Years ago, he had been a boy.

Every man was once a boy, of course. But he had been a boy different from most she had known. And as the oldest in the village orphanage that had survived through wars that many parents had not, she had known quite a number of young boys. Most were children without parents, who needed to be taken care of. They all usually had imagination, but no sense of realism to complement it. They all cried, and they all screamed when hurt or confused.

But he, even as a boy, was rarely ever confused and when he was hurt, he rarely screamed or cried. He possessed imagination wilder than that of most, and yet it was balanced by a profound sense of what was, and not what could, or for most children, should, have been. His warriors bled, while the warriors of others� minds survived the sharpest blow. His sorceresses succumbed to a greater power, while others� were always the most powerful, most beautiful.

He was not obsessed with beauty. When he became old enough to think of such matters, he described his ideal woman as someone flawed, whose faults were his merits, and whose merits, his faults. He did not believe in completion. He did not believe in perfection.

Yet, those who saw him thought he was perfect.

Perhaps a little too perfect, though, for barren mothers who sometimes came to adopt the children they could not themselves conceive. They never picked him, though he was intelligent, spirited and with features that were now somewhat ugly, but would later come to be known as handsome. They picked someone who was good looking, but a fool, or someone intelligent, but plain.

It made him angry, but he hid it. She was one of the few who had ever seen him in a rage. And in a rage, he was terrifying.

Sometimes, she thought, lying on the floor of her room and staring at the ceiling, he was terrifying even when he was in the most delightful of moods.

�Move, princess.�

Jukodo�s firm, usually soft voice was full of urgency that conveyed, unnecessarily, the gravity of the situation, and she turned, willing herself to believe that the lack of noise in the air was because there had been no one at the Summer Palace, and not because there was no one left to scream, to cry out against this atrocity.

They galloped on their horses as high as they could upon the beasts, and then dismounted, heading towards the top of the hills to outrun the soldiers. Before long, Kojishi was exhausted. They had ridden so long, so hard. She was tried. She needed to rest, but there was no time. Once again, somehow, with miraculous endurance, Jukodo was by her side, pulling her along though he was white with exhaustion. They kept climbing, but made no great time, for everyone was tired out. And yet, he didn�t let go.

Kojishi felt a strange sense of reassurance. Here was a man who would be by her side for as long as she was in danger. He seemed slight and not like he was built for war, and yet, he fulfilled his duties, kept his promise to her brother. Even if it was out of a necessity to do his work and get paid that he stayed by her side, it was comforting to have him by her side. She had to admire the young man. Yet, she failed entirely to understand him.

She did not have too much time to fathom the way Jukodo�s mind worked either, for as darkness fell, danger came nearer. She could almost feel it. The mysteries of Jukodo�s mind, as she was beginning to call them, took a backseat to the wave of panic that came upon her as, from down below, a loud voice cried:

�THERE THEY ARE! GET THEM!�

Kojishi froze. All four of them turned around. There, in the light of the moon, they could see figures, several dark figures, moving towards them with great speed. Kojishi didn�t need Jukodo�s urgent word to know what to do.

�Run!�

And they ran, running, quite literally, for their lives. The young princess's feet hurt terribly, but she hardly noticed it, concentrating more on not falling off the hill, which, she knew, would hurt far more. Her staff would have helped her now, though she had abandoned it before for it had been a hindrance, but she didn't have the time or the energy to think about that, as Jukodo dragged her along, up the hill. How had the Tzorkian soldiers found them? Had they been following them all along? How on earth could they have known what route they were taking? And precisely how much further did they have to go?

And then, quite suddenly, they were at the top.

The trees towered over them, shielding them from the moonlight, which was both good and bad, for now they could not be seen very clearly, and neither could they see where they were going. Oda knew, however, and moved swiftly towards his right, everyone following him. This, Kojishi decided, was far easier than climbing the mountain. The sharp pain her side subsided and she ran easily after the other three boys.

Behind them, they could actually hear the soldiers catching up. Pretty soon, they would be right beside them, and they would be trapped, and Kojishi would be captured. The princess did not need the urgent tug on her hand by Jukodo to tell her that this was real, and that they had to move as fast as they could. Or it would be over, and everything they had been through so far would be utterly pointless�

Oda suddenly stopped, Kazu bumping into him, and turned around to face the other three. His voice was very low when he spoke. "There is a village on the other side of this mountain," he said, and Kazu's white teeth could be seen in the darkness as he grinned gratefully. "It can be very difficult, unless you know the way," - the gleam that was Kazu's teeth lessened a bit - "and it just so happens, I know the way." Kojishi could help but feel a bit apprehensive at the self assured tone of his voice. "I'll tell you the way," he continued, looking at Jukodo, who nodded ever so slightly, "and you take Kojishi and start off that way."

"And what about you and Kazu?" asked Kojishi, surprised. Kazu seemed to have been caught off guard at this as well, for he was glaring most apprehensively at Oda.

