraved entrepreneur's grating words, his clenched fingers digging deeper into the velvet-lined arms of the chair. "I may not be so generous then," the redhead ground out.

"Then I am certain that I will find another use for him," Nikolai answered concisely, but politely enough so as to not ruffle any of the other potential buyers in the room.

The young captain seethed. He hated the two-faced attitude of society embodied in the dark-haired man beyond the gauze. He hated the tethering restrictions that prevented him from killing that man outright. But most of all, he hated the plain helplessness that had been forced upon him as Ken was dragged around like a prized showpiece by that bastard. The very act of restraint was fast becoming as arduous as keeping the weight of Atlas's burden upon his shoulders and he wasn't sure how much longer he could maintain his present self-control. If he weren't so grossly outnumbered, he'd …

Youji and Kit had better get here … and quick.

The delicate rattle of chains once again brought the redhead's attention back to the young brunette being pulled to his feet. Ken's wide eyes, stunned expression and stiff movements were indication enough that he'd recognized the voice behind the curtain. Of that, Ran was certain, and yet, he couldn't help but feel an inappropriate and inexplicable warmth spread through him at the chained man's easy recognition.

'Just a little longer, Ken,' the young captain said mentally to the brunette, silently encouraging the former slave even though he knew the other man couldn't hear a single word. 'Hold on just a little longer …'

By now, Ken had regained some of his fiery composure and had started to twist away from Nikolai's strong grip as he was being pushed toward the large bed, the sleek muscles of his bared upper torso straining beneath sun-toned skin. Even when his captor motioned for help from one of the guards, the brunette refused to stop struggling, and through it all, a subdued sense of pride joined the plethora of other roiling emotions within Ran.

No matter what, Ken would never lose his spirit, and for that, the redhead was infinitely grateful.

However, he was not the only one to notice this: several admiring murmurs echoed softly around him and suddenly, the already strained captain had to contend with the urge to unsheathe his sword and gut every single man seated around him.

Where in bloody hell were Kit and Youji?

If he had to sit still for another second, he was certain he'd do something regrettable.

He didn't know if Fate had been listening to his quiet complaints and had a serendipitous hand in the ensuing events, but no sooner had the thought run its course through his head than the cacophony of a nearby explosion ripped through the room and the entire building. As if rehearsed, all occupants of the bedchamber grasped the nearest stable object for steadiness and looked around questioningly for the source of the unexpected delay in synchronized harmony.

His crew, Ran concluded with relief. It had to be his crew and it was about time. But why had they chosen such an unsubtle method of making their presence known?

A general unrest had begun to spread through the audience around him, leaving their gracious host to quickly make the appropriate amends.

"Please remain seated, Gentlemen. I'm certain this is but a minor disruption."

If there was one thing admirable about the man, it was his remarkable ability to maintain a façade of calm in any situation - Ran had to give Nikolai that. Of course, the man could have been motivated by the loss of a considerable amount of money.

False, placating smile in place, Nikolai firmly shoved Ken onto the neatly made bed and promptly turned to his obscured patrons. "I assure you that I will personally see to the problem. Until then, I offer you the hospitality of my humble home."

After making a quick, elegant bow, the dark-haired man purposefully walked out of the room, his two guards in tow.

"I must say, this is unexpected, though definitely fortuitous," a thinly veiled lecherous voice said off to Ran's right. Hungry eyes devoured the scene through the hazy curtains, a scene that showed Ken attempting to stand and shrug his vest back on, despite the hindrance of his chains. A furtive glance told the redhead that it was none other than the rotund stranger from the inn who had made the comment.

Exercising even more of his overtaxed control, Ran forced himself to count to ten slowly, both to ensure that Nikolai would not return and to prevent himself from instigating unneeded bloodshed. And that last number couldn't have come soon enough. The moment he hit ten, he was out of his chair and striding across the room, gauze curtain easily forgotten as his heels clicked authoritatively on the rush-absent floor.

He ignored the shuffling of pampered, spoiled aristocrats behind him. He ignored the distant sounds of a commotion that was breaching the secure walls of this depraved haven. He even, for a fleeting moment, ignored the life-threatening situation and dangerous consequences in the world around him. All that mattered, all that he saw in that brief slip of time was Ken … indomitable, spirited Ken whose wide, soulful brown eyes stared disbelievingly at him from a beautiful, astonished face.

The connection was there - intoxicating, consuming, inescapable - and Ran would have been ten times a fool for denying it.

But it was an impermanent escape from reality, as insubstantial as the elusive rainbow after a storm, and just as easily dispelled. The moment he grabbed Ken's arm and began to lead him from the room was the moment the weight of the world was placed back on his shoulders, but for some odd reason, the burden seemed more bearable now, especially when he could sense Ken's reassuring warmth beneath his hand. He never knew himself to be inclined toward the poetic, but with the brunette back at his side, he felt as if he could face anything and emerge triumphant.

Christ, it was good to have Ken back.

(***)

He was here.

Ran was truly here.

Like an apparition come to life, Ran had walked through those curtains, out of his dreams and into the physical world, and Ken still had a difficult time believing it. Only when the redhead had grabbed his arm did the surrealism of the situation begin to fade, the warm, comforting contact a reinforcement of the reality that was before him.

But how could this be real?

Yet Ken had seen and done enough in his life to not doubt what his instincts wanted, and in that instance, they screamed for him to follow.

And so he did.

He followed without protest, legs moving, one in front of the other as the two of them navigated the twists and turns that comprised the prison into which he'd been recently thrown. And yet, Ken didn't feel any uncertainty; he didn't know how, he didn't know when, but somewhere along the way, he'd developed a blind trust in the man before him, and he was confident that Ran would lead the way out of this place.

In that blinding moment when their eyes had met back in the room, something had been forged - a feeling, a sense, a bond that had come into creation when they'd first met, that had been tempered and molded by their separation - and it was simply indescribable. It had felt as if nothing else existed in the world … no past, no present, and no future - only them. But it hadn't lasted long and as much as Ken would've loved to remain removed from reality, he knew he would've had to eventually face it.

There was just too much to worry about, most important of which was Omi's planned escape. That explosion they had heard could've marked the beginning of the young blonde's flight. And Pierre, the boy who'd been brought into the room with him … how could he have forgotten?

Shaking off the residual amazement that had muddled his mind, he stopped walking and waited to get Ran's attention. The redhead halted abruptly when he realized that Ken's arm was no longer in his grasp and turned to see what had happened to his companion.

A million words danced along Ken's tongue as those violet gems looked inquiringly at him, but for some reason, nothing came out of his mouth. So much to say, so much he wanted to tell and yet, not a sound passed his lips.

Why?

Surely, the arrogant captain couldn't have been responsible for this temporary vocal paralysis.

"You there! Stop!"

The shout from behind Ken was alarming enough to cause the tiny hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end.

Damn!

They'd been discovered.

He felt Ran tense beside him and heard the telltale hiss of scraping metal as the redhead pulled his sword from the sheath. His own heart began to thump heavily in his ears as he turned and readied his muscles for the encounter, standing prepared to fight alongside the stubborn captain even as the said man tried to push him back. He may have been weaponless, but that was far from saying he was defenseless, and he refused to be deterred from letting the redhead fight alone.

Three burly, heavyset men charged toward them, the sight of Ken's chains enough to tell the tale of a possible escape in their eyes. Almost immediately, Ran lunged to meet them, his attack as aggressive as his opponents' but somehow more calculated and graceful. In a blur of red and black finery, the young captain engaged two of the guards with a poetic finesse that never ceased to take Ken's breath away. The echo of steel upon steel was enough to indicate that both sides had dove into the foray full force, niceties and protocol aside: this wasn't the practiced, structured fights that held respectable gentlemen in check. This was one in which all rules of engagement didn't apply, one that was perhaps more suited to a dockside brawl than a field of honour. And despite Ken's initial worry, Ran adjusted to the level appropriately, meeting each underhanded and backstabbing attack with an equally deadly one of his own.

As much as the captivated brunette would've loved to watch the redhead fight, he soon had his own opponent to contend with when the third guard slipped by his busy comrades and ran at him with cutlass raised. His whole body in a tensed crouch, the former slave met the blade with the only thing at his disposal - his chains. The jarring impact was great enough to clatter Ken's teeth as he raised his captured wrists to catch the weapon in a shower of sparks. Without hesitation, the young brunette wrapped his restraints around the momentarily stilled sword and yanked hard. The flat side of the blade dug painfully into his inner arm, but in ignoring the discomfort, he managed to effectively disarm his opponent and land a swift kick to the larger man's middle.

Before his attacker could recover from the hit, Ken quickly untangled the sword from his chains and went on the offensive. Easily dodging a planned right hook, he ducked and nimbly sidestepped around his opponent, quickly moving to stand behind the other man. In a motion more motivated by survival than forethought, he looped his arms around his enemy's neck, and pulled for all he was worth. The shackles around his wrists bit deep enough into his skin that bruises would be an inevitability, but it was nothing compared to the pain the strangling man must've been feeling. Stuttered gasps and weak gurgles could be heard from Ken's now blue-faced opponent, and despite how adamant the dying man was on trying to escape the metal-assisted hold, Ken refused to let go. He kept his chains pulled tight against the other man's vulnerable throat, slowly choking the life out of the body and stubbornly hanging onto his suffering enemy even when he felt his feet momentarily leave the ground at the struggles. Soon, the guard's resistance began to wane, the man falling to his knees - and taking Ken with him - as the sickeningly wheezy breath eased into silence.

Only when the body finally stilled did the smaller brunette disengage his chains from the dead man's neck and stand. Remembering Ran, he turned just in time to watch the redhead pull his blade from his remaining opponent's chest, the other already lying in a pool of blood a short distance away. As the last of their attackers fell, the captain turned to find his companion.

Piercing amethyst once again clashed with fathomless brown as their heavy breathing filled the air, the frozen moment tainted by the sweat-soaked euphoria that often lingered after a life threatening fight.

Words … words were irrelevant now.

Perhaps words had always been irrelevant between the two of them. Only the prideful denials and long practiced masks in which they had found so much comfort in the past had prevented them from realizing that fact.

It was now, staring into that consuming, violet fire, that Ken began to understand the person who stood before him … not the guilt-ridden aristocrat, not the untouchable captain, but just a simple, flawed man … just Ran.

And watching the redhead, he knew that the other man was receiving a similar glimpse into his very own core: nothing but a lost soul underneath all those layers, running from and searching for everything he once was.

Dare he let this continue? Dare he let Ran in and expose everything he was to another?

It would be so easy to let it happen, to share his past with another, to alleviate the weight he had been carrying around these recent years.

But when had things ever been easy for him? When had choosing the easier path proven fruitful for him?

Not wanting to dwell on the answer, he finally closed his eyes and looked away, breaking the contact that had almost cracked his mask.

No. Not now. Not yet.

He wasn't ready.

Resolved in his decision, he reopened his eyes and looked guardedly over at Ran. The redhead looked back with a veiled understanding and appeared resigned to Ken's silent answer, content to wait for the right time.

The brunette felt somewhat lighter at the older man's reaction, and was more than happy to comply when Ran gave an almost imperceptible nod to resume their escape.

(***)

The young blonde was definitely a force to be reckoned with.

Schuldich watched Omi with a jaundiced eye as the boy led the others down the corridor to the so-called armory that he'd seen earlier. The surety in the blonde's actions and the intelligence in those blue eyes were enough to convince all the followers of the young man's competence, which was why Schuldich had obligingly assisted with the escape plan; that, and the fact that he refused to spend the rest of his days trapped in a prison not of his own making. He'd lived like that for a vast majority of his life and he'd promised himself that he'd sooner see hell before he lived like that again.

"This way," Omi's muted whisper floated through the air.

The redhead assessed the impromptu leader curiously: the boy was a paradox if there ever was one. He may have appeared small and innocent with those angelic features but when the two guards had entered the room with their food earlier that evening, he'd been given a demonstration as to how dangerous such 'innocence' could be. While Schuldich had attacked the trailing guard, Omi had taken the other. And if he'd been any slower in dispatching his opponent, he would never have had the chance to witness the lethalness of the compact blonde. Omi fought with a ferocity that reminded Schuldich of his time on the streets of Marseilles, his style neither elegant nor refined, but efficient and deadly. With just his bare hands, the young boy had managed to defeat a man almost twice his size, ending the foray with a resounding snap that the redhead surmised was the sound of the guard's neck breaking.

Indeed, the young blonde was a force to be reckoned with, and in passing, he wondered where the boy had learned to fight like that.

A tentative flutter on his left arm brought Schuldich's attention back to the present … and the blue-eyed brunette at his side. In the chaotic moments after the fight, he had hastily dragged Nagi out of the room with the rest of the group, and although the younger boy displayed no outright resistance, the redhead was certain that if he hadn't been there, the boy would have simply stayed put while the others made their escape.

As if seeking assurance, Nagi's hand occasionally grabbed onto Schuldich's arm, and in an act of uncharacteristic benevolence, he didn't brush the boy away. In all likelihood, this was the small brunette's first sojourn out of that room without an escort, undoubtedly a daunting concept in Nagi's eyes.

"It's not so bad, Kid," Schuldich murmured, slowly beginning to feel uncomfortable at the growing dependence the boy was developing. "When we get out of here, I'll introduce you to a man I know. Crawford's not the best captain to work for but he's certainly not the worst. I think you'll like it on his ship."

Nagi didn't say anything at his words. He merely nodded and kept close to the taller man.

"Schuldich, over here."

Again, Omi's whisper drew the redhead's attention back to the situation at hand.

They had arrived.

Through the evening darkness, Schuldich could see the heavy door that led into the armory, its intricately carved patterns a deceptive counterpoint to what laid within. Once they got a hold of some weapons, the whole game would change, and the redhead relished the prospect of the upcoming turn of events. Without further ado, he grasped the door handle and turned, expecting to meet with locked resistance but was duly surprised when the entrance opened without any protest.

Omi must have noticed his puzzled look. "The need for locks becomes moot when you live alone on an island," the blonde stated plainly.

After throwing the younger man an annoyed look for pointing out such an obvious fact, Schuldich cautiously walked into the room, eyes quickly soaking in the various implements scattered throughout the darkened space. A small window situated off to his left provided enough moonlight to discern a majority of the weapons in the moderately-sized chamber: a variety of pistols and swords decorated the walls while the heavier, medieval looking instruments and the numerous barrels of gunpowder lay innocently on the floor.

Typical.

"You, grab the gunpowder and move it over there." Schuldich had barely managed to scan the room before he heard Omi dole out whispered orders to the other boys. Within seconds, their fellow captives were scurrying about, arranging and grabbing things as per the commanding blonde's wishes.

Schuldich left them to it as he wandered into the far right corner of the room, hoping to find a weapon for himself. And it wasn't long before he found it.

The sword sat ensconced in a pale pool of moonlight, looking like it belonged more on a aristocrat's waist than on a wall, its gold-filigreed hilt boasting fine workmanship with a design that could only have originated from Italy. Although it carried no jewels or any other expensive ornaments, the beautifully crafted insets and engravings of curlicues and crosses in the precious metal were enough to compensate for any lack thereof. Reverently, Schuldich took the weapon off the wall and tested the weight in his hands. The thing was well balanced and the blade well honed, proof that the sword may have been intended for aesthetic purposes as well as functionality.

Simply incredible.

"Look out!"

So caught up in the mystique of his new acquisition was he that he was entirely oblivious of the chaos happening behind him until it was too late. While he'd been admiring the captivating blade, one of the other captives had accidentally dropped a gunpowder barrel he'd been moving, thereby spilling the dangerous substance throughout the middle of the room. And despite Omi's shouted warning, another boy following the previous one had stepped unknowingly into the black mess.

That was when everything occurred in a blur of actions before Schuldich's eyes. The moment the boy had stepped into the spilled powder, angry shouts could be heard from just beyond the doorway.

Guards.

And many of them.

It wasn't much, but the sound of the new arrivals was enough to startle the boy on the gunpowder to drop what he'd been carrying - a load of swords and daggers.

The explosion happened before anyone could prepare for it. Schuldich had lunged as fast as he could against the wall to avoid the brunt of the blast, and yet, even so, he felt the abrasive force of the whole thing as its intense, searing heat slapped against his exposed skin.

At first, he was too stunned to move from his position on the ground, but when he realized that he was still alive and breathing, he pushed himself to his feet. The sight with which he was confronted made him wish he hadn't.

Omi and the others had wasted no time in recovering or in engaging the several guards who had discovered them, the young blonde using everything and anything at his disposal to combat his opponents. However, even the younger man's quick reaction to the attackers couldn't erase the acrid smell and gruesome sight of the charred body lying amid the flames that had yet to die … flames that separated him from the others and the two exits.

Damnit!

He had been so close! So close to getting out of here and back to where he so desperately wanted to be.

Wanted?

No, that couldn't be right. He didn't want to be there … did he?

But what other word was there for this driving need inside him? How else could he explain it?

"Schuldich?"

He heard the small voice from the other side of the flaming wall - Nagi.

He saw the younger boy's impassive face, no visible emotion on those delicate features, and yet, those wide blue eyes conveyed an indecisiveness that only heightened the small brunette's air of tainted innocence.

Had he ever looked that innocent once upon a time?

Probably not.

It was then, staring at Nagi's heat distorted face halfway across the room that he realized there was no way he could cross the fiery barrier - not without getting severely burned at least, and as much as he enjoyed inflicting pain, he was not one for suffering it.

Verdant eyes softened in resignation.

'Go,' he mouthed to the young brunette who stood unmoving at the silent command. If the fire spread to the other barrels of gunpowder …

"Go, you bloody idiot!" the redhead then shouted through the curtain of fire, only to end up coughing violently as the smoke eagerly entered his lungs.

A lifetime of receiving such aggressively issued orders manifested as the boy finally began to move mechanically to join Omi near the exit. Schuldich watched with mixed emotions as the spirited blonde finished off the last of the guards. The self-appointed leader of their escape looked over at Schuldich then and quickly assessed the position in which the redhead was trapped.

The older man didn't need to see the emotion in Omi's eyes to know that there was no way for him to escape. The constant heat that danced along his skin was enough of a reminder of the fact. Not one to dwell on the twisted jokes that Fate threw in his path, the redhead looked away from the young blonde's sad blue eyes, hoping the boy would understand his message and leave.

Omi did.

With a small nod of deference, he led the others away.

Schuldich stood silently as the captives quickly made their way out of the room, leaving him alone with only the dancing flames for company. Strange, but he always thought that he'd die by a more glorious method. Then again, when had life ever met with his exalted expectations? With the exception of Crawford, nothing had happened during his existence that he was particularly proud of.

Crawford.

It was a pity he couldn't see that man again. There was so much still that needed to be done … so much still that he wanted to explore.

There was that word again - want.

So, after everything, he finally knew 'want', finally understood the one flaw that had brought so many to their knees. He guessed it was a good thing that he wouldn't be around long enough to have that one weakness exploited. After all, wasn't that what had brought him to this point in time, the want to stay aboard the Valiant and the want to please Crawford in order to do so?

He was such a goddamned fool.

Not long after Omi's departure, a flurry of footsteps brought his attention back to the entrance and the newly arrived men who stood there.

Nikolai.

Lips forming a comfortable smirk, Schuldich almost laughed at the incredulous expression on the dark-haired man's face as he took in the fire and its perilously close proximity to the barrels of gunpowder. And then their eyes met across the blazing inferno, Nikolai's flashing anger and fury while Schuldich's brimmed with amusement and superiority.

True, he would never see the outside world again, the redhead said silently with his arrogant expression. But, by God, he would not live in Nikolai's contrived one either.

(***)

If it hadn't been for the ear-splitting explosion, Youji was sure they would've been lost in the maze of trees. As it was, he, Kit, and a select few of the Redemption's crew were now struggling through the thick jungle in the dead of night with nothing to guide them save the light of a waning moon. At least now, they had a general idea of which direction they were to head.

He and Kit had managed to discreetly follow the Minotaur earlier that evening, but when the enemy ship had slipped into a small cove to drop off its passengers, the Redemption had had to steer off elsewhere to avoid detection. Hence, here they were, trying without much success to find Ran's trail once again.

"We should be there soon," Youji heard Kit mutter breathlessly, the long trek undoubtedly taking its toll on the older man. "The explosion didn't sound too far off."

Jade eyes glanced over at the shorter man. "Are you sure you can make it? Maybe you should stop to catch your breath first."

The first mate looked slightly affronted at the comment. "I'll have you know, sir, that I was fighting battles ten times as exhausting as this before you were even born."

The older man's statement coaxed a quiet chuckle from the blonde.

"Besides," Kit added. "The captain is waiting for us. If - "

Youji's upraised hand silenced the rest of the sentence, causing everyone in the entourage to fall into alertness at the rustling sound the tall blonde had heard. By Youji's example, the rest of the men cautiously and quietly withdrew their weapons, all their senses strained and readied for whatever or whoever was approaching.

They didn't have to wait long. Within seconds, they were confronted by another group of what looked to be sailors, led by a tall, dark-haired man.

"You!" Kit hissed almost instantly.

Youji glanced back and forth between the first mate and the leader of the new arrivals. "You know him?"

The older man nodded, his hard gaze not leaving the stranger. "Crawford, wasn't it?"

The other man nodded with a small, empty smile. "I'm flattered that you still remember."

"How did you find us?" the first mate asked, his deadly tone having no effect on the question's recipient.

"Simple. I merely followed you. There's much to be said for the act of shadowing, isn't there?"

Already, Youji was developing a strong dislike for the man, whoever he was.

"And here your captain must've thought he had lost me back in Marseilles."

So it had been him!

Suddenly, Youji had a feeling that he'd gotten involved in something a little more complicated than what he had originally anticipated, and far be it for him to delve into the business of others.

"Look, just what exactly are you doing here?" he demanded, aware of the naïveté of his question, but still unable to quell his curiosity.

Crawford didn't get the chance to answer. The moment the inquiry was asked, more rustling in the trees around them prompted both crews to be on their guard. As the sounds neared, Youji mentally prepared himself for whatever would come through the bushes.

Yet no amount of readiness could have prepared him for what appeared: a small group of young, ragtag boys, wide-eyed and out-of-breath, all led by a familiar kid with a mop of honey-gold hair.

Omi.

To say that Youji was surprised would've only put it mildly, and to say that he was frozen, both in speech and body, would've been a gross understatement. He couldn't speak, couldn't move … hell, he couldn't even think!

What was wrong with him? Had the separation addled his wits?

This was Omi, the kid who had constantly annoyed him since that fateful night back in Paris, the thorn in his backside that he'd been trying to remove for well over a year … and the only person to ever see through the walls of lies he'd built around himself.

Surprised blue eventually gave way to a warm, friendly azure as recognition set into the younger blonde's face. "Funny meeting you here, old man," Omi quipped good-naturedly as he swaggered up to his taller friend.

Youji watched quietly as the boy approached and raised his sword-free arm to … to what? Hold him? Hug him?

In the end, he settled for ruffling the young blonde's hair, his fingers soaking in the fine silken texture of each strand during the contact.

"I could say the same … Kid," he returned gruffly.

Omi gave his friend a carefree smile at the easy exchange, but had Youji looked closer, he would've also caught a hint of disappointment in the boy's face at the lukewarm reunion.

"Youji, perhaps we should get going." Kit's interruption was just what the tall blonde needed to break the subtle spell that he'd fallen under with Omi's sudden appearance.

"Yes," he agreed quickly and pulled away from the younger boy. "We should."

"Going? Where?" Omi looked, puzzled by the strangers around him.

As if in response to the question, another explosion, a hundred-fold more powerful than the first, ripped through the warm night air, sending all the men into low crouches to steady themselves. Once recovered, everyone turned to watch a breathtaking ball of flame illuminate the dark, velvet sky - a testament to the deceptive beauty and true destruction of the natural world.

"Ran!"

"Ken!"

Youji, Omi, Kit, and Crawford all unconsciously called out the names of their missing comrades at once, each unaware of who said which but it wasn't important now. All that mattered was determining whether the two had survived that hellish inferno.

(***)

His world was burning.

His world, his life, his whole universe was falling to the ground in one inglorious heap.

Nagi watched, transfixed, as the bright orange-yellow fire licked and ravaged the only home he had ever known. That boy, Omi, and the others they had come upon stared intriguingly with him, but they would never understand what they were witnessing.

It was his everything that was disintegrating before their eyes. He had nothing now, not even his own identity, which had been so deeply ingrained into that manor that was slowly being burned to the ground.

What was he supposed to do now?

He had nowhere to go, no direction to follow, … and no one to trust.

Schuldich had said the outside world was different, but how different?

The very idea frightened him.

And Schuldich … no one remembered that he was still back there too.

"Schuldich," he whispered as an addendum to the others' worried cries.

His voice seemed to have been drowned out in the fiery night, but he paid it no mind. He had spoken and heard the name of the man he'd known only briefly, and that was enough.

"Schuldich? You know him?"

The authoritative voice sparked a natural reflex in Nagi to stand straight and cast his eyes to the ground.

"Y-yes, sir," the boy stammered as one of the men from the group approached him.

"Where is he?"

Nagi hesitantly raised his eyes to take in the man who'd demanded the question. Ink black hair framed a hard, well-defined face and complemented the stern, green-gold eyes that stared down at him.

"H-he's back there, sir," the young brunette answered and glanced over at the fanning flames. "H-he was trapped and couldn't get out."

The other man didn't respond to his statement, and after an indeterminate period of time, Nagi found the courage to look up again at the tall stranger.

Like the moments prior, the dark-haired man was staring off in the direction of the blazing inferno, face impassive but somehow, to the brunette, his whole posture seemed less rigid than before.

"Crawford, we're going to search for survivors," a tall blonde yelled some distance away. "I don't know what your business is here, but at a time like this, I don't really care." And with that, a large group of men - Omi and the other captives included - started to move toward the burning manor.

Crawford.

/ "When we get out of here, I'll introduce you to a man I know. Crawford's not the best captain to work for but he's certainly not the worst …" /

Schuldich's words still lingered in his head, a constant reminder of the fate-altering events tonight had brought.

So this was Crawford, the captain that the redhead had spoken of. Would he be a good man to follow?

The young brunette didn't have much time to decide: the said man was beginning to walk away, back toward the fire as the other group had done.

Before he knew it, Nagi's feet began to move of their own accord, unconsciously following the dark-haired man without any preamble.

He had decided.

(***)

They hadn't gotten too far from the building when the whole thing became a miniature version of hell. So great was the force of the explosion that Ken felt his whole body being thrown through the air and landing in a crumpled heap in some surrounding shrubbery.

He didn't move initially, his mind uncertain as to whether he was dead or alive, but slowly, as sensation upon painful sensation returned, he sat up and quickly looked around for Ran. He learned the meaning of true panic when his first cursory scan yielded nothing, but felt his heart rate return to normal when a familiar figure approached him from behind.

"Are you hurt?" the redheaded asked in a concerned voice as he offered a hand to help the sitting brunette up.

Ken shook his head as he took the proffered hand and stood, wincing inwardly at the small aches in his muscles and joints, but assessing all of them as only minor discomforts. Compared to some injuries he'd had before, these were inconsequential.

Satisfied with his companion's answer, Ran gestured for them to continue. "We should keep going. The Redemption should be docked around this island somewhere."

"Somewhere? That sure narrows it down," Ken murmured jokingly as he began to move.

At his comment, a small, amused smile graced Ran's lips, an act that, in Ken's opinion, was as rare as catching a glimpse of the legendary phoenix itself.

He liked that expression on the redhead, and admired it all the more for its rarity. It was a shame that the captain never displayed it in public.

Keeping his thoughts to himself, he put all his effort into following Ran, the feelings from his recent escape and the anticipation of sailing on board the Redemption again instilling him with the energy and motivation to move his legs faster and further. In short, he had never felt such a sense of freedom and happiness.

Freedom and happiness?

When had those words entered his vocabulary? Since when had Fate ever been so kind to him?

He had to be careful, or else he would only set himself up for a fall from which he might not survive.

It was a good thing that he had warned himself before he delved any further into his euphoria because the events that followed only served to emphasize his less-than-charmed life.

He followed Ran - trustingly, willingly, eagerly - and when they made it into a clearing, he had thought that they were close to leaving his prison behind. However, that was not the case; for when he looked around the small clearing, he realized that he and Ran had walked straight into a slightly singed Nikolai and a group of his guards … as well as their trained pistols.

End Chapter 13