Young Writers Society

Ace eyed the dead man carefully, watching as Malek stripped him of his armor and set it aside. She had not been expecting that. Ace tried to push away her renewed panic. Kafele was one thing--she hadn't had to watch him die--but this was entirely different. More... personal. She looked away and reached up to gingerly touch her neck. A glance down at her arm made her grimace. There was probably going to be a bruise there later.

There was a soft noise and Ace's gaze snapped to Halona, eyes narrowed.

"Halona--"

Halona backed away from the scene with deep and stuttering breaths. "T-that. That was murder. You just killed a man." She hit the bed and plopped down on it, tears welling in her eyes. Ace made an abortive little move forwards, glancing towards Malek.

"Halona, this was one of Nadir's agents--" Malek began.

"Corrick was right about you... You are murderers."

"He would've killed us if he had the chance, Halona." Ace gestured to the lifeless corpse staining the extravagant rug, brought up short by Halona's panicky accusations. She kept an impassive expression on her face and sternly reminded herself not to show her own panic. Halona wasn't entirely wrong, though. "You saw him. He certainly wasn't sending us a 'have fun at the party!' gift."

"But... murder isn't the way. There's always --always-- something else we could do."

Malek was silent for a moment as he turned away. When he faced them again, his expression was solemn. "I wish that were the case. You don't know Myaran people like I do." A pause. "He would've fought to the death for what he believed in. Please. Know that."

Aracelis inhaled slowly. She saw too much of herself in the girl's panic and innocence. That was a time before this, though. She had hardened, and now Halona would as well. There was such a thing as sky pirates, and Ace had seen more than her fair share of those. Taking a seat next to her, Ace somewhat awkwardly rested her arm around Halona's shoulder in an attempt to comfort her.

"I, uh," she began, glancing towards Malek warily. "I was like this, the first time I witnessed death." Ace bit her lip, gazing dropping to the dead man on the floor. "My parent's airship, the Haizea, was attacked... by sky pirates." She frowned, head filled with smoke and fire and screaming. "Many people died. I was twelve." Ace looked away again, scowling. "My sister died in the attack, and my father was nearly killed. They're lucky we didn't have a firebender on the ship at the time or theirs would've been torched out of the sky."

Halona glanced at her. "Why-why are you telling me this?"

"I...don't know." Ace shrugged, pulling away. "I guess I'm trying to say that death happens and sometimes it's in defense of what you love most." She slanted Halona an unreadable look. "My sister was protecting me when she died. I never got to thank her for that." With that, she stood up and cross to the window, peering out of it.

Malek crossed over to Halona, touching her shoulder and holding out a loose hand. An ember ignited within. "There's life." He snuffed out the flame. "And there's death, Halona." With his hand off her shoulder he engulfed his arms in flames and wrapped a wreath around her head, making her sweat. "Are you going to let yourself burn? Are you going to let the destructive life take you?!"

In one fell swoop, she opened up a crystalline container at her hip and water burst forth, extinguishing the flames. She jumped up, backing from Malek. "Death and murder isn't the same. When you take a life... you-you cross a path, and it, it is a dangerous one. I was taught pride and- and that life is valuable, even moreso than a cause!"

Ace turned back towards them. "This was self-defense, Halona," she said sharply, gesturing to the Nadir agent. "He attacked us first."

Malek nodded as he turned to fetch something behind him. "And make no mistake, Halona," as he turned around with a small candle still lit with his fire, "he would have left no soul for the aether to consume. He gave his life to the cause long before those knives snuffed his breaths." His head slowly turned to look down at the body bleeding out on the floor--it had been a mostly clean wound, puncturing the lungs, but he had nicked something in the process. "Aracelis..."

"Using my full name now, are we?" she drawled, trying not to look at the body again.

"Open the window." He knelt and picked the man up. "The clouds can keep secrets by now."

Ace snorted and turned to push the window open. "Tossing him out?" she asked, not looking back. "I can get behind that."

"I can't." Halona backed to the door. "Look. I get that it was self-defense. I don't condone it, but there's nothing I can do now. But, I will not be an accomplice to just... dumping this man."

Slowly, Ace turned back to her. She eyed Halona for a minute then stalked over to the other woman. "Do you think I enjoy killing people?" she asked in a low voice, hands planted firmly on her hips. "Do you think I like it?"

"No." She sighed deeply. "I want to believe --no, I do believe that you are good people. But... lines blur between right and wrong when you try to justify murder."

Malek, by the window, began to murmur under his breath, something Aracelis assumed he...must have thought no one could hear. "Gud, voscr uqar rek kuir em sra bae omd bae; omd emsu asarmesae koae aeui sieda rek su kaa o bassar vosr. Akam."

And, covering the sight of the window, himself, and the body in a wall of flames, he grunted--and the flames vanished, leaving just him with his fingers to his lips.

The silent moment was broken by Halona coughing. "I need to get ready for the gala. While I'm still going with Corrick, just know that I am still on your side. For... whatever happens next." She hesitated for a moment as if wanting to say more, but headed for the door.

As Malek thanked the other woman, lingering in the door, Ace turned to assess the cupboards. If they were going to be facing down these Nadir agents, Ace figured they needed a little more armor. She'd already found a bracer and new whip while they had been on their stealing spree. It had saddened her to set aside the worn leather whip she'd brought with her from Dressuin. It was rather fancy, and it handled extremely well. As she had demonstrated with Malek several minutes ago. Granted, he'd been injured, but still...

Finally, there was a slight click as the door was closed. Halona was probably long gone. Ace flicked a glance over her shoulder to find Malek leaning against the door, and strode over to the wardrobe. She began tugging at the clothes inside it. She was rather irritated now, especially after trying to calm Halona down by talking about the sky pirate attack that killed her sister.

Grumbling under her breath about stupid moral compasses, Ace set about raiding the wardrobe. As she tossed aside dresses and jackets, she reconsidered her words to the waterbender. She shouldn't have said anything. She really shouldn't have. Finding nothing of interest in the wardrobe, she moved on to the chest of drawers.

"Ace....what are you doing?" Malek fidgeted, getting his tux over his new leggings.

"Raiding the room again," she muttered and tugged at a particularly difficult drawer. "Obviously." She paused as the drawer slid open, nearly unbalancing her. Ace glanced towards Malek before she dug through it. She paused. "Oh, hello," she purred as she pulled a beautifully crafted leather corset out of it. "I think I'll be keeping this."

Peering into the mirror behind Aracelis, Malek's grin suddenly vanished into a look of sheer curiosity and bemusement. "Ace?"

"Yes?"

"The fuck's a Corrick?"

"How should I know?" Ace grunted and set aside the corset. She paused to give Malek a once over. "Nice suit." She grinned and turned back to the drawer, trying to hide her irritation and melachony over past events behind a flirty smile. "Hellooooo beautiful~"

Malek turned towards her just as she pulled several shiny copper-coloured scales out from between ridiculously soft cloths. "Is that--?"

"Oh, yes, Desert Hare," Ace purred, holding the scales up high. "These are Nathernusk Wyvern scales."

Malek gave the scales a gentle stroke--as firm as any armor, but as soft to the touch as any downy bird's feathers. But Ace noted that his face was all wrong for the moment.

"Desert Hare? You are not smiling while stroking my scales. Why?"

Malek turned his attention to her eyes, where his glossed over a fierce fiery gold of determination. "There are two of us, correct?"

"It doesn't take that much math, Malek. Did the frightened Wall poison you?"

He took a small step closer, then another, placing his hands on her hips, his lips and nose on the scarf of the dress. "There are two men on this ship who want my head." He paused, closing his eyes. "And I can almost feel their strength, their resolve, and I am afraid, Ace. I'm afraid."

She sighed. "You think I'm not?" she asked softly, touching all the places where he'd recenntly been injured. "I just sent a man overboard for you, and then I helped you when I probably shouldn't have...and you don't even know who I am."

"I know you look stunning in Wyvern scales," he whispered. "And I know you can kill a man from thirty feet."

Ace snorted, gaze dropping to rest on the corset sitting on top of the chest of drawers. "You like the sexy-but-dangerous aspect, huh?" she asked, looking between the corset and the scales thoughtfully.

"You'd be hard-pressed to find a Myaran man who doesn't--" He stopped, shocked, and pulled back, suddenly stricken with a plan.

"Malek..?"

"Why don't we chat...on our way to the gala?" He raised his eyebrows and smirked.

Ace eyed him for a moment, then spun to pick up the corset. "Come help me with this first." She held up the scales and the corset, grinning widely. "If we're going to be thrown into a fight, I think I'd like some armor first, don't you think?"

Between the corset, the dress, and her jewelry, Ace felt, by the time they had entered the grand pagoda, that Malek was simply underdressed.

A large man with many rings on his fingers approached them, bowing. "Your entry fee will be twenty gold each, sir, madame."

"...but we have tickets," she muttered, holding them out. The man glanced at them.

"Hesrvoae Rubbarae!!"

"Sorry, sir, madame," the man said, shrugging. "Just making sure all the proper guests are here."

Ace frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means he wants the party to swing in the White Direction."

"Sir, I think you mean the Right Direction."

Malek grinned, forking over the coins for them both. "Exactly what I said, Galaman. Exactly. What. I said." Letting them through, Aracelis held her palm to her chest and gasped at the beauty that had become the Grand Pagoda.

"I'm supposed to be dancing here," Ace muttered under her breath, eyes darting all over the beautiful Pagoda. She leaned in close to add; "Don't let Rylin see me, will you?"

"Wind Daisy, you're gonna do much better than dance tonight." Malek smirked. "You're gonna go fishing."

"Fishing?" Ace's eyebrows rose. "Why, that sounds rather fun..."

Halona leaned against the door as it shut, her chest heaving. Slow breaths. She tried not to think of what just happened in that room.

Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she lifted from the door and meandered down the now lit corridor. She was glad that her fellow engineers had already repaired this section (which was fortunately --or maybe unfortunately-- because of her, Malek, and Aracelis) and the current residents still hadn't realized they could return to their rooms yet.

In other words, she was alone.

Halona shuffled down the hallway, one hand trailing the now pulsing Hextech line embedded in the wall, and the other still in her pocket.

She tried to keep her thoughts from straying away from the walls, but surely they wandered back to that room where her friends were. She definitely tried not to think about the body now sinking to the depths of the ocean to become food for the sea.

Were they even her friends, though?

No. No. Halona shoved that thought out of her mind. She picked a side in this, so she was going to stick with it, no matter what happens in the ball.

Her hand moved over a rough piece of paper inside her pocket. Pulling it out, she read it over. It was Corrick's room address.

He resided on the opposite side of the resident quarters from where she was. She had to hurry, but then again... she glanced down at her worker's outfit. Ironically, it was what she boarded the ship in, and was sort of the only outfit she possessed on the ship.

She left her home, her people, her family with nothing to herself but her name and her ideas.

Naturally, she didn't have a dress for the ball. Perhaps I could've gotten out of all this if I had just told Corrick that. Or he would have just paid for one. She didn't know which was worse. He certainly carried himself like he had money, or at the very least had some at one point in his life.

She glanced at a the silent clock ingrained into the top of the hallway. She had time. Perhaps it was time to visit the only other friend she had on the ship. She'd rather get help from her than Corrick anyway.



The Electrical Hub was a familiar and friendly sight as Halona meandered in. The last time she was in here, everything was so much... simpler --even though there was still a lot going on, it was still all just simpler.

After making her way through the maze of the hub, Halona reached a group of chains linked around a busted out engine, keeping it off the ground. A rhythmic tapping sounded from underneath it, and Halona noticed stubby and worn boots sticking out from underneath it.

"Do you ever take a break, Gora?"

A clank under there, and Gora heaved herself into view. "You're asking the wrong question, dearie."

Halona hesitated. "It seems like I've been doing that a lot lately."

Gora stood up slowly, and Boro scampered up her leg to rest in between her coveralls and thick worker's top. "And what do you mean by that, Halona?"

Halona's mind flashed to the tanned man blackmailing her to go to the ball, to the scarred and tattooed man tearing the shower apart from shear force, to the lifeless, limp body sinking to the depths of the Dressiun sea, to the faces of the people she thought as friends staring at her in disbelief. Death is a reality. Deal with it, or it'll deal with you.

She sighed, opening her mouth to spill everything, everything to the older woman staring at her with concern etched all over her face, hands resting on her hips.

A pause.

Gora frowned even more. "You can tell me what's obviously wanting to break free in that mind of yours. Nothing leaves this place." She picked up Boro, who fidgeted in her grasp, wanting desperately to be back in the warmth and comfort of his hiding place. "I'll even cover Boro's ears?"

Halona chuckled, tears welling in her eyes. "No, no. No need to cover Boro's ears." She scratched behind his ear affectionately. "I-I just." She bites back the truth. "I-I'm riding a sea of morals and allegiances that... I never thought I would see."

Gora pat her on the back, leading her though the Electrical Hub. "Back, before I got this job, I met a man--"

"Ooooh"

"Hush." Gora smacked her lightly. "It wasn't like that. We were friends."

Halona snickered, fully engrossed in the story. "Like, a friend friend or a friend friend?"

"He was a friend, that's all you need to know." She sighed. "Anyway, I met him when I was full of innocence, much like you. He came, offering a life of, y'know, adventure and, and, experiences that I never could've dreamed of when I was back home. But, it just wasn't me." She steered the two to an office hidden in a corner of the hub. "I knew my destiny, and it was not a selfish one."

"So adventures are selfish?"

Gora chuckled, unlocking the broad and heavy door leading to the office. "No, no. Adventures are not selfish, they just... are. What you do with those experiences, that's up to you." She sat Halona down in a surprisingly comfy chair that swiveled. Halona spun in the chair a few times --because seriously, who wouldn't?-- before stopping after Gora's stern gaze.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"Anyway." Gora's smile returned as she held out both of her hands. "On one hand," she lifted her right hand up, "you could splurge on this trip through the skies, relaxing on the sun decks or gambling away your family's fortune in the gamble halls. You could make this trip all about you.. Or," she lifted her left hand, "you could spend this trip on others. Did you know over half of this ship is full of Myaran refugees from the liberation crisis in North Myar?"

Halona shook her head.

"You could spend this trip helping them out, getting to know their struggles and their pasts. You could spend this trip on others."

Halona scrunched her eyebrows. "So I spend my adventures selflessly?"

Gora laid her hands on Halona's shoulders, staring into her eyes. "You take your adventurers how you can. Make the most out of them. But... don't lose yourself in the middle of them. You know you, probably better than anyone else on this ship. Don't lose that." Gora stood back up, reaching over Halona to a safe. "Speeeeaking of, are you going to the ball? It's happening soon. Wouldn't want you to miss it, y'know."

Halona looked up at the other woman. "What?"

"The ball."

"OH I completely forgot, yes, that's why I'm here actually. Well, actually, no, I'm here for two reasons."

"Oh, why?"

Halona paused. "Well... I kind of have no idea what I'm supposed to do with the ball. Back in Hirvanc, our events were never stylish or formal like Brythalon dances."

Gora nodded understandingly. "Lucky for you, there's a shop just for the ball not far from here. You can get everything you need, a dress, shoes, accessories, everything, there."

"But--" Gora halted her with a hand.

"I figured as much. Here," she handed Halona a gold-embedded sack. "Open it," she said, gesturing.

Halona did so, peering inside to four spiraling gold pieces. "What is this?"

"Consider it your first paycheck. Four knots. Equal to around 200 gold pieces. It should be enough to pay for anything you need and then some."

Halona clasped the sack back shut. "Thank you, Gora. Really."

Gora flashed a warm smile. "Enjoy yourself, Halona." She turned to leave, but stopped. "Halona."

"Yeah?"

"You said you were here for two reasons. What was the second one?"

Halona furrowed her brow. "I'm... not sure. I keep getting distracted."

Gora shrugged. "Ah well. If it was that easily forgotten, surely it wasn't important."

"Oh, I remember now!" Halona shuffled and lifted the rifle from her back. "Do you have any refined Hextech crystals?"



One shimmering blue dress, a pair of shiny shoes (that hurt Halona's feet the more she walked on them, but apparently they were high fashion, so obviously they were needed), and a golden bracelet that spiraled and clawed its way down her forearm (she actually couldn't tell if it was real gold or just painted metal but it at least looked pretty) later, Halona was walking --well, half walking, half stumbling-- down the hall to the room number on the card Corrick handed her before he disappeared.

Even with the dress in tow and the shoes on her feet, Halona still dragged her steps as she reached the door. The location surprised her. It was no fancy, decadent suite like the rooms she had been to in the past day with Malek and Aracelis. Instead, it was barely more than the necessities. Simple lighting --at least these lights weren't having outages-- simple hall, simple walls, simple door.

But Corrick did not seem like a simple person.

Halona looked at the door in front of her for a moment. This was the last chance for her to turn back--

The door opened. Corrick's faced appeared from behind it, and she could see what looked like a suit jack around his shoulder and arms. He was already dressed. She wasn't.

"You're not dressed yet."

Halona lifted up the dress. "I didn't have a place-- I-I was wondering if I could change in there. How did you know I was out here?"

"I sensed your footsteps." A pause. "Yeah, c'mon in."

"Oh okay," she obliged and stepped past him quickly. The room was just like the hall: simple but effective. Dim lighting let enough light out for her not to trip over the small dresser or the two beds on her way to the bath and shower.

Halona hesitated at the two beds. Corrick noticed what she was looking at. "That's my accomplice's bed."

"Oh! Okay. Where is he now?"

"She's working the mission, just as I am --we are-- about to do, once you get dressed."

"Oh, right." She cleared her throat and shut the bathroom door behind her. Quickly removing the worker's clothes, she set to work on basically squeezing into the dress. The shopkeeper insisted that was how these outfits were supposed to work: accentuate the body by conforming to it.

All it did was make it uncomfortable to move in, and the fabric kept bunching in random, unexpected places. She did admit the colors were striking and rich --the Brythalon wealthy certainly knew how to put color into clothing. But, then again, it certainly came at a cost.

She inspected the sack Gora had given her with the huge amount of money that used to be in it. Now, what was left was only a handful of gold, only a fraction of the amount she had to begin with. It really did come at a cost.

Finally, the dress was on and she was as comfortable as could be in it. Still, movement in the outfit was stiff and uncomfortable. She could barely shuffle in it, let alone walk like a normal being.

A light flicked on in her head, and she took a sharp tool attached to her rifle and slit the bottom of the dress twice, once in the front and once in the back --the latter took much more effort and care in her limited movement-- and the dress freed itself to movement. It wasn't much, to be honest, but it was levels more than before.

Three quick taps rattled the door, and Corrick cleared his throat from the other side. "I don't mean to rush, but if we don't leave soon, admissions will close. And I'd really hate to break into this thing."

With one last glance in the mirror, Halona slung the rifle over her shoulder and opened the door to the room, stepping out. Corrick, now at the end of a bed, turned to look her outfit over.

"Beautiful."

Halona offered a soft smile, and took his outstretched hand. Together, they left the room, almost giving the impression of a typical rich couple heading to the ball. Almost.



They reached the admissions stand, a large man cleared his throat to let his presence to be known --although Halona couldn't miss him with his size and attitude. "Latecomers, are we? The event is about to start."

"We know. My wife had to find the right outfit." Corrick said, pulling out a thick sack of gold and dropped it in the man's outstretched, meaty hand.

The man tossed the bag around a bit, testing its weight. After a moment, he nodded to Corrick. "Boy do I know that, sir. Ladies and their attires. It has to be perfect." He uttered with a snarl at the end.

Corrick laughed and clapped the man on his back. The sound sounded natural, but still unnerved Halona. "That they do. And I have to say, the time was worth it." The lie slipped off Corrick's tongue as if lying were a second language to him. Halona had a hard time believing this suave and manipulative man was the same person who stumbled all over himself when she first met him.

The man stepped aside, pocketing the money. "You and your missus enjoy the ball, now."

Corrick guided her past them, and his usual scowl returned to his face. He glanced at Halona's incredulous expression. "What?"

"What was that back there?"

"An admission fee. It's normal for Brythalon events."

"No, I mean, you acted like a completely different person."

He grimaced. "I know how Brythalon works." A pause. "Anyway, I hope you didn't mind me paying your way. I thought it was the least I could do for basically blackmailing you into this."

Halona blinked. She didn't even think about the transaction back there. "T-thank you..."

"Don't ment--"

"Halt!"

Corrick stiffened as a guard blocked their way into the pagoda. "Miss, there's no weapons allowed onto the premises of this event. Ship policy."

Corrick glanced at the long and slender weapon on her back. "Let me handle this," he whispered to Halona, and ushered the guard to the side. She couldn't discern their conversation, but noticed Corrick hand the man a card. His expression morphed from stoicism to confusion, then slow understanding as Corrick dropped a few pieces of gold into his palm.

Walking back, Corrick said nothing as they entered the ball. The crowds of rich folks and attire dancing to the bright lights overhanging overwhelmed Halona. Guards were perched on a balcony surrounding the entire glassed cathedral.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Corrick swung her around, taking her hand in his. "Welcome to the dance, Halona." A pause. "Be prepared for anything.

This wasn't a dance, Halona thought. This was a trap. And they were the bait.

The music swelled and ebbed as Malek span her around the dance floor. Ace focused on a point over his shoulder, scanning the faces whirling past as they dance. "So, what am I looking for?" she asked, keeping her voice low. "A Myaran man in a suit?" She flashed him a grin. "I think I already found one."

A breath escaped his nose, his eyes narrow with thought. "Depends on how you sense people. How do you know I'm me with your eyes closed?"

Ace chuckled but decided to humour him. "Well, I don't know." She closed her eyes and tilted her head, feeling him move beneath her hands, felt the heat... "Hmm...."

"You feel it? The heat of my body, from my head to hands to toes. You can feel it in the air," he whispered, "because my body is burning with power." He paused and let go of Ace, but she could still feel him as she continued dancing, as she tucked under his arm, as she rolled into his embrace.

"Of course I feel it," she muttered, opening her eyes. "You're a very strong firebender. It's kinda obvious."

He slowly nodded and leaned in, whispering so close that his lips brushed her earrings. "And Nadir will burn the air as the unforgiving sun. His power eclipses my own."

"Eclipses, huh?" She turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. "That should worry me, shouldn't it?"

The orchestra changed times into a waltz, and the firebender put a hand on the small of Aracelis' back, allowing his touch down to the hip to guide them both. "We will survive. Somehow."

Ace hummed. "Survive, yes. But at what cost?"

He gave her a warm smile. "Maybe a few scars?" He nipped her ear again as he whispered and swung them with the waltz. "Nad dhud I vairk rod han daidh avail raxorav dudo."

"Scars, pah," she said and shrugged. A moment later, she frowned. "What does that mean?"

Ace's face flushed at his answer, as his words took her by shock: "Nothing's gonna hurt you, my love."

"Your love, is it?" she purred then blinked as she recognised the music. Ace turned a frown upon him, eyes narrowed. "Malek..." She hesitated, glancing around slowly before focusing on him again. "You don't strike me as the dancing type."

The firebender shook his head and shrugged. "And you don't strike me as Mukuno Skav."

"Again with the saying things I don't understand." Ace sighed, shaking her head slightly.

Malek hesitated. "Do you not like it when I speak Myaran?"

"No, no, it sounds beautiful, Desert Hare." She tensed, eyeing him carefully. "I just don't know what you're saying. You could be beautifully saying you hate me or I'm just a worthless thief."

Malek scoffed. "Thieves are never worthless. I will never speak badly of you in my native tongue."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Ace's tension loosened again, and her frown melted into a smirk and a sly grin. "You've not missed a step."

He turned them, squeezed her hand. "It's not very hard. Music goes to the heart, the heartbeat to each part of you. No matter where you are in the world, that feeling is the same."

"You...quoted a dance master." Ace was genuinely surprised.

"That could be our safety talk. Quotes by Dressuin Dance Lords--" Malek skipped a step as he saw something behind her, beyond her shoulders. His face paled.

"Malek?" Ace asked, peering closely at her face. "What's wrong?"

"Air and air alone can stop you once your feet touch the dance floor." He swallowed and stepped away. "Follow the heat and I--"

"You'll what?" She frowned at him again, realising he was easily distracted now--and that she was doing at lot of frowning. He was acting...different, acting oddly. Ace rubbed at her temple as she felt a slight headache coming on, regarding him carefully. "You're not just any kind of firebending, dance master quoting Myaran, are you?"

Malek shook his head, leaned in and kissed her on the forehead and the cheek, allowing his lips to curve upward towards the ear for luck. "I need you to follow the heat. I'm..." His gaze turned to the bar where Myaran men were serving the people. "I'm going to clean up down here."

She snorted softly, following the direction of his gaze. "I'll follow the heat, then," she muttered and gave him a quick little bow. "You try not to get into trouble." Ace turned to survey the room. "I think I'll start at the card tables."

They exchanged glances and parted ways. Ace headed for the card tables and Malek for the bar.

There was a saying among the hard-working women of the frozen, industrial Hirvanc: A lady forgets the men in her past when she changes her underwear. At a time like this, as she stood by the champagne fountain with her competitively attractive, competitively wealthy, and perhaps competitively sweet blackmail date, Halona found it proper to reflect on the these things.

"Cou yh may n dns?"

Halona broke from her stupor of sipping champagne and peering over the side of the star- and twilight-lit pagoda to look at Corrick confusedly. "What was that? I..wasn't listening, I'm sorry."

"Could you make it dance? The fountain."

Halona smiled softly and took a sip of the champagne in her glass to test the texture of the fluid. It was certainly light. And the bubbles! She adored the bubbles completely and utterly! Why, perhaps even an airbender could bend a fountain of this drink with all these delightful--she stopped again and nodded. "If I do, we won't be very covert, now will we?"

Corrick shook his head. "On the contrary, I plan to walk away to scout for a moment. You will simply be a waitress performing a kind service to the thirsty patrons of class and dignity."

And what about the thirsty refugees I can't see here?

Halona nodded once more, this time shooing him away casually. He did not hesitate to take the cue. Once he was gone, Halona poised herself elegawkwardly by the fountain with glasses arranged on each tier of the silver rungs. "Ladies and gentlemen, thirsty folk of all ages, The Leviathan is proud to present to you," as a small crowd gathered around her, "The Leviathan's Waltz!"

The people applauded softly as she took a half-step back and began to twist her arms and fingers in delicate, intricate motions, channeling two streams of champagne from the top of the fountain to match the music coming from the band from across the dance floor. With ease, she added a third, a fourth! She found herself smiling and giggling as the fun took over, twisting and turning the drink into spirals and bubbles as each offshoot of golden beauty filled glasses uniquely--until the grand finale, when she spun her body around, turning the remaining champagne of the fountain into a large array of rain, bringing gasps from her crowd. The sparkling starwine flew across the dance floor and into the air above, where it burst into a cloud of sparkling golden vapor, capturing the brilliant decadence of the thousand lights decorating the pagoda.

The party was well-impressed, and as the band changed songs, most applauded--or stuck out their tongues to catch a taste of the miracle.

As her crowd dispersed (after placing gold coins in the fountain!) Halona felt a light touch on her shoulder, where she turned. "Corrick!" she whispered. "You're back so soon! And you're with the focus of the entire gala!"

He chuckled softly. "I was gone a full fifteen minutes for recon. Someone got carried away," as he teasingly flicked a star of champagne from her nose. "Your display was gorgeous, darling, but I'm afraid we should--"

"Wait."

"That's the literal opposite of my proposal, but you have my ear."

Halona breathed out a slow, crucial breath. "I need to know things about you."

"My real shoe size is not twelve, I just prefer comfort over pedantic accuracy."

"No, not that--though they do seem to bring your whole form together nicely--" she huffed. "Are you a member of a police organization, hunting this man?"

Corrick's attention was suddenly fully piqued, and his shoes turned to Halona to prove it. (A man's feet always point to what he's after.) "I am not a member of a police organization, Halona, but I am focused on my mission."

She bucked up and swallowed, staring him in the eye. "If you told me, would you have to kill me?"

"That's a clever joke, Halona, and I will use it again, but really, now's not the time."

But more than his words, her thoughts lingered on her own. She'd changed her underwear, sure, and she'd moved on, sure; but Halona was fixated on that Myaran man back in the penthouse. She again tried to make sense of it. She could've called Corrick for help, but she didn't know how to contact him, and the man had Ace by the throat. There was immediate danger.

Even she'd pulled her rifle.

But the image of Malek burning through the hall and ending it all in an instant, like he'd done it a thousand times before...

She pushed down the thoughts and hugged up against Corrick with her hips swaying against his own, but not to the beat of the music. "My mind is full of the past, competitively handsome date. Fill it with the present?"

He raised an eyebrow. "So the Leviathan's Ballet wasn't enough present for your mind?"

Her hands draped around his neck. "It was all flash and no bang." She smiled. "May we at least dance, Mister Mission? It'd be nice to enjoy the apocalypse if it's coming anyway."

He looked about, but slowly nodded. "We...may." He cleared his throat. "But at a better vantage point. No targets are clear from this position."

Halona waggled her eyebrows as she pointed up above them to a large overhead lattice that wrapped around the pagoda in an exotic Kirkiln design above the dance floor. "All the vantage you want, with all the you I...sorta want. In the moment."

There was a pause.

"I made champagne fireworks, dammit!" And they made for the lattice.



From the high level, their view of the Majestic Pagoda took Halona's breath away. That, or the seaward wind blowing between the slits in her dress. Regardless, she had her distraction--in fact, she had thousands in Corrick, the lights, the music, the lovely people down below--and she wasn't letting go anytime soon.

Once more she draped her arms around his neck and nestled in close with her ear to his chest, her other ear to the orchestra below. "Is this a good time to tell you," his chest purred with bass, "that I don't quite know how to dance?"

Mother hammerer!

She stepped back and sighed, unable to hold back her coy smile. "Wha-ha-HA-t kind of spy doesn't know how to dance?!"

He held up his hands in surrender. "I told you, I'm no member of a police force!"

Halona pursed her lips. "Is that why you're looking more for a man than you are looking at these?!" She began to boost up her bosom, but he stopped her, face flushed.

"No, no! I mean!" He cleared his throat. "I am very bad at Brythalon dancing. It's so tight and structured!" Halona could see him trying to save his ship. "Maybe you could teach me something from Hirvanc?"

And she grinned, doubts assuaged. "Oh, now that sounds fun!" Halona broke out of her heels and stretched a bit before twisting down to the floor to loosen up. "So the trick is," she noted, "is not to give a flying polbat crap what others think," she shimmied up to him, "and just have fun!"

"In what time signature do you do that bloody move in?!"

"All of em?" Haona pouted. "No polbat craps, remember?" She tugged him along to a large portion of the lattice where she began to shimmy and sway, ignoring how tight her dress was.

And she noticed his eyes wandering across the dance floor, the pagoda, the bar where--thank the gods Malek had his back turned, identifiable only by his long waterfall of curls--only scrawny Myaran refugees appeared to be serving drinks and food; the stage where Dressuin women flowed from ankle to ankle in perfect harmony.

She wondered what would happen if he knew Malek was Malek, if that moment of mistake came when he turned his head enough to reveal his face. Would Malek die, too? Did he deserve to?

No, no, no! She was even certain of this, though Halona felt certain of so few things in her life, she knew that Malek was a good and decent person somewhere inside of him. She had just seen a darkness. A repellent. Something for which her brain wished to shut down his compartment. But he had saved her. Arguably twice since being on the ship.

What should I do?

She slipped on champagne rain, which is not what Halona should've done, and would've fallen off the lattice; but Corrick caught her, held her by the small of her back, and pulled her up again. "Thank you, Halona," Corrick crooned.

"F-for almost falling onto innocent bystanders?"

"For being my partner."

Halona pulled herself up and rested over his shoulder as he held her, but squinted as a trio of guards made their way out of the lower deck of the bar, moving with urgency. "Corrick, look--a lead!"

Corrick turned his head and rushed them beside a pillar to follow the guards where he swore under his breath at their speed. "Stay here." He slid on his knees on the lattice and gripped his fists together, jerking back on thin air as if pulling back a hefty man's arms. One of the guards suddenly toppled, his metal-clad shoes stopping in their tracks. As he released, he jerked back with one hand as if catching a dunefly and slid back behind the pillar, heart beating with adrenaline. Corrick unfurled his hand to show a small HexTech earpiece used for communications. Between them, it buzzed.

It ran a message in Hirvanci.

It ran a message in Myaran.

And then a message in Common: Multiple confrontations on the balcony. Myaran suspects.

With a nod between the two of them, Corrick put in the ear piece and took off across the lattice. Halona let out a sigh and looked down at the party below, and pondered on what a good sniper location she'd found.

Malek. Was. So. Bored.

"Skonnheim, neat." From his analysis of the gala decks, the only place that gave a blind spot for one's face--at least from one ange or another--was the bar, covered by the excessive ribbonwork of the decorators.

A Myaran bartender placed Malek's drink down in front of him, where he studied the red liquor for...anything. Bubbles, miscolorings, any indication that Nadir had a grip on the good stuff. He sniffed the glass and downed it, bracing himself as the fire of the Hirvanci drink coated him from teeth to belly. He found it funny, in a way. Two days on a ship with thousands of people--over a thousand of his people--on board, and despite how lonesome Malek attempted to live...

Well, this was the first time he'd felt alone.

Granted, it was hard to feel alone when there were men hunting his head at every turn. He tapped the bar for another pour and gave over more gold. Was it a mind game from Nadir? To make Malek fear his own people? Even the men serving him drinks could be poisoning him. He downed the drink.

Alone.

He hadn't said goodnight or goodbye to Ahmed or Abrah. The Skonnheim made him want to say he wasn't their big brother, but their horrible, renegade fa--

He tapped the bar again, and a hand caught his wrist. "I think we should slow down, sir." His accent was thick. His accent was true. He could've been Malek's next-door neighbor.

A woman approached. "He's completely dripping with the stuff, I'd say. Let's take him to get some water. For our brother."

A third approached and put a blade to Malek's spine, evoking a slight growl.

"We don't want to stop your good time, brother, we just don't want you to be too easy a target."

Malek glowered up at the man and woman. "You could've poisoned me and lived," he growled.

"Those," the knife man cut in, "were not our orders."



Below, the distillery was dark and made of wood that filled all senses with the richness of the liquor inside. A contribution from Hirvanc. Malek was released from their grasp into the dark room as he lit a flame about himself.

"You'll have to tell me a safe word," confessed the woman as she approached, "because I will admit that I often don't know when to stop playing with my toys." Blades of air began cycling around her wrists and ankles; she launched into a melee strike that sent Malek into a dodge on the dank floor. He conjured flames on his fists and returned the blow, coming to a punch struggle between them, broken only by the waterbender of the trio's assault as he joined the fray.

A jet of liquor broke through them, but in his ignorance caught fire as it spattered on the woman's face and clothes, on the wall and floor. Malek jerked her to the side and gave her a jab to the jaw, sending her flying--ablaze--into the darkness. The waterbender swallowed hard and stepped back, rethinking his approach.

"Idiot," Malek spat, and hurled a kick into his head, sending him after the woman. The final man remained, summoning his bending from the planks on the floor. They rose up in splinters and creaks, jolting for him like wicked vines. Malek redoubled his fire aura and charged through them, shattering them with minimal damage. The earthbender--or woodbender, as Malek noted--gasped as Malek lifted him by the throat and tossed him in the pile with his comrades.

"You fuckers had better start talking some good shit about your boss and where I can find him, or this place is getting a new coat of paint, courtesy of the blood banks of Myar."

The three stood up in a line, silent as they held knives to their throats. "All He does is for the rising of the sun that no other may consume."

Malek's eyes went wide as they readied to slit themselves. He snatched his dagger from his vest and threw it, ablaze, cutting down two instantly. The third looked on with horror as the dagger wavered before his neck, the fire around it drawing it back. Blood rained around them, but dried around Malek as his aura intensified, turning blood to scabs that littered the floor. He grabbed hold of his dagger and pressed a hand to the man's hand--quivering--holding his knife.

"Why didn't you poison me?"

The man shook his head. "Those weren't our orders."

"Why didn't you kill me?"

A pause. "Those...weren't our orders."

Malek's eyes narrowed. "Can I give you orders?"

The man nodded, and Malek slowly grinned, stepping back. "Drop the knife."

The man dropped it.

"Call me Lord Malek."

"Yes, Lord Malek."

"Remove all the Black HexTech fibril from your friends you can and tattoo Terror into my palm."

And he did without hesitation.

Malek cauterized the tattoo stitching and nodded. "What is Nadir's last name?"

The earthbender fetched his knife and held it to his throat, where Malek smacked it away.

"Fucking mind games," he growled. Holding the man by the head, he brought his lips to his ear and the man's lips to his own. "Where is Nadir?"

"Leading the wind."

Malek's eyes shot wide. He grabbed his dagger and sliced through the man's throat, burning the blood that spurted forth.

But something rolled from the severed head. A small. Hextech. Earpiece. A communicator.

Every demon wants his pound of flesh.

Malek grabbed the earpiece and broke from the distillery, made his way out of the bar, across the dance floor, and ducked into a dark place neglected by the thousands of lights.

He imagined his voice without an accent and recalled how to speak Hirvanci. And delivered a message in three tongues.

And again.

And again. The guards were moving to the bar in a frenzy. A lone man moved behind them, trailing.

But no Nadir...

Aracelis drifted across the ballroom, eyes focused on the gamblers' corner. Malek had gone off to the bar a few minutes ago, which left Ace to persue another avenue of entertainment. And reconnaissance. Namely, the card tables. There was still a nagging concern for Malek and what he'd been telling her, especially about Nadir. Just what the hell was going on between the two Myarans?

Ace shook her head and slipped between two groups of fancily-dressed people. They didn't even look her way. Sometimes it was good to look Dressuin.

Somehow, she didn't want to know what, exactly, the deal was with this Nadir fellow. She forced herself to smile and looked for a free spot at one of the dozen or so tables, eyes narrowed. Ace spotted fairly quickly and gracefully took a seat at the card table, passing the dealer a handful of gold. The young dealer inclined his head towards her and dealt her in on the next hand.

"Well," drawled someone from her left, "you're a pretty sight for sore eyes."

Ace snorted and turned towards the person, eyebrow raised. She was met with messy brown hair and a rather dull outfit of all black and brown. The young man grinned at her, cocky and way too sure of himself. That grin told her everything, along with the slight heat radiating from him. Nowhere near as hot as Malek, of course. Ace eyed him a moment longer and turned away, trying to pay attention to the cards she'd been given.

"No."

"Aww, c'mon," the young man said, tone teasing. "I haven't even asked you anything yet, beautiful!"

"I said no," Ace said sternly, taking a peek at her cards. A pair of tens. She grinned and tapped for a hold. "And don't bother asking again, because my answer will still be no." She paused and glanced towards him, offering him a dark look. "Besides, I'm here with company. Flirting with someone besides my escort is unseemly."

"Name's Rakan."

Ace exhaled sharply. The guy would just not quit. She turned back to him. "Look, Rakan," she said and turned to look towards the bar. "I'm here with a big, angry Myaran, alright...so how about you leave me the hell alone before he turns you into ash, okay?"

Rakan opened his mouth to reply, but stopped short as she turned away again and proceeded to ignore him. As he grumbled under his breath, Ace watched the other players and finally flipped her cards over. The entire table groaned as they realised she had the highest number. The dealer set about giving Ace her winnings, collected the cards and dealt another hand.

Just as Ace got her second hand, there was intense heat at her back and then a polite, "Excuse me," from somewhere above her head. The voice was a deep, rich Myaran, but it didn't sound ... right. It didn't sound familiar. It didn't sound inviting or warm, more like cold and calculating. She frowned as fingers slid over her arm, near the elbow, and turned just in time to see Rakan stalking away. The man now sitting beside her was not who she'd been expecting.

"You're not Malek," she deadpanned, eyeing the tall, strange Myaran warily. He grinned.

"I apologize that the world did not give you what you desired." His gaze was fiery and golden, practically alchemical. "But I am who I am."

Ace shifted, reaching for her belt and the man's grip tightened on her arm, suddenly burning hot. She inhaled sharply, glancing towards the handful of others at the card table. They were too engrossed in the card game to pay her any attention. And the man's grip was a bone-deep ache, burning right through her soul. She grimaced but made no move to pull away, frozen in pain.

He leaned in close, lowering his voice. "It is," the man exhaled through his nose, practically heat waves on her ear, "very rude to cause a scene at a party to which you were so cordially invited."

She leaned back, gaze suspicious, and watched him. He watched her back. "Who are you?"

A smile. A smile that brought Malek to mind. "I believe you know who I am, Miss Ilmatar." Nadir, because who else would it be, leaned back in his seat and cast the card table a cursory glance. His dark, fiery gaze slid back to her and he smiled slyly. "A beautiful dancer such as yourself not on the dance floor?" Nadir shook his head. "Fix that, and come talk with me."

Ace flicked the table a glance, keeping Nadir in her peripheral vision. For a moment, she considered declining his invitation to dance--but then she remembered what Malek had told her. She was fishing. And she'd just caught her catch of the day. Ace offered Nadir a small smile, looking down pointedly at where his fingers gripped her arm when he showed no inclination of removing them.

"Dancing sounds like fun," she muttered and toss her cards back to the dealer. The young man glanced at her briefly and then went right back to dealing cards. Ace pulled her arm away, eyeing it carefully. It appeared mostly unharmed, if a little...red. She glanced up at him from beneath her eyelashes, still wary. "Lead the way."

The band, Aracelis noted as she joined Nadir in the center of the dance floor below, began playing slow and arrhythmic Myaran music. It had a name--and she pressed herself to think of it with her entirety; that is, until he answered for her, taking her hand and waist against his own. "The oppressive wealth call this style of music Jazz, and it captivates both the body and soul, don't you agree?"

She tossed her head. "It's quite lovely, yes." Ace refused to say anything more, mind whirling as she tried to think of a way to put some distance between them. He'd already burned her once. She had no doubts he'd do it again. Besides, she thought as she scanned the ballroom, where the hell is Malek? He should've been back by now...

...and Nadir's hand was on the small of Ace's back, bringing her to focus. "You are distracted," he crooned, massaging the heat through the muscles in her back to relieve her tension. "And if you are wondering if he is dead..." Aracelis snaped to attention. "Those were not the orders given."

"You don't want him dead?" she asked, curious despite herself. "Why not? He seems pretty sure that you do."

The tall, dark man laughed under his breath, taking a hand into his tuxedo. "You know," he said as he retrieved a small hextech ear bud between his fingers, placing it in Ace's ear where she could hear Malek's voice leading the guards into a split of twelve, thirteen, maybe fifteen directions, "With as much as he's accomplished on his own tonight, I am quite surprised that Kiv-Myar would stoop to using a Wulvhalo."

Ace tensed, pulling back sharply. Nadir's grip tightened painfully, heat searing through her. She grit her teeth and glowered at him. "Explain."

Nadir inhaled sharply, raising her chin to match his eyeline. The band stopped. Thunder rolled below, and the sound of the lightning nets soaking the power crackled, the force of the storm below them lurching the ship around for a moment. "I will explain. Yes." And he put Ace on her feet, where she brought cool mist to salve her chin, eyes closed. He shook his head. "A Wulvhalo. A seduced slave. A thrall, a pawn, a Whore of War." He pointed to the band and forced them to start up again as he took the earpiece from Ace.

With a searing gust and a dizzying spin for Aracelis, he swept past her and disappeared into the crowd. Ace tried to follow where he went but he was well and truly gone the moment the crowd closed behind him. Ace frowned at the milling, dancing crowd and exhaled carefully. She brushed her hands over her skirt and recomposed herself, Nadir's words whirling about her head. After a moment, she turned and went to go find Malek, wherever the hell he'd gone.

Stuffing the earpieace in his ear and covering it with stone to cancel outside noise, Corrick jumped down from the pagoda and landed on the lower balcony with a soft thud. All the while the message rotated in the three languages, over and over: Multiple confrontations on the balcony. Myaran suspects.

Bending the stone around his ear, he switched the channels a few times, going over the typical Brythalon security channels. Most were silence or static. But, the last one, a non-conventional channel only used during times of duress or security breaches, pounded his ear with frenzied and panic communication. Well, lack of communication, more like.

He groaned at the mass panic sounding from the earpiece, but he tried to comb through the chaos to find out anything useful.

"-ultiple skirmishes in the servant halls-"

"-One suspect restrained-"

"-Multiple military casualties in district 2,4, and 5-"

"-Myaran-"

"-Myaran-"

"-Myaran-"

"-Myaran suspects. Evacuation of ball top priority."

This was getting him nowhere. He ripped out the stone and earpiece in one fell flick and leaned against a sturdy wooden wall encasing the underneath of the ballroom. His chest heaved as he steadied his breathing, matching it to the soft swaying of the Leviathan. Something was off here. Why so many attacks coming from the woodworks all of a sudden?

Corrick's eye twitched. Resting his hand along metal binders criss-crossing the wall, Corrick tapped a pristine bolt.

Tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap.

Soft reverberations flowed through the metal lining the wall, flowing down its length, the length of the ballroom. Its current lapped against the corners of the ballroom, each tap feeling the entirety of the ballroom's side.

Just as fast as they had gone, the vibrations reached back to that single bolt, fainter this time.

First, the left.

Thap-thap. Thap-thap-thap.

Then, the right.

Thap-thap. Thap-thap-THRASH

Something happened into his wall during his tremors. Commotion, certainly. Nothing soft would have made that much of an impact back to his bolt. There was a struggle, and one that involved bending.

Running his hand along the imbedded diagonal metal beams, Corrick clamped his eyes shut to concentrate on the vibrations of bending exertion as the previous faint pulse surged to life.

He was close.

Corrick melted back into the shadowy confines of the wall as he reached the end of the hallway before it opened and veered to the left, into the kitchens.

Three razor-sharp icicles flew right past him, quickly fading into the night skyline. Corrick melted his hands into the metal beam behind him, fuzing the metal to his gloves. Sneaking a glance to the incoming firefight, he caught a three on one. Three Leviathan security detail and one Myaran thug. Blinding blasts of fire erupted from one of the guards' hands and he launched them at the floor of thug, who nimbly jumped to the side. Water sprouted from huge masonic jars in the corner, blasting the other two security guards into the wall. One was limp. Now wet, the last security guard's flames flickered in his hands, offering little protection.

Corrick leaned back out of sight as his stomach churned. This wasn't his target. He should just move on. Someone was orchestrating this attack. Someone was--

He glanced back at the fight.

Damnit.

Corrick lunged forward, his right hand outstretched, and slammed the wooden floor with his metal glove. The planks caved to both his force and bending, sending a shockwave rippling through the deck. The two men still standing lost their footing, giving him the perfect opportunity to separate them. With a flick of the wrist, the security guard's metal pins forced him back to the wall with his fellow guards, much to his confusion.

The thug steadied himself and gave a glance to Corrick. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Someone who's looking for information." Three metal stars flew at the Myaran, one grazing his thin but muscled arm.

"You and I got something in common, then. I want some information, too, and they have it." He nonchalantly pointed to the guards. "Sooo, if you excuse me." With a quick flourish, jets of water burst from the deck and darted to Corrick. He stood his ground, blocking the water with his wrists.

"Dre, you do you, let me do me."

Corrick thrusted forward, and in one simple jab, the man flew over the ledge. "Such a waste of potential information." Corrick muttered, disdain plastered on his scarred face.

Turning to the dumbstruck guard, Corrick released him from the metallic wall, where he fell with a gasp. After a few deep sucks of air, the guard to him as he knelt by the limp guard. "What do you want from us?"

"Nothing, from you. We're on the same side... for now," he muttered the last bit under his breath. Forming a shiny metal disc, Corrick held it under the guard's nose. There was no haze.

"Take care of your fallen." Corrick snatched the earpiece from the limp guard and gestured to the other guard. "Were you getting your orders from this?"

"I can't divul-"

"Just answer the damn question. I saved your life."

The guard hesitated. "Yes."

"Before communications went to shit?"

"Before communications went to shit. We had to turn ours off. There's never supposed to be so much chatter on the lines, for clarity reasons."

"What was your mission?" The guard hesitated again and Corrick glared at him.

"We were sent out to investigate... casualties in the distillery."



Corrick slinked through the stark shadows cast by the bright Hextech lights from the ball flooding through the tinted glass and onto the service halls, careful to avoid the multiple security guards that had actually managed to reach the distillery. Before all of the chaos.

The guards stopped at the entrance, partitioning off the place. Taking this moment, Corrick felt his way around them and managed to find a way through to his destination: two metal connectors hastily melded together. Apparently the ship wasn't built as well as the propaganda led people to believe. With one punch, the connectors gave way in the way of a small hole to the distillery, only a few fingers wide. Only a few fingers was all he needed, as he wiggled his two middle fingers in and began heaving them apart, the metal with them.

Within a minute, Corrick had manhandled a gap large enough for him to just slip through. What he saw was nothing short of a butcher shop.

Remnants of flames smoldered around the distillery, their life nudged to continue on by the ample amounts of various Hirvanci liquors. Two bodies, a Myaran man and woman, slumped against the far wall with daggers both in their limp hands and their limp chests. Corrick stopped short of them before his boot stepped in a pool of dark liquid. Backstepping, he shuffled a barrel aside to a new sight, causing his frown to further.

Pools of blood surrounded a body, possibly another Myaran man, he couldn't quite tell in the dim light. The most striking sight, though, was the lack of a head on the body. Corrick glanced back at the other two bodies. Inching his way to them, he inspected the four blades on the scene. The two imbedded in their bodies bore some resemblence to the ones in their hands, but not enough. They were curved more, the hilts more worn. Picking up one of the blades not stuck in flesh, Corrick cut away the singed suit of the man around his wound. Tendrils of dark something sprouted from the blade to his chest and neck.

Poison.

But that wasn't all. The skin immediately around the blades stuck to the shined metal as if it was glue, refusing any blood to leave the wound. These blades... must have cauterized the wound as soon as they entered their victims.

"What a terrible way to pass." Corrick whispered.

Wrapping his hand around the two hilts firmly, Corrick pulled them out with a tug. Whoever did this was Myaran, but obviously wasn't friendly with their bethren.

Commotion outside stilled Corrick. His time alone was waning. Picking up the other blades, he inserted them into the wounds instead. They weren't a perfect fit, and thick glops of blood were now dripping from the freshly re-opened wounds, but it'd have to do.

As the guards finally entered the distillery, a lone figure stepped out from the side wall, two daggers in his hands.

These daggers will take him to his target.

As he traversed the ballroom, Rakan stopped beside yet another poker table, memories of the negative experience with the previous cards table fresh in his mind. Determined to forget, he sat down and had the dealer deal him. Around him, the four other men and the dealer were silently, seriously focused on the game. While Rakan loved to be serious, and was quite good at it, if you asked him, a poker game was not the place to be such, especially after having a few drinks. Besides, these men seemed to be the type that would sympathize with this prior rejection, so he scrapped his plan of forgetting the experience, replacing it with ranting to these men.

“So[i], I met this wonderful woman at another table,” started Rakan loudly. The men at the table ignored him, focused on the game. “Her name was... No matter, she was a beauty! And can you possibly guess what she said when I asked her to a dance?” He waited for a response of some form, but none came. “Can you [i]guess?”

“Your turn,” one of the men mumbled, tossing him a dice. He played out a turn, continuing his intriguing story as he did so.

“She said no! I know, hard to believe,” Rakan drawled on, pretending the men actually cared for what he was saying. “How could someone reject this bod, and this hair, and this-”

“Your turn again,” said the same man, again tossing the dice.

Rakan ignored him. “So, I persisted that she accompany me to at least the bar, and we could have a cocktail or something of the sort.” He hesitated, trying to think of how he could 'modify' the story so that the men sympathized more. “And then she threatened me! Said if I didn't leave her alone, she'd call on the man she was with, a—what was her wording—big scary Myaran man. He could incinerate me. My beauty would be reduced to a pile of ash on the ground! What could I do, but take my leave. And then-” Rakan said, starting another story about how the lovely bartender also rejected him, saying she'd refuse to serve him if he didn't stop hitting on her, when his attention was taken by a tapping on his shoulder. He spun around to see a gorgeous woman, and she was looking at him curiously.

“Excuse me. Could you please tell me more about the girl and the Myaran man?” She asked politely, distantly, a clear indicator she wasn't interested in him. Rakan didn't notice.

She was easily the most beautiful woman he had layed eyes on. Screw the bartender, or that rude woman at the table. His anger about being rejected twice was completely forgotten, and he no longer cared to share the story with everyone he came across. Thus, when she asked about it, he dismissed the question. “I don't know. But I do know that you're beautiful.” The woman raised an eyebrow. “And you seem to be without a partner. Funny thing is, despite my looks, personality, and riches, I too am without a partner. Would you care to dance with m-?”

He was interrupted by a rough tug to his ear. The woman grabbed him and dragged him out of his seat, turning the two so their back was to the poker table. She put her arm over his shoulder, hissing into the ear she had a tight hold on. “You know, normally guys back in Hirvanc who tried to suit me would be buried under under a meter of snow by now, but there are things happening which are higher than me and yes, believe it or not, you. Now,” She continued as if pulling a man by his ear is common occurrence in her Homeland. He avoided the glances around him. “What do you know about this woman and the Myaran man.”

“I know that collectively, they're quite rude. Almost as much as you, Frozen Beauty.”

She groaned at the lackluster nickname. “My name is Halona, and if you call me 'Frozen Beauty' again, I'll freeze your appendages off. Now, about the two. What. Do. You. Know. About. Them?”

“They like cards?” Rakan offered.

Halona sighed forcefully. “Take me to them, or else.”

“Do I want to know what 'else' is?”

She considered. “I'll ice off that man part you like to think with all the time,” She grinned, clearly proud of herself for coming up with the threat. After waiting a few seconds, she heard no response from Rakan. A glance at his confused look and she realized the creative threat was lost on him.

“My beard?” Rakan asked obliviously, pointing to his stem of facial hair. “Can't say I'm particularly attached to it, but I guess I'd miss it. Fine, I'll bring you to them.”

“Good,” Halona said, satisfied. She turned back to the poker table, smiling at the dealer. By then, the players had already skipped his turn. “He'll be coming with me. Sorry, you'll have to go on without him. Don't worry, you don't need to pretend your disappointed. I won't think you're rude.” A wink, and then she shoved Rakan away, forcing him to lead her to the table the two were at.

The poker players looked on in confusion, before glancing at each other with nervous looks of confusion. They hesitated, until one finally spoke. “I call his chips.”



“I don't know where they went!” Rakan said for the sixth time. “This was definitely the table! Trust me, I have a perfect memory.”

“Then where did they go?” asked Halona, clearly fed up with Rakan's lack of knowledge.

“Like hell if I know. Heck, you probably know her better than me. I just hit on her, and she rejected me.”

“That seems to be a recurring theme with you,” Halona observed coldly.

Rakan shrugged. “What can I say? I'm a man who sees opportunities everywhere.”

Halona considered for a few silent moments, and Rakan suddenly became nervous. Worried, he shifted from foot to foot, impatiently waiting for yet also dreading her next idea. She began muttering to herself, too quiet for Rakan to make out anything she said. In that terrifying moment, Rakan formulated a plan, focused on getting away from this monstrous woman. Just as he attempted to set his dastardly plan into motion, by turning and running for his goddamn life, Halona opened her mouth. He froze.

“How about you take me to where they presumably went?”

A new fear crept into Rakan; having to encounter that big, scary Myaran man. He shivered just imagining the awkward meeting. However, if he led Halona in a path that was obviously wrong, say towards the exit, then she would know, and he'd have a bigger problem. Finally, Rakan decided to ditch the girl when they approached a crowd, and then get the heck out of this ball.

“Fine,” he said, turning and ushering for her to follow. They probably went to the dance floor, and so he began to lead her there. Purposely, the path he selected brought her by a large crowd of people. Just before he leapt into the crowd and shuffled away, he decided to go out in style, an escape suitable for such a man. He spun around, grinned, and threw up a puff of smoke under his feet. Pushing his way through the crowd, the smoke cleared, and Halona was left alone, predictably ticked off.

He broke free of the dense collection of aristocrats, sprinting for the exit. The ball was so massive, with so many people, that no one even noticed him running for his life. Throwing open the door revealed a wall of ice, and he groaned and spun around, seeing Halona behind him, hands on her hips.

“Nice try. Didn't realize you bended smoke.”

Rakan shrugged nervously. “Yeah, I get that a lot. Wait, no I don't.”

“Listen, maybe threatening you was the wrong approach. How 'bout this? You help me find my friends, we all save the ship, and make bonds of friendship that'll last a lifetime. Maybe you'll get a woman along the way, too. Or, you can go back into that ball, and I won't bother you again, and you can forget we even met. Your choice.”

Rakan hesitated. “Listen, lady. You approached me. I just want to have a good time, win some money, get rich friends, etc. You can have fun doing whatever shady business you're doing, and I'll go enjoy life. See ya,” he said as he turned and walked back to the crowds, waving over his shoulder.

Still, the offer remained in his head. A friendship to last a lifetime? He hadn't had that in years, not since the accident. And now, he had rejected it when the opportunity was dangled in front of him. Maybe I should have said yes, he considered before shaking the thought from his head. No, he could make friends on his own, with just his personality. And he'd make rich friends, and get money from then. But is that even friendship?

Sure, they weren't rich, but they were friends. And if they did save the ship, he might get rich from fame anyway. Perhaps he was better off with them. A moment of hesitation, and then Rakan turned around, ready to accept Halona's invitation.

But she had already left.

"Fighting has erupted in the southern menagerie. Able-bodied members of Legion XI are requested immediately."

He'd stopped speaking Myaran, seeing and hearing the chaos just his tongue had caused. How many of his brothers and sisters were beneath the boot of white men because of his scattered alert?

Malek looked at his hands: Panic and Terror. A man of symbols, of literary construct. His skin had once been clean. He thought of nights in boyhood memory, scampering about the grand pallisades with royal scoundrels.

Eyes on the sands below, he considered how his parents went before him. Malek stretched out his arms behind his back, he thought of his ratlike route to Nadir.



Static on the radio before a small flip of air.

"Your identification has helped me a great deal, bastard."



"Miss, we just want to hear if you swindled the good man at the poker table."

"Listen, I need you to get out of my way before I go HAZELNUTS on you!"

"Alright, ma'am, we are going to give you a small sedative so you will cooperate."

"Oh hell no,"--maybe it was Ace's influence coming out, but none of this was for her. She whipped out her pistol and, well, pistol-whipped the officer on the neck. Down he went.

Disoriented officer on the ground. Earpiece stolen, in-ear. It was him. The entire chaos was Malek.

Halona's eyes welled over, she covered her mouth. And then it came.



Static on the radio before a small flip of air.

"Your identification has helped me a great deal, bastard."

Wild-eyed, she slammed the communicator. Shouted so that all at the gala could hear her, communicator or no. "CORRICK, NO!"



Malek gripped his earpiece and shoved it in his trousers, immediately diving for the closest corridor to take him off the main floor. He encountered a breathless man following a map of the gala grounds.

Wild-eyed, Malek threw him against the wall and raised him by the neck. "Who are you?!"

"I-I'm the coordinator for the g-gala. Trying t-to assuage the chaos these ruffians are causing!"

"You have a communicator."

He nodded.

"Tell me the quickest way out of here. And to the top gala floor."

The man, beginning to sweat as his jacket burned under Malek's fingers, realized who he was dealing with--at least on a roulette of folks he didn't want holding him aloft. "F-first tell me th-that you have no intention to bring d-down this ship."

Malek slowly shook his head. "I intend to save it from the man currently bringing it down."

"I am glad...that my trust is not misplaced." His breathing intensified as Malek's snarl did the same. "The southern menagerie is at the end of this hall. If you. Take the lattice. To the top...there's a guardway that will take you above the top floor."

Malek nodded and brought him down, then pushed him into the room behind the stout man. "Turn on your communicator."

He did.

Whispering: tell them the exact opposite.

As the man began to speak, Malek backed away, a fond smile on his face. Every word was perfect. Every direction was seamless. And for that reason, Malek lit not three, but four blazes in the room to suffocate the stout man.

Door shut, he took off in a sprint down the aisle of cabins towards the menagerie, and this time, he wasn't going to miss a damned thing.



Corrick was not long reaching Halona, tears frozen and evaporating at once, hands over mouth. He addressed her sternly.

"You were helping him."

"I was avoiding both of you! Because maybe, Corrick, people dislike being manipulated!"

"Well, if it isn't the Frozen Beaut-" Rakan said as he approached the pair, remembering the threat. "Funny seeing you here."

Halona turned and sized up her earlier attempt at finding her friends. "R-Rakan... You came back."

Corrick balled his fist, plated metal clipping into place to mirror his expression. "Halona. This is a major criminal investigation! And now a murder! If we don't stop this--this--"

"Friend," she wheezed. Turning to Rakan, she held out a hand. "I spoke harshly before because, frankly, your name may as well be Douchebrick McSmoky." Halona shook her head. "But will you help me find my friend?"

"If he's after a firebender," demanded Rakan, "a firebender we'll give him."

"That doesn't just work, though. You can feel a firebender's power when they're near. You can feel it in the air. It's almost hypnotic being around Malek because it puts you in a daze. I imagine his target will be much the same." Halona rubbed her temples. "Unless Nadir has gotten to him already. One could already be dead." She looked off towards the near-sweltering southern helm of the gala.

And when she turned back, Corrick was gone.



Malek mowed down the final guard left in his path, freeing the lattice of body count. Above, he heard faint swooning and giggling. He climbed, the ivy slowly growing about his body before being burnt off. Reaching the top, four women laid about to sunbathe, wearing nothing but bathing suits grown of the ivy about them.



"Adai'femil...Myaran angels of creation and destruction. Why does it not surprise me that you are protecting him?"

They all instantly looked so positively bored. "Settle yourself, young cobra. You may yet to have lost teeth, but this too shall come."

The red angel spoke. "Why do you bite so viciously after your master and elder?"

The blue angel presented her query. "The leopard sought you out in your darkness, Malek. Who would respond thus?"

The green angel finished. "As blessings come with accepting your calling, young cobra, curses come with refusal."

"Then you may all curse me until I am in the gr--" Clearly, across the way, he suddenly saw him. True and vivid, staring at him clear as day, was Nadir. "Grave" he whispered, leaving the adai'femil behind.

He approached.

Nadir folded his hands before him.

"Hyal dyet a makra, Nadir."
(I've come to kill you, Nadir.)

The heat between them began to char the ship's planks. Volatile fire began to kick up at their feet.

"Ra'kur vul abrut ei hy shans."
(You would fall at my feet in prayer.)

"Shal nadek myhav kil ek har Leviathan?!"
(Why are you attacking the Leviathan?!)

"Kradev har adaive kada, r'amake a'lume. Hy adaive kada sha kil eir tzi."
(When the heart beats, it must be pleased. My heart beats for you this day.)

"Na kev ma rada tzozhia kildibishi."
(I would never ally with glorified playground bullies.)

"Eit arkab e ie vora Akar ekura bra valdur, ie kurs e ie kalvika."
(It's funny to hear Akar's words echoed so valiantly, so close to the original!)

Malek, eyes ablaze in desert fury, unsheathed his daggers and dove for Nadir, began slashing for the man; and with each failed attempt was battered by a shaft of blazing wind from his enemy's sleeve.

"You are less worthy of this heart's desire than I believed if you would attempt my death in such public vision."

"There is no man alive who could pull me from your throat, Nadir!" Malek suddenly froze, a resounding steel hiccup slicing through his joints paralyzing him, rending him of his primed energy.

"No, there isn't," he answered, "but your command of chaos has aroused this man of Brythalon, and I would be foolish not to see the comedy of your final obstacle allowing me to leave." He stepped forward, placing a steady kiss on Malek's lips.

When Malek opened his eyes, the steel star in his shoulder was away, and he turned, forcing his wounds to self-heal with boiling blood. The steel-clad man. Halona's date.

Malek spoke sternly, yet with a low whisper. "There are three footfalls between us that yet save you from the reaper. Be wise and choose life, fool."

Steelclad pursed his lips. "When you kill a man, when you ensure that he will never see another day?" He spat. "Make damned sure his last words aren't where to find your pitiful ass."

As the flames rose beneath his feet, he took a step back. Steelclad stepped forward.

Malek retreated.

And a final step back.

Malek thought of his parents who went before him. How they stayed true to their aim, regardless of the obstacle before them. He thought of his mother's head held high. But goddammit if he didn't think down to the bunker, to Abrah and Ahmed. With each breath and memory, his aura shone brighter and hotter; and in an instant he lunged for the throat.

Ace brushed past another group of gossiping women, ignoring their small protests as she scanned the crowd for a familiar face. She was going to slap Malek when she saw him again. How dare he... Ace scowled, pausing to touch the whip wrapped around her waist. Something wasn't....right here. That Nadir fellow... He was odd, different--but he made a hell of a lot of sense. After everything they went through.... Ace growled and turned on her heel abruptly, shoving some rich folk out of her way as she stalked off across the ballroom. She had to find Malek. Make him tell her the truth.

She checked the bar first, mostly because that's where Malek said he'd be. Ace scanned the length, checking for Malek's familiar form, but all she saw were arrogant rich folk. She sighed and leaned on the bar, waving down the bartender for a drink. Malek wasn't at the bar.

Drink in hand, Ace pushed off the bar and turned to face the ballroom again. Maybe he'd gone to look for her at the gambling tables? Ace mused over the tthought for a moment, resting the glass against her lower lip. Her gaze narrowed and she downed the drink, putting the glass down on bar carefully. Just as she did that, she noticed that the air was hazy and she could smell smoke. Ace glanced up when people nearby began to panic. There were flames creeping into the gala hall from above, sneaking through gaps in the ceiling and in through the windows above the exits.

Ace spun into action, quickly smothered the flames as she twisted towards the nearest exit. She glanced towards the panicking party goers. "HEY!" she shouted, drawing the attention of the partons nearest the bar. "GET THE HELL OUT BEFORE THE WHOLE PLACE BURNS DOWN!"

She didn't stay to see if they'd follow her suggestion. Ace span away in the other direction, looking for Malek or anyone else she knew harder than before. He'd used her, but she was still worried about him. Then again, the Myaran man was kinda...fireproof, wasn't he? He'd still used her! And she was hating herself for it. But the question that still remained was why,. Why would he use her like that? She shook her head. Now was not the time for that. As mad as she was about it, she had to find him first. And THEN she could suck all the air outta his lungs until he promised to tell her the truth.

Ace was half-way across the ballroom when she heard a very familiar scream. Was that Halona? She veered towards it, ignoring the confused, whispering crowd. Something about the ball turning sour, but she barely paid attention to it. Halona had screamed. Was she in trouble? Ace didn't really know the other woman, but she was, at least, somewhat familiar--

Another scream distracted her--and it wasn't Halona. The airship lurched to one side, sending Ace off-balance. She stumbled slightly before righting herself, glancing about again. What the hell was going on now?

The crowd began to panic even more. In the chaos, Ace was turned around. She was like a stone in a raging river, immobile as the water crashed around and past her. People were screaming. Others were rushing for the exits. There was a woosh as flames flared up again, eating through the wooden ceiling at a ridiculously fast pace. The fire made people panic even worse than before, and they surged for an exit. Ace was sure someone was crushed beneath stampeding feet. Perhaps more than one person.

Her auburn hair whipped across her face as she was shoved, pushed, tugged, pulled around. Her eyes were vacant, flickering lights searching across the dense fog of a chaotic sea. She cared not for what happened to her body in those moments. She was searching, hoping, for a familiar face in those moments.

How incredible a feeling it was, to be alone.

A flash. Something reflected her wanting light.

Malek? No, did she even want to see Malek right now?

Halona? It was a female, definitely. But the hair was too long, and not as dark as Hirvanci people usually inherited.

Gods, it was Eirwen, a dancer she had met... not long ago. She couldn't remember the time. It felt like days, but she was polite to Ace, and right now she needed someone just as much the dancer needed a friend, for someone was talking to her, a dark-haired, dark-skinned woman. Myaran, Ace suddenly put together. A Myaran lady... she had seen some around the ship, but like the men, they were usually servants. She knew little reason for one to be talking to Eirwen, especially judging from their expressions.

Ace shoved passed and shouldered through the chaotic crowd, caring little for the commotion as people struggled to get out of the ballroom. Now that she had warned them because they were too stupid to help themselves, she couldn't care less about what they did next. She was more concerned with finding Malek and giving him a piece. Of. Her. Mind. Even if that involved crushing his lungs, he'd answer her.

The Myaran woman smiled warmly at Eirwen, guiding her through the thick of the crowd. She knew Malek would be involved with that woman in one way or another. Curiosity piqued, Aracelis stumbled through the crowd, using her air to subtly open a way to the pair. Even then, it was still a struggle to keep up with the Myaran woman as she slipped through the crowd like a blade through warm butter. The crowd seemed to avoid the duo as much as they forced themselves in Ace's own way. A few times, she almost lost the pair as they weaved in and out of the crowd to the back of the ball.

Finally, she broke through the crowd onto a thin balcony of some kind of metal that reflected the pale moonlight. The shine of the walkway allowed the absence of candles for the servants. Smart move... if the moon was out like tonight. A blur in the corner of her eye caught her notice. She turned to the sea and the sight took her breath.

Cloaked by the night and moored to the admittedly much larger Leviathan, this ship was a terror to behold. Webs of lightning nets, now folded in tightly behind it, must have acted both as fuel and sail for this agile ship. A sharp nose donned its front, and multiple openings for what she could only guess as cannons littered the side facing Ace. She had never seen something made like this in her years of roaming the lands. It wasn't a model she was familiar with; this ship was bred for war.

Suddenly, Eirwen and the Myaran woman were back in her sight, and now too close for comfort. Even I know not to trust this, she thought. Ace huddled behind a barrel, keeping them in her keen eyes. Eirwen stopped outside of the ship, confusion evident in her composure. A reassuring conversation from the Myaran woman was all she needed to board the menancing ship.

Aracelis groaned and glanced back. No doubt Malek, Halona, and the others were back there. Safety, as well, no doubt. A glance back at the ship. Damn it.

From behind her came a serene voice, a gentle touch on the shoulder. "You sense to be in danger, my darling?" Aracelis turned around to see a woman of unfathomable beauty: Myaran copper skin clad in a gown of gold that seemed almost angellic. "If you will come with me, above the menagerie, I may lead you to safety."

Ace trembled gently with anxiety, turning her eyes back to the ship where the Myaran woman and Eirwen had moved closer to the Dreadship. She turned back. "Will I find what I am looking for?"

"Eventually," the woman crooned, "we all discover that for which we search." She stood and took Ace by the hand. "Quickly, now. Fate moves quickly today."

Ace stood and followed her quick steps as if dancing behind her--exactly as if dancing behind her--until they were out of the plaza and in the mouth of the living quarters. Two plumes of livid fire erupted from the highest floor of the gala, and Aracelis stopped, her wrist nearly being pulled out of socket by the angellic woman.

"My dear!"

"I've found him..."

"And I must save you from him!"

She turned immediately. "How do you know Malek?!"

The angellic woman raised a brow. "Malek? My love, no! Your companion is no threat. I am saving you from the machinations of Nadir!"

Without warning, there was the blowing of a ram's horn, which heralded the unloaded of the Dreadships; dozens of men stormed the deck, bending stances taken. Above, Nadir saluted them. "You have your orders! The one prisoner is mine to take."

Aracelis prepared to fly to the uppermost floor, but the call of her name stopped her. She quickly jerked to her two o'clock. "Halona!"

"Ace, this is bad!" she started. "Nadir has been behind all of this all along and we blamed Malek...that means he has access to explosives, Ace!"

"I-I've got us backup!" She turned around to find her angellic woman gone. "...or not." She snapped back. "But first thing is first. We have to save these people before it's too late."

Rakan approached behind Halona, hands bloody from an attempt to cauterize a zealous wound. "I believe, friends, it's too late."

Corrick pushed past his thoughts and focused on the man, the murderer in front of him. His aura blazed around him, and the stars Corrick embedded in his back faded away in its terrible glory. What would have fell any sensible man just angered this beast of passion. That was a sign of someone who had endured, and perhaps dealt, too much torture to care about his own body anymore.

The man's aura shifted fire-hot, burning the planks he retreated on and scorching the walls around him. He was a dark blade blacking out a brilliant sun.

He lurched forward with striking precision suddenly, his hands blazing almost silver with fury. Corrick prepared himself and stood his ground, stone forming blocky fists around his padded gloves. He raised his hands. Blasts of flame flowered around him, scorching his brows and clothes, but otherwise leaving him unscathed. Corrick broke through the barrage and hidden steel stars flew from his hands, cutting through the air.

Corrick stumbled backwards as the wooden planks underneath their feet crumpled and bent against the intense heat.

His opponent flun blasts of fire at Corrick, forcing him backwards and into a defensive position. With each strike, the flame chewed through his gauntlets and left more of his forearms roaring with pain. He could not keep this up for long, but hopefully neither could the firebender. With sudden clarity, he knew this was his target. Malek, a voice rang in his mind, and it rang familiar and correct. Yes, Malek. He wasn't just a murderer. He was a man, with a name. It didn't matter much.

A lapse in the attacks, and Corrick took it, willing all of the metal he could from the walls around him. But the Myaran was faster. He had stopped the barrage as a feint rather than a change of tactics or a lapse of energy. Corrick dwelled but a moment on the deception before tumbling past the roaring fireball, closer to Malek.

This one was not just a killer, he was calculated and driven with passion and willpower. Corrick rebuked himself for the misconception. He would not make the mistake again, he thought sourly. If he made it out of this encounter.

Shards of metal burst from the wall, splintering the worn and weathered wood. Malek swiftly deflected much of the oncoming attack with an arm, flames bursting to life to burn away Corrick's bending, but not before a good few shards embedded themselves in his muscled torso, cutting his suit. Much of the metal simply veered back to Corrick or melded wit the flames in a matrimony of sparks. The man flashed stark white teeth that offset the burn of his fire and transforming his skin into but a shadow. The malice of that sight burnt itself into Corrick's eyes; his smile imprinted on his mind forever. In some corner of his mind, it will always reside with him. He couldn't take the time to decide whether that was a good or a bad thing. A sharp pang of dangerous familiarity shocked through Corrick, flaring his senses with long-suppressed fear. Cold floors. A fire, only meant to hurt, never to comfort. Stink of shit and piss and vomit and blood. The end of life, but not of survival. Never to die. All in the flicker of a moment, but that moment was nearly enough to make Corrick wet himself. In just a glance, Malek had conveyed all that Corrick needed to know about his past. It was too familiar. He almost pitied this man.

Almost.

Corrick knelt, the shock of emotions flickering in his face like a sputtering flame after a long night. The Myaran lowered his guard hand. "You are looking for the wrong person, Bryth." His accent rolled the words into fine butter before cutting them off with a sharpened knife so there would be no mistaking his meaning. Contempt and disgust edged the last word, a slur for Corrick's birthplace, and curdled his accent into a finely-tipped blade. "You seek justice in blind halls, yet you cannot hear the wardrums of vengeance thundering next to you."

Truly, some part of this man really did desire peace between the two of them. His eyes unfocused on the situation at hand. In an almost distracted voice, he added. "This pestering delays the true fight. My true fight... is not with you."

Oh, how foolish did he think me?

Corrick feigned favoring his right leg as he stumbled to his feet. While it was true the firebender's attacks did burn his leg, it wasn't nearly as bad as it looked. The plank below him creaked and gave way to his feet. He noticed the other man's slight shift in his eyes. So, he gathered the information just as Corrick did. So Corrick fed him what he wanted. He inched backwards, faltering slightly when he stepped down with his right foot. All the while, he inched back to the wall as if he need something to lean on. He felt the cool touch of metal resting on his back.

Malek had betrayed no change in his attitude as he ventured a cautious step forward. "Let me pass fah'me, and you will never see me again."

Corrick looked to the side and furrowed his brow as if measuring the man's words. He let him believe his mind was indecisive and pondering as he studied his face and posture. A slight shuffle. His legs restricting. Corrick knew the movements well. During his childhood, he had witnessed the hunting cats perform the same methodical dance before the launched, quick as an arrow slung from a taught bow, on their prey. It was a coiling of the body, waiting for the perfect moment to strike death.

A king may battle with strategy, moving and planning like pieces of a game. A queen may battle with whispers and wits, spreading rumors and poison. A prince may battle with passion, thinking with his heart rather than his brain. A princess may battle with influence, favors, and isolation. A general may battle with sword and honor.

Corrick was none of those.

Malek pounced, passion and flame giving him strength. However, he wasn't the only one who played that game. Corrick suddenly pushed weight back on his right leg. Where his opponent used fury as energy, Corrick favored the cold clarity that deadening his emotions offered him. Struggling against his enemy, Corrick slid back into a time long lost. Old blood he thought long buried now raged through him. A time pushed aside, hoped to float away with the dust of time felt as it was just yesterday. Suddenly, he was the harbinger of his monarch's justice again as he pounced, a metallic blade revealing itself from behind him, a creation of the metal that rubbed against his back just moments ago.

Yes, he would play this game again, the game of killing, life and death. Not, not as a king, not as a prince, or even a soldier. He would play the game as any bastard did: as an assassin.

The rebound startled the man. Perhaps he knew of Corrick's plan beforehand. Perhaps not. His face flashed a multitude of emotions as Corrick revealed his blade, all in the flash of a moment. Long ago, Corrick had forced himself, prided even, in learning how to read faces. Now it was just a reflex. Confusion, fury, spite, and did he see a bit of disappointment in his eyes as well? No matter.

Corrick sidestepped as well as he could in such a tight space as he regained his balance from the earlier deception. Malek had not revealed all the tricks up his sleeve either, as two familiar curved blades flipped from his sleeves into his hands. They roared to life with fire. Corrick was becoming sloppy. Sloppy and old. At any other moment, he would have smiled at the jest he would often make to his master we he was just a youngster.

One of the blades scraped along Corrick's own blade, issuing the all too common metallic screech he heard from his youth. The other one skimmed his rock gauntlet, leveling a scorching mess in its path. Corrick shouldered him, letting Malek take the full brunt of his weight. They both slumped forward. Corrick recovered first, landing a solid punch along Malek's cheek. It collided with bone, and he felt and heard more than saw bone crack and crunch against his stone in the other man's face. Malek was in his territory now.

Three metal stars appeared in his other hand and he flung them into Malek's dominant arm. The shock of the impact fell one of his blades, and Corrick ducked from the other's slash. The air was thick was poison and heat as Corrick regained his position. Blade knocked against curved blade, but Corrick was alive with the thrill of the struggle before one man kills another. He quickly unarmed Malek and shoved him back, to allow him more room.

Corrick twisted Malek's body and they changed positions, their limbs intertwining for a brief moment. He could feel fire scorching his back, but ostensibly ignored that as he seized the opportunity that was given him. Clapping his shoulders, Corrick shoved Malek and he collided with the metal wall that, just moments before, hugged Corrick's cornered body. Corrick clasped ahold of Malek's arms and shoved them both through the thick metal column that rested above the Ballroom. Corrick's stone arms greeted the stone eagerly, as if they were meant to be together and keeping them apart all this time was doing a deep disservice to everyone involved. But, Malek's arms and shoulders did not belong there. Corrick persuaded and whispered against the metal's insistence to allow Malek in, only just. He could feel the pain it caused Malek to be locked inside this metal contraption, but he didn't much care at that moment. He was blind to pain. He smiled at his prisoner as he envisioned all he would could now do, his old assassin habits jumpstarting back to life.

Corrick clasped the subject's throat, his stone glove twisting and constricting his throat. He held his blade along the prisoner's perfectly aligned nose. He would not do damage to it. Not yet. His cheek had split open from Corrick's fist, and thick blood oozed from it and trickled deep red lines down his chiseled jawline. Even in that small cut, heartsong still poured out, battering Corrick with emotions and energy. This one had power, undoubtedly. The heartsong coursed through him with ferocity.

Corrick's words were low and soft, forcing his captive to pay attention through all other noise and pain if he wanted to live. His eyes pulsed with defiance but lined with fear. Pure, unadulterated fear that wells up in someone who survived torture. He knew what situation he was now in. So, they both knew their positions. Corrick leaned in and asked simple, clear questions, making sure his intent was clear. "Who sent you? Why board this ship? Who is your target?" His questions were formed with years of careful practice of extracting the most information with the least effort. He loosened his grip just enough to allow him to gather air in his lungs again. After a few struggled breaths that ended in a coughing fit, he focused his gaze on Corrick. "You are fighting the wrong man."

Wrong answer. Corrick leveled his blade along the man's nose, slicing the nostril just enough for it to gush out blood. He wouldn't be the one to break this nose and misshape it forever. Not unless he was required.

"Who sent you? Why board this ship? Who is your target?" He repeated ruthlessly.

Instead of answering, Malek began muttering softly in his native tongue. Corrick hesitated, striving to decipher any words he could from the foreign language, but he spoke low and fast. What he could make made little sense from what he leaned of the language. Perhaps his mentor in Myaran language was wrong. Corrick moved in, his tone deadly silent. "Speak in the common tongue, lest you want your tongue no more."

That ignited a spark in Malek's eyes, and he raised his gaze to stare blankly at Corrick. "Nadir." The name mingled in both the common tongue and in the heartsong. There is a saying that when you gain access to a man's true name, you gain power over him. It was utter nonsense, of course, but it came close to describing what happened when Malek uttered that name. Infused with raw power, he has certainly given power to the word, enough to physically knock Corrick back and make him unsteady on his feet. The name rang through his head, hollowing it of any thoughts than Nadir, Nadir, Nadir over and over, imprinting onto his mind.

Malek wrenched his torso free from the metal support beam. Molten steel lobbed around his hands and arms, which were ablaze with fire so intense it was no longer hot. Instead, chill emanated from him. Deadly cold. Maybe when fire is hot enough, it ceased being hot. The already feeble wood gave way to the weight and heat of the metal, and what was left of his prison fell apart. Wood morphed into blackness and fire. Corrick couldn't tell if he was falling down or sideways, but he tumbled through floor and wall and ceiling alike. His gloves had fallen away to nothingness and vulnerability, and his assassin facade had cracked into what he was always meant to be: a broken child that was too dangerous to keep alive and too important to kill. He couldn't tell how long or far he fell, or whether or not Malek fell with him. There was fire, yes, but this was fire burn... differently. It was there. It was burning. That's all that he could decipher.

After a time, how much Corrick couldn't tell, the tumbling stopped. He couldn't tell if he was actually still falling or his body had numbed to the pain. Maybe he had met floor or wall or ceiling again. He couldn't, or perhaps wouldn't, see anything around him. His brow was wet and sticky from blood. His right leg was numb and wrong. His breathing was uneven and it hurt to even do that simple task.

Whistling faded from his ears, and vaguely he remembered that hearing was a thing that his body could do. For a time, he could only hear the sweet lulling of a rushing river, and so his mind focused on that rather than the pain and blackness around him. It was comforting and familiar, and filled his spirits with yearning for something better. He was no longer in mind of his aches and injuries, and found himself slowly not caring much about his own body. It no longer suited him, he gleaned. It was just a mortal cage to capture his soul and enslave it to do useless tasks. It wasted away, as it must, and it wouldn't had served any other purpose than that. The river ebbed and flowed with a lullaby, and in the moment Corrick knew what called to him. The Heartsong. Oh, he had never given thought to its glory like this before. It no longer confused him. Why should it? Why had he ever strove to live instead of joining the song? It's harmony would complete him far better than "living" in his mortal shell.

Faintly, he could hear the buzzing of something annoying. No matter, the Heartsong would remove all annoyances forever, it comforted Corrick soothingly. Join them, it was so easy.

The buzzing battered the edge of his senses. No, it didn't matter. The Heartsong was all that mattered now. In the end, everyone would join in on singing its harmonious song. Why not join it now? It was all so simple. Just let go of his mortal connections, and be one within the song. He could see it now. It wasn't just an idea. It was real, so real he could touch it. Why not...

Crack! Something snapped him back to himself, and suddenly everything flooded back within him. He was once again connected to his mortal coil and back in the terrible, terrible spiral of doom that was life. He audibly groaned, or at least, he must have. It didn't register in his ears. In fact, nothing did besides the high-pitched whistling. He could not decipher blackness from blackness, and couldn't tell whether the whistling within his head actually originated from within himself or out. All was taken from him, stolen by the ill-fated Myaran man he struggled with not moments before. Or was it moments? He could no longer care enough to think more on it. It didn't matter, not anymore. It was just another string of his life plucked from him, another story that would never be shared.

No matter, a familiar tugging consoled him. And so it was. No one person needed their foolish past and childish mistakes, and no one person took that with them when they joined the heartsong. The heartsong completes anything incomplete, finishes anything left behind. Why even worry about the tedious tasks of boring life when one could relish all that death has to offer?

Death. Corrick hung to that word. Was he ready for death? No, he decided resolutely. He still had unfinished business here, didn't he? He felt himself unraveling in the great song. He could not. And so he plucked back his pieces, tieing himself together again. It was a sloppy job and reminded him of all the pains his body had suffered from the fall, but he could no longer bring himself to care. He had a mission, and he needed to see it through. What happened afterwards would be a thought for another day.

And so he opened his eyes slowly, as if they had been closed for centuries. Blood caked them, causing difficulties. He forced energy back into his senses. Yes, he could hear again. Screaming and fire and chaos swirled in his ears. Maybe that was the incessant buzzing. Abruptly, his nose started smelling again. He could not separate blood from smoke, but he knew he was alive.

Alive. Yes. That he was. He forced his eyes open, and his world awoke to death and destruction. Disorientation clasped him with clammy claws, but eventually he knew where he was. They had fallen, down or sideways, or hell, even up, into the ballroom. Its high walls glittered from the fire infecting its halls.

Corrick struggled to rise, but found that he couldn't move. His leg had broken during the fall. He could not worry about something like that, not right now. He would have to deal with it more permanently later. For now, he mustered all of the stone and metal around him to cover his leg. It hurt, immensely. But pain was how one could measure life.

So Corrick stood, slowly. But he stood. People were still trapped in the ballroom, and the acrid smell of elements mixing meant that some kind of struggle had happened, or perhaps was still happening. It didn't matter too much to Corrick; his attention was focused on looking for Malek.

And he found him, in a huddled mess not far from the bloodied imprint Corrick had been in not just moments ago. Limping to the man, Corrick checked his neck. Life still rushed through him. He didn't bother to check the man's wounds, that wasn't why he was there.

"Malek. Malek! Malek!" The last one reverberated with the heartsong, and that woke him. He groaned with pain, then fear at the sight of his enemy. He scrabbled away from Corrick, and he didn't make an attempt to stop the man. "I'm only here to ask a question: If you and I aren't enemies, then who is my enemy?"

Malek studied him for a moment, defiance written in his bloodied face. Finally, he let go. "Nadir."

Halona drug an unconscious man into the ball room as Aracelis and Rakan shut the great doors. She set him down against an elaborate chair and opened his bloodied suit. Wood shards and splinters racked his chest and side, and a large gash in the pit of his slender stomach. She checked his neck, and she could faintly feel a beating of his heart.

"He's alive." Halona pulled out her rifle and pushed it to the side.

She put pressure on the large gash, and received a small gasp from the man.

Rakan peeked through the great doors, opening them an inch. "We need to figure out something to stop these people, otherwise we're all toast!"

Halona strapped the rifle onto her back again. "Ace, come put pressure on his wound."

Ace nodded and ran to her side. "Can you heal him?"

"No, but that doesn't mean he shouldn't have a chance to live."

Ace shot her a look. "Of course." Her eyes softening as she glanced to Rakan. "Do you have a plan?"

Halona followed her gaze. "I might." She rushed over to Rakan, who was busy with stuffing a chair into the bottom gap of the doors. "What's the situation here?"

"Well, these doors were never meant to lock, and they barely close at the moment." He stopped his attempt at blockading the door and laid his hands on his hips. "What do you think?"

Halona inspected the doors, her hands brushing against the gold border. "Rakan, how hot is your fire?"

"What?"

"How hot is your fire?"

Rakan smirked, "A lady has never asked me that before the first date."

"Just answer the question!" Halona gestured to the doors. "Do you think you can meld these doors together?"

Rakan cracked his knuckles, a broad smile flashing on his face. "Do I? Well, maybe, but I can sure try!" Wiping the dried blood from his hands onto his pant legs with a frown of disgust, Rakan looked the doors up and down. "This may take a while," he admitted.

"Well, it's good that you're starting now." Halona reached Ace and the injured man. "How's he doing?"

"About as well as you'd expect, but he's alive." Ace amended, "Well, he's alive for now but that's not gonna be the situation for long. Halona, he's not the only one. Look around at this fire. This isn't a special case, and he's not a special man." Ace lifted her now bloodied hands from his stomach. "Why?"

"Why save him? Why not try, at least?" Halona glanced back at Rakan's silhouette against the raging flames exploding from his hands. "This ship is going to fall, no matter what we do. We may not be able to save everyone, but we might as well try to save one, right?"

Ace muttered something under her breath. Sighing, she looked up to match Halona's gaze with a flat look. "What if the ones we should save are ourselves?"

Halona knelt next to her and touched the wound. "It's still bleeding, but perhaps I could help with that." She cupped her hands underneath the wound, her palms catching the trickling crimson blood. She turned her attention to Ace. "If you want to save yourself, I suggest you do it now. I don't know where'd you go, but I fully and completely give you my best. Life is precious," she said as she rubbed the blood together, spreading it all along her hands. On her fingertips, the thick liquid popped and boiled under her will. "I'm going to try and cauterize what I can of the wound. It doesn't look infected, which is good at least." She tapped parts of the wound where blood was welling up, and the rancid stench of burning flesh intensified, mixing in with the countless bodies that perished in the fires.

Aracelis scoffed and stood. "I'm going to put out these fires. Can't have your workplace falling apart around you." She walked away.

Halona ripped a piece of the man's pants and wrapped it around his stomach. The fabric soiled slightly, but the bleeding had lessoned immensely. Halona heaved him against a barrel of wine. "Stay with me," she whispered and gently kissed his forehead.

Rakan shouted, a somewhat feminine shriek. Halona jumped up and turned to him. He danced around, and grinned at Halona. "It worked! You're a genius!" He gestured wildly to the door, not melded together at the gold edges. Halona rushed up to him and brushed against the now cool gold.

"How long will this hold, though?" Halona backed up. "I've got an idea."

"Well aren't you the idea lady?"

Halona spun around to him, and he flinched in surprise. "What! I didn't do anything."

"No, no, find any water you can and bring it here." Rakan nodded and both of them went off in search of liquids. In a short time, she had a dozen barrels of various wines and liquor. Rakan opened them up and Halona manipulated them, lowering their temperatures and showering the great doors with the crimson liquids. After a time, the doors were cascaded over with ice of all colors.

Rakan looked at the doors, sizing them up. "Yep, that'll save our lives for a handful of more minutes-"

"Malek?!" Ace's voice cut through the roaring fire. Halona and Rakan exchanged glances and rushed over to the source of her worry.

Smoke muddled the air, but much of the fire in that section of the ballroom had been snuffed out. Halona pushed through, the thick smog filling her lungs and sending her coughing. "Ace! Did you find something?"

No response.

"Ac-Ace, please, say so-something."

"I can't see a thing through here!" She heard Rakan in the distance, somewhere to the right of her.

Suddenly, a huge rush of wind flapped past her, clearing the smoke away and revealing three figures. Halona ran to them.

Ace was hovering over Malek and Corrick. Corrick knelt next to Malek with metal over his hands --actually, covering them like a glove-- and he was affixing metal to Malek's left arm, which looked as if it were broken. Corrick himself had one leg badly mangled and haphazardly covered with stone and metal and blood oozed from somewhere beneath his shirt.

"Corrick, Malek, what happened?" Halona began, but Malek stopped her with a raised finger.

Between bated breaths, he muttered, "Can... you... heal me?"

Halona looked at him and shook her head slowly. "Malek... I could kill you. I don't have anymore Hextech Crystals and you've already been healed earlier today." Has it really been just a day? "I know your body heals fast, but you also hurt it just as fast. It will take something from you each time, until there may be nothing left to take."

"The heartsong." Corrick muttered.

"What?" Halona asked.

"Nothing." He continued righting Malek's arm.

Malek sighed, a terrible sound with longing and what seemed like loneliness. "Death would not be enough for the pain I deserve."

Ace strode back to his side --Halona hadn't even realized she left-- and set a platter of smoky fruit down. "It's not charred, so it should be fine. You need strength."

Malek nodded and downed two apples like they were air. Corrick reached over him and grabbed a spikefruit, rubbing the sut off. "Good idea." He managed through two large mouthfuls. Tapping the metal cover on Malek's arm, he said, "that's about as much as I can do for you."

Malek rolled the arm and winced from the pain. "It can move. Which means it can kill." He tucked his knees in and grasped Corrick's shoulder. Together, they stood. At Halona's befuddled look, he added, "We'll explain everything when we survive. For now, we must track down Nadir."

"You mean that freaky looking guy on the Dreadships outside?"

"He's outside?" Malek questioned.

"Yeah, with a huge army ready to break down those doors," he pointed to the frozen great doors, "and they probably aren't here to serve us tea."

"I must get to him." Malek started for the doors.

"Nope. That's a suicide mission, even for you." Ace grabbed his shoulder.

"I must stop him from getting to the armory. You know why." He stared at Ace, pleading plain in his eyes.

"But--"

"I can go with him, at least halfway there. I need to find my partner here, maybe she knows more about the situation than we do. If I know her, she'll have already contacted Dressuin reinforcements." Corrick said.

"I thought Dressuin was a peaceful place?" Halona wrinkled her brow.

"Brythalon has forces stations near every country. We'll get help here; we won't have to fight this alone."

"One crippled man with desperation driving him is foolish." He turned to Corrick. "Two is a revolution."

The ship lurched and flames spat out from the broken and swelling floorboards around them.

"That's the engine. I need to go find Gora." Halona said.

"That's fine and everything, but someone needs to make sure this place doesn't burn down while you three are on your missions. There are still countless innocents on this ship. We don't want that blood on our hands."

Rakan perked up. "I can snuff out those flames easily."

Ace nodded to him. "Fine. Gather anyone you find and send them here. We need fighters, any we can get. I'll gather up the survivors that I can find. We'll make our stand here."

The great doors thudded, a deep sound that reverberated over all of the ballroom.

Rakan squinted at the doors. "How long will those reinforcements last?"

"Long enough. Go!"

No matter how he looked at the matter, as he slid down flights of stairs and blasted doors cleanly open to their molten edges, Malek had run out of stamina--and it was killing him. Down into the high level of the barracks, his body at last gave out on him--aura dissipating and eyes losing color.

In his mind he could hear Nadir taunting him to rise. To prove he was worth pursuing in the first place. But this: sprawled out on the burning steel floor, that was how he would die. Abrah, Ahmed. Perhaps they'd found a way to escape the screams of his entrained brothers and sisters. But slowly.

So slowly, the screaming below; the fires about him; the ache of the ship all faded from his ears, and there was peace for the first time in his life.

"Malek kiv Myar...has your fire reached its end?"

The man opened his eyes. The world around him was a warm gold, and he could feel each part of his body once more, though differently. He was whole. Every scar, every broken bone and torn muscle had been restored. He stood and stared the speaker in the eyes. It was the gold-skinned adai'femme from earlier. "An angel of life and death..."

"I have come to bring you to rest, to be whole. Is it not wonderful in the blessed stream of life?"

Malek closed his eyes and felt the life energy of the planet pass through him. "It is nothing one would wish to leave. No, abandon. This feeling...so pure. Like a lullaby to the soul."

The adai'femme took him by the hand and, eyes closed, kissed his forehead to his cheek, and then a pure kiss on his lips. "You are ready, Son of Myar. You will find your mother and father once more. You will be united with those who went before."

Malek rested his head on her shoulder, soft tears rolling down her neck. "My life has spiraled into no visage but misery for so long, and to have this peace..." His hands pulled her hips against his, nails digging through flesh and producing blood. "...and to refuse it." He broke from the angel and raised a leg, kicking her by the head across the steel room. Jumping after, his body was held mid-air by the angel's force.

"You would refuse such a gift as the Heartsong! What madness has festered in your mind?!"

His arms and legs shook against the force, struggling for each inch he moved. "At BIRTH I was bathed in madness! As an orphan, it was my drug!" He broke through a layer of the shield. "And as a FATHER, it is my strength!"

The shield shattered, and Malek dove for the angel, grappling her by the neck until she could no longer breathe.

"I will not let you go unless you bless me!"

The angel ignited in a plume of flames, burning Malek's spirit.

"Is this what my blazes feel like to my foes?! Then allow me to take them in whole--be the kiln that reforges me in utter hatred and hellfire!"

The peacefulness about the room began to break, to shatter into falling floorboards and smoking iron. "To kill me...is to be damned!"

Malek lifted her by the neck and siphoned in the flames, eyes igniting a devilish fire. "I am damned."

The aura of peace shattered, the angel dissipated, and in an explosion of unrighteous energy, Malek's aura overwhelmed the light around him, causing a darkness about his body. And he ran. He ran for the Myaran barracks with speed unknown to him.

And--

And he stopped on the final step as the iron walls around him began to melt. "Nadir..." Energy pulsated through the air he'd never felt before. Nadir held Abrah and Ahmed by their necks, blood dripping to the floor. As he dropped their bodies, Malek flashed forward, connecting fists with Nadir's bloody hands. The energy about their movements demolished bunks, broke through walls, and the man smiled when Malek landed a punch, leaving a black burn on Nadir's cheek...which vanished in seconds.

"You, kiv Myar, have been worthy this whole time." He crossed his arms. "And to think it took two small rats to see your First Potential." A smirk as he removed gloves from his fists. "Fittingly, you'll find the blood of your son and daughter on your own hands." A head-shake as Malek trembled at the sight of his hands, completely red and caked in dried and burned blood.

His aura broke. The flames around his body vanished.

"To think you could have ended me." Malek fell to the floor, tears in his eyes and pouring to the floor. A boot came down on his neck and smashed his face into the metal floor. "Best you didn't, though. Hm?"

Nadir felt about his chest--his eyes went wide as Malek's aura returned, flames burning his blazer and dress shirt away. "Now that I know where your power comes from, it will be mine."

"You will have to kill me first!"

Malek's eyes intensified. "That's the goddamned idea, Nadir."

"You're late, street rat! The battle and the war is mine! It's just a matter of minutes!" Nadir kicked Malek aside, slamming him into a wall, and vanished in a smoldering flare.

Malek slowly rose to his feet, walking towards the bodies of his children. Kneeling, he whispered: a beautiful funeral does not guarantee Heaven. And from his hands came all-consuming fire, smothering their bodies until beautiful, pure, innocent ash remained. He placed his hands in the remains and spread them across his chest, face, and arms. He would properly mourn them through vengeance. That unique heat had gone elsewhere on the ship.

And it dawned on Malek why Nadir had gone where he had gone.

Corrick thought neither he nor Malek would be make it to their destination, given the state they put each other in not too long ago. His leg screamed with pain and its healing was in a stalemate against his contusions, burns, and knife cuts. On one hand, the metal and stone supported the broken leg bones and feeding it natural minerals. On the other hand, he had no plans to actually let it rest and heal anytime soon. Whether it was walking or fighting on his bad leg, there was no plausible way Corrick could stop.

He struggled up to the higher rungs of the ship in a back-end, servant stairway on the rear of the massive ship. Distantly, he could still make out the horns of war and death on the middle of the ship, but it was but a distant thought here. It was almost peaceful.

He stopped on the catwalk and grasped the rails for support. Smoke rising from the middle of the Leviathan covered the sleek corvettes docked against it easily. To an outsider looking in, the ship was smoking, but alone. It might afford some suspecting eyes and maybe a helpful hand or two, but no military help would come.

Unless Rana contacted someone.

Were communications still stable after Malek's stunt?

Had Nadir been a step ahead of both of them?

Corrick let the smoldering sea air move him for a second--just a second--before he caught himself against the railing. Stamina would be precious now, but he couldn't stop. For Rana. All is well in my body. For Rana. But, not to be outstaged, destruction had its own agenda. Grabbing onto the balcony, Corrick heaved with the ship as a half-dozen harpoons gripped each side of the gala floor. As the Leviathan groaned at its core as though being torn asunder, massive, mighty ships broke through the smoke with their blinding spotlights.

Nadir hadn't finished his plan, then. He was orchestrating the escape of his dwindling troops. Or, worse, hostages. Mighty drums resounded through the burning sky. Horns tore through the atmosphere. Corrick had dreamt of this as a child having been told stories of the Dreadships of Myar, but never had it been this hellish.

One of the Dreadships veered away from the rest, straight to his location. War shouts and cries roared out from the nearing ship. Corrick let out a strained groan and heaved himself off the railing. Smoke trickled from the Dreadship like tendrils and wrapped its way around the deck of the Leviathan, to which it was now much closer.

Warriors hooked up to the grappling spears and raced to dock the massive ship. They were all dressed in rugged, worn Myaran clothing, but something felt off about them. They were more like tyrants than any kind of military.

One hand guiding his leg and the other brushing against the wall, Corrick stumbled his way to the greenhouse. He let his tremor sense guide the way as he opened his mind. Now that he brushed against the deadly, sensuous grasp of the Heartsong, it was always a tugging sensation in the back of his mind. He struggled to maintain his sanity and keep himself upright as he inched closer to his destination.

Once again, his thoughts meandered back to Rana. Please tell me you called for backup. Or did something smart. The smart thing would have been to leave this ship as soon as the attacks started. The smart thing would have been to not engage the Myaran man until he knew the situation was completely in his favor. You were always the smart one, Rana.

Smoke once again filled his lungs for a brief breath. He opened his eyes, not realizing that he had been concentrating so much on his own thoughts and abilities that he stopped needing or wanting to see. The fire had stuck its greedy fingers into the back of the ship as well, plunging itself into the top decks. The ship was in ruins, that was certain. No matter the outcome of this night, the Leviathan had seen its maiden voyage as its last. That certainly wouldn't make the countless investors happy. The ones that weren't slaughtered with the ship, that is.

His tremor sense and nose warned him of the picture he walked into before his vision did. Opening his eyes confirmed the foul stench in the air and the vibrations in the ship. The greenhouse had not escaped the flames' devouring lick. Floral fumes mixed with the dense smoke into a noxious combination that changed each moment with the wind. The glass ceiling and walls of the greenhouse were bare, allowing the heat to scorch everything inside.

Panic flowed through Corrick, dampening his pain, clearing his muddled mind. Hell, even the Heartsong fell to a mere throbbing in his temples. "Rana!" He shouted, hobbling through the non-existant door. "Rana! Arryn!"

Nothing. He coughed out the all too familiar taste of smoke. He was getting far too used to that taste lately.

"Rana! Call out to me!" Corrick pleaded.

A cry responded to him, deep within the greenhouse. It was Rana, no doubt in his mind. He picked up his pace through the burning flora. The once perfect rows of exotics flowers and fruits were now a deadly maze.

Finally, he found her on the balcony, limp in Arryn's arms. Corrick rushed over to Arryn, who looked up at him with vacant eyes. Arryn delicately handed her over to Corrick. He cradled her carefully, avoiding the giant shards of glass struck through her body. "Oh, Rana."

She wheezed in faintly, her lungs rattling grossly. "...Corrick... Mista--" she spasmed and her words sputtered out into a blood-filled cough.

"No, just rest now, Rana. I'll get you out of this. We'll finish this mission together, like we were supposed to do. Like we should have done in the beginning." Corrick whispered.

Her lips cracked into a half smile. She breathed in, death rattling in her throat. "The Heartsong. It's beautiful." She closed her eyes, a tear running the edge of her eyeline.

Corrick raised a quivering hand to wipe the blood-stained tear from her cheek, but sheer shock and fear froze him. "She's gone."

Arryn crawled away from the body. No life there anymore, Corrick thought. Time to call it like it is.

"What happened?" Corrick muttered coarsely.

Arryn gasped in breaths between sobs. "Th- the fire spread too fast. Before we knew it, the greenhouse was alit with flames. We were cornered and the... the glass shattered from the heat. I was lucky enough to... to escape. She was not." A groan and crash, the splash of flames as boards of the floor collapsed in the greenhouse.

"And... you did nothing? Nothing to save her?" Corrick muttered.

"What are you trying to insuate here?" Arryn unfurled himself from Rana's lifeless body and stood, his coal eyes glinting against the flames. His demeanor shifted.

Corrick positioned his hands to brace him. His tremor sense flared to life under the faintest of touches against the charred floor. The Heartsong roared back to existence around him, and his sense sharpened. Around him, the glass hummed to an unknown tune. It waltzed and danced around him.

He stumbled to his feet. "You left her to die here, Arryn."

Arryn scoffed softly. "If anyone left her to die on this shipwreck, it is you, dear Corrick." A twisted smile graced his lips. "Oh yes, she told me everything. She has quite loose lips when they're busy doing... well, other things."

"I don't believe that for a moment."

"Well, what do you want me to say? You were sending her on a suicide mission. Oh, don't give me that look. You know it, she knew it, and now I do. And soon, all of Brythalon will know how Corrick Malair can't. Be. Trusted. Out of the both of us, darling, you cared for her life less."

The glass shifted around them. Even standing, Corrick could still sense everything. He set his feet. "She knew the risks of this business, more than anyone."

Arryn stepped forward. "Trust me, Corrick. She knew nothing. And, apparently, neither do you. Apparently, she took this mission because it would be dangerous. Did you know that?" Arryn grinned. "Apparently not. Not only are you a lousy lover, but you're also a lousy spy."

Corrick gritted his teeth. "How do you know all this, Arryn? There's no way she would tell you all this."

"Maybe she liked me more."

"I want the godsdamned truth, Arryn. No more tricks, no more lies, no more secrets."

"If I told you my secrets, dear, I'd have to kill you." He glanced down at Corrick's leg. "Although, with an injury like that, I'd say someone else did that for me." He stepped forward. "So sad. I would have liked to have all of you before you went off and ruined it."

Corrick, full-body tense with disgust, pushed his mind into a lower place. A moment quieter than this, without Arryn, without the calamity, and into the depth of the Heartsong. And while Arryn continued harrying him, while the hellscape around him twisted and crumbled, he felt and heard something pure and whole.

And Corrick knelt. By Rana's side, he allowed tears, allowed pain to seep from his heart as he brushed fingers across the glass protruding from her chest--to find a harmony to his emotions.

Arryn didn't have a scratch on him in the least. Not a tatter nor spatter of blood.

In the darkening reflection of the greenhouse panes, Corrick viewed a figure approaching from behind, and by instinct itself bent the metal around him--beams from the ceiling, coating from his armor, and Rana's own daggers at her side--to pierce and blow Arryn into a plume of Myaran Cacti.

Arryn's enraged voice shot back from the flush of coals and smoke: "That whore should have died when I gave her the chance! But you, Corrick...you really have the most inopportune times of showing up."

It's over, isn't it?

Corrick no longer felt anything. He dropped deep into the Heartsong, not caring if it killed him. He wanted Arryn dead. Grabbing a chunk of metal from his makeshift armor, Corrick smoothed it out into wickedly-barbed daggers. He hurled them at Arryn.

Arryn scoffed and raised his arm. Two large pieces of glass rose in front of him, deflecting the daggers easily. They scraped against the glass, letting out a terrible screech above the fire. Not waiting for Arryn to react, Corrick rushed him, Rana's dual blades in hand.

A flash of blue from Arryn's eyes, and the glass warped about him as fluid as wine, formed in the end as razorlike cesti on his gloves and boots. He intercepted Corrick's advance and swept a boot across his gut, spattering blood into the fire. "I would have liked us to be this close under different circumstances, Corrick."

Corrick, twisting his weapons into Arryn's chest, broke away and thrusted the twin blades upwards, breaking Arryn's defense and forcing him back into the balcony. He inserted one curled blade past Arryn's lunges and latched onto the man's arm. Twisting it upwards, he cracked it to breaking, jerking a roar out of Arryn's lungs. Letting go of Rana's weapons, Corrick caught the glass as it fell and stabbed his arm.

Arryn gasped and stumbled back. "You really are as stupid as they come!" He broke off the glass from his intact cesti. "You are running on fumes, Corrick. Do you think I don't notice how much you're drinking from that dangerous fountain? Let me show you how a master does it, dear."

Corrick's eyes shot wide when it happened. The heartbeat between seconds as a life is snuffed out. The final breath of the closest love. Lucidity poured on him like the holy ghost raining fire, and he knew beyond his own mind that The Heartsong was being unwoven from his needy fists. While he only used as much of the sickly sweet river as he thought he could handle, Arryn seemed to be devouring it all.

And in just a breath, Corrick's connection to the Heartsong was severed. He staggered as energy vanished from his body.

Arryn implanted the broken cesti into his other arm. The glass imbedded itself into his arms, disappearing under his skin. His body shuttered, the Heartsong radiating off him. His hands quivered and his palms split open, bloody glass spilling out.

"You have relied on the Heartsong long enough in this duel, my dear. You'll be one with it soon enough."

With one last gust of energy, Corrick met Arryn's blades. Corrick parried an edge of glass with one of Rana's knives and lunged for Arryn's throat. Arryn flicked his finger and the bloody shards crossed in front of him. Corrick clashed against the crimson glass. "You're a bastard."

Arryn smiled. "And you're beaten." He grabbed Corrick's head and pulled him closer, piercing him with the same blades that pierced Rana. It slid through his metal and stone easily, and his flesh even easier. "If you make it through this alive, dear, come visit me. Maybe finally we can have that date."

With a kiss on Corrick's forehead, Arryn launched him off the balcony and into the flaming abyss below.

Rakan took off in one direction, and Ace hesitated by the doors. Halona was still tending to the man, and at least the ice was holding the door...for the moment. Ace exhaled and turned to go, noting Halona hurrying off in another direction. She had to find more survivours. That was the mission.

Nodding to herself, Ace squared her shoulders and marched out into the middle of the smouldering ballroom. She scanned the room, taking note of Rakan off to the side putting out a small fire. She turned away again, almost walking into a man dressed in a suit, one arm still slightly singed and smoking. Ace directed him to the frozen door and kept going, spinning away from a fire she got too close to.

Ace smothered the flames quickly with his air and turned away only to come face-to-face to an adai'femil. They stared at each other and then the adai'femel surged forwards to grab the strap of Ace's dress.

"Malek is dying," the Mynarian woman hissed, and Ace got a good look at her face. One side was badly burned, but it did nothing to distract from her inhuman beauty. "Why do you see death in the heartsong and the heartsong in death?" Her grip tightened, and Ace tried to pull away. "I am trying to save you--"

"Why?" she spat, scowling at the other woman. "Why would you want to save me, of all people? I just passed three people you could have saved, but instead they're burning with the ship." Ace grabbed the adai'femil's wrist, noting the deep burns there as well. "Why me?"

The adai'femil swayed, eyes darting past Ace and then up. "I can only sway so much," she whispered, faintly now. "Their fates were sealed when they stepped foot on the ship. Greed does powerful things when weaving the fates into the Hearts."

"What does that even mean?" Ace asked, but the adai'femil was slipping away from her. There was a crash off to her left, distracting Ace as she glanced in that direction. When she turned back, the adai'femil was gone.

Cursing, Ace pushed onwards, spotting some of her dancer friends on the far side of the ball. They were fending off some of Nadir's men with the help of a couple of others. Ace made a beeline for them.

She slid between the group of survivours and Nadir's men, using a short, sharp blast of air to knock all four of Nadir's men off their feet.

"Normally I would say 'Go! Save yourselves!' or whatever saviours say, but we don't have that option," she spat, spinning to toss one of the men into the nearest wall. He hit it with a sickening thud and slid down to the floor. Ace ignored him, turning to face the other dancers and the party-goers. "So, you have a choice. Save the ship, or save yourself. Neither are good ones."

"The choice is obvious lady," one of the men said, shrugging a shoulder. "The ship's gonna fall no matter what. I'm only one person, what can I do to change that."

Ace snorted, pointing an accusary finger at him. "I thought the same as you, just moments ago," she said, scowling again. "But, all it takes is to save one. Think too big, and you'll find yourself an ant in all of this. But, guess what, you might not even be able to save yourself genius." She grinned. "Why not give these assholes a fight for the ship?"

"You're crazy, lady," one of them spat and turned to disappear into the still-gathering smoke.

Ace let him go, focusing on the others. "Well? You lot gonna help or not?"

"We're always willing to help you, Aracelis," Eirwen said, brushing hair out of her face. She gestured to the other dances. "Right, ladies?"

"Of course," the other two chimmed in. Ace and the dancers turned to the remaining two party-goers.

The man shrugged. "I got nothin' better to do. Honey?"

"I can help," the woman said, voice quieter than the man's. "I'm a waterbender. Point me in a direction, and I'll try to put out some of these flames."

"Awesome," Ace said, grin widening. "How about you lot try and control the fire down here? I'll go up on the catwalk and look for more survivours."

"Alright," Eirwen said and pulled Ace into a hug. "Good luck, and stay safe."

"Will do." She pulled away, gave the group a nod and headed off again.

Ace didn't look back; instead, she headed for where she last remembered there being stairs. Memory served her well and Ace climbed up the smouldering stairs to the second floor balcony, and then up onto a catwalk. Through a gap in the side of the ship and a wave of smoke, Ace spotted some wicked looking ships coming up on the Leviathan, and cursed softly. What she wouldn't give for this entire thing to be over.

She turned to head back across the catwalk and stopped short at the sudden shuddering of it. Ace slowly turned back to find a Myaran lieutenant rising out of a crouch wiith a wicked grin. He wore no shirt and had only a pair of wicked-looking daggers.

"Hey, princess," he drawled, flipping one dagger over in his hand. "Where d'you think you're goin', huh?"

"Nowhere important," Ace said, shrugging. "Not to you, anyways."

The Myaran smirked, brandished his blades and charged towards her. Ace ducked under a blade then jumped up on the railing, spinning past the Myaran lieutenant until she was past him. Ace grinned, reaching for her whip as he stopped short then twisted to face her. He looked pretty furious.

"Problem?" she asked flippantly, tugging the whip free. He glared at her.

"Why don'tcha stop dancin', princess," he growled, adjusting his stance, "and get down here so I can beat you bloody properly?"

"Not a chance!" Ace flicked her wrist and her whip hit true. Right in his face. Ace smirked as she pulled the whip back, spotting the deep slash across one of the Myaran's cheeks. He stumbled back, surprised before quickly recovering. Ace dodged the dagger he flung at her, dropping onto the catwalk awkwardly.

He lunged at her when she stumbled, tackling her to the floor. They struggled for a moment, Ace losing her grip on the whip as she smashed her elbow back into his face. His grip faltered for a moment, so she toook the chance to roll off the catwalk and into midair. She fell for a moment, weightless, before summoning wind to push her back up onto the railing.

The Myaran lieutenant took his time climbing to his feet. "You're a slippery one, ain't ya, princess?"

"I'm not a princess, you moron."

"I ain't no moron--"

"Yes, you are," Ace said, and flung a hard blast of air at him. "Now go save yourself." He went tumbling over the edge of the railing into air and disappeared. She didn't stay to watch him fall and hopped off the railing, taking a moment to collect her whip and the dagger he'd tossed at her before heading back towards the ballroom.

She was just crossing the ballroom back towards the frozen doors when something crunched beneath her foot. Ace stopped short, glancing down to find that she had stopped in the middle of a field and shattering glass. She frowned, wondering where it had come from. It was at the moment the fire surged into an inferno, and then there was the sickening thud of something hitting the floor behind her. Ace spun around to find Corrick laying there, bleeding heavily. She dropped to her knees beside him, heedless of the glass, her hands fluttering over him but not quite touching.

"Shit," Ace hissed, frantically flicking her gaze from one wound to the next and then the next. She couldn't heal, and damn, Corrick's injuries looked nasty, but she had to move him. Damnit, where the hell was Halona? "Shit..."