"We're going to have to distract those idiots back there. So we'll stay here and... throw something or the other at them, and you people go on. We'll catch up�"

"That's your plan?" asked Kazu, incredulously. "Throw things at them?"

"You must be out of your mind Oda!" asked Kojishi, clearly not in favor of the idea.

"Throw things at them, and if it gets out of hand, run," said Oda, who obviously thought this was the most intelligent plan in the world. "And no, I am not out of my mind. I'm just a little mad."

"I agree," said Kojishi, cordially, before turning to Jukodo. "Will you SAY something? You�re not going to let this happen, are you?"

Jukodo calmly looked at Kojishi, and then at Kazu, till his gaze shifted to Oda. He sighed softly, and took Kojishi's hand. "Alright then,� he consented, softly, nodding at Oda, who now had a triumphant grin on his face. �How do we get there?�

"Jukodo!"

"Okay, listen; this is how you get across the mountain..."

Sleep came to her uncalled, and she drifted, her mind sifting through strange, but familiar images of a boy. She had once known this boy. He had been with her in the only home she knew, where she had seen him grow from a small, innocent child with large dreamy eyes to someone much wiser than his years would have him be. Thirteen sets of parents came and went, taking someone less intelligent, less attractive with them. After the thirteenth happy family left, he snapped, and never remained in the orphanage when they came.

�I don�t want to come,� he said to her, when she went to get him from the top of the hill that he ran away to whenever prospective parents came to pick and choose.

�But Aki��

�No,� he said, quietly, and she sighed. She could not do anything for him. There had never been a time that she had been unable to say or do something that would inexplicably resolve the doubt in a child�s mind. But with Aki, there was nothing you could say that he did not already know, nothing you could do that he had not already done for himself. He isolated himself deliberately and protected himself jealously from all those fools who didn�t see him for the brilliant mind he would one day be. She did, and so she was allowed inside the space, allowed to do what she did next, putting her arms around him in a desperate attempt to hold him to her so he didn�t leave entirely.

But, of course, he left. She was unsurprised to find, one morning, that his bed was empty, his sheets unruffled. There was no sign of him at all. It was as though he had never really been there at all. And in some ways, he never had.

�But I�m right here,� he said, touching her arm lightly, and she turned to look into dark eyes burning with a cold fire.

And started horribly, crying out in shock and some anguish, until she opened her eyes, and stared into the anxious face of her serving woman.

�Ani��

�I�m right here, Madam,� the young girl was saying, and Kumiko nodded, sighing.

�Are you alright, madam?�

�Yes� I must have dozed off��

�You did. I only came to get you because it�s time for dinner, and you have not eaten all day. Again.� Kumiko gave Ani a look, and Ani smiled innocently. There was silence for a moment. Then, �You were talking in your sleep.�

Kumiko froze in the act of drinking water. �Was I?� she said, as lightly as she could. She remembered with devastating clarity what her dream had been like; she could only imagine what she would have been saying in her semi-conscious state.

�Yes,� said Ani, avoiding the lady�s gaze, as though she had intruded on something she should not have. Indeed, Lady Kumiko was a very private sort of a person. It was as though it was not anyone�s place to hear what she had to say while in a less vulnerable state, really, unless she gave them the permission to do so. �You were saying� well, asking someone to stay, and not leave. To come back��

�Oh, was I, now?� asked Kumiko, disgruntled. A scowl crept onto her usually calm face. �How nice.�

�Now, madam, a lot of people talk in their sleep�� said Ani, alarmed by the upset look on Kumiko�s face. �It�s not� so bad.�

Kumiko shrugged, and pulled herself out of bed, exhaustion threatening to bowl her over once more. �I must have been more tired than I realized,� she said, softly, rubbing her forehead.

�It was just that,� Ani pressed on, smoothing the sheets on Kumiko�s bed with rather unnecessary concentration, �you� called out a name.�

Kumiko went a little red. �Stress,� she said, by way of explanation. �It effects all sorts of foolery.�

�Yes,� said Ani, sounding relieved, �of course.�

The mirror reflected a face more tired than Kumiko remembered, as she sat down, touching her face lightly. �You�re looking at an old woman, Ani,� she said, even more subdued. �An old, old woman.�

"I cannot believe you let them stay back like that!" cried Kojishi, a few moments later, as the two of them made their way through the trees.

"Hn," said Jukodo, unfazed, concentrating on the path. Oda had explained, with a series of waggling hand movements, what path he had to follow. It was not very difficult, Jukodo realized. It was the waggling hand movements that made it sound abysmally tough.

"And did you hear his plan? Throw things at them? Honestly!"

"Hn."

"And we left Kazu with him. He's so skinny Jukodo; do you really think the soldiers from Kutou won't stamp all over him?"

"Hn."

Kojishi stopped, and looked at her protector's back, eyes narrowed. "You aren�t really listening to what I�m saying, are you?� she demanded, aggravated.

�Princess,� said Jukodo, turning and facing her finally, and looking as though he wanted to say a lot more. �I � no, I am not,� he told her. �I am trying to make sure we get on the right path. And your utterly nonsensical babbling is not of much help.�

This rather long and mostly insulting statement left Kojishi aghast. Jukodo, ever annoying, turned back to the path and continued to walk. A moment later, an affronted (but mostly abashed) Kojishi followed.

Kazu was nervous. Oda had an unusually bright view of things, which, quite frankly, unnerved him. The older boy presently sat on the branch of the tree beside him, whistling a tune softly as though sitting on braches of trees waiting for ferocious soldiers from Tzorke so that he may "throw things at them" was something he did every day. Kazu glanced at him, and decided that if he did do this everyday, he would not be very surprised. Older this boy may have been, but he had this knack for being ridiculous.

They had acquired their "things" to "throw", and a large pile of rocks, dried up fruit, and something whose smell made Kazu want to be sick lay between the two of them, as they sat waiting. The tree was a large, tropical tree, and its branches were wide and very comfortable. Kazu felt more at home here than he did on the ground, probably because he was used to being in places that he shouldn't be. He grinned to himself as the thought crossed his mind, but the grin vanished almost immediately as the sound of running reached his ears.

He tensed up, grabbing a stone immediately, noting that Oda's soft whistling had stopped. He looked at the older boy, who caught his gaze and nodded before throwing a handful of the smelly substance in the direction of the footsteps. Kazu's stomach gave a lurch. "And now we're going to die," he whispered, nervously.

"ARGH!" came a cry from the direction in which Oda had thrown the smelly stuff. "Who did that?"

Kazu bit his lip, closed his eyes, and threw.

"OUCH! WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU JUNICHI?"

Oda and Kazu looked at each other. This was excellent! If the soldiers thought someone in their own group was throwing things, they might not have to do too much. Inspired by this idea, they both threw stones and dried fruit towards the soldiers, grinning widely as more cries of pain and anger followed.

"JUNICHI! WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?"

�But I�m not�!�

"OUCH!"

"STOP IT! STOP THROWING THINGS BEFORE I HIT YOU!"

"BUT I AM NOT THROWING THINGS!!"

�OUCH!�

�HEY!�

"JUNICHI THIS IS NOT... ARGH! THAT'S IT!! GET HIM!!"

Kazu and Oda could have danced in glee, except seeing as they were seated high upon the branches of a tree, this wasn�t too good an idea. Oda took one last shot at the group ("JUNICHI!!") before leaping down beside Kazu and running off in the direction of the mountain.

Something inexplicable was bothering Kin, and he couldn�t sleep. Perhaps it was the roaring storm outside� but, it couldn�t be, could it? He, who had seen the blood of another stain his sword� he couldn�t be afraid of storms, could he? Well, he could, of course; but that wasn�t it. Something was disturbing him very deeply and he couldn�t put a finger on exactly what it was. Some very deep and basic part of his was feeling� anxious. Perturbed. Afraid.

Outside, the thunder roared and rumbled, lightning flashes throwing the cushions in Kin�s room into sudden, sharp relief. He struggled with himself. There was nothing to be done, and yet� what had he done that he had to undo?

Barefoot, the prince arose from bed, and reached for his cloak. It didn�t matter what it was; he had to do something. Staying in his room was driving him to insanity, to images that he could not yet face. He had to hold out until his father returned. If he returned. Kin wanted to send yet another soldier; he did not somehow get the feeling that the message had gone through. It was paranoia, he told himself. He would not help matters by whining like a plaintive child and asking the General to send a whole troop or something.

Shutting the door behind him, Kin moved softly down the corridor. He needn�t have bothered, really, with being soft. The storm was creating enough of a racket to drown out a banshee. The General had insisted that Kin go to bed and get some rest. They had spent all day making plans, trying to figure out how to stop the attacks, where to launch a counterattack. They could not launch a counterattack; Kin knew that, and he had pointed it out snappishly at the end of the day.

�A mouse trapped in a mousetrap doesn�t launch a counterattack!� he had said, causing the General to send him to bed with a hot bowl of soup.

The bowl of soup was now cold, and Kin was colder still. He padded down the corridor, looking at the window at the end of it as though it held the answers to the many questions that he was expected to answer. Kin frowned, troubled. They had decided to focus largely on the Eastern side of the country, because it was madness to come by sea to Lajandra. The strategists had all told him this. The sea was ruthless. Leaving Tzorke by sea was ridiculous, and coming to Lajandra by sea, even more so.

But wasn�t it, as the most unexpected, the thing that they should expect the most?

Kin reached the window, where the wind lashed out at him viciously, the hailstones barely missing him as they whizzed past. The boy did not notice. He was battling some inner demon, though he could not identify it as his fear of the illogical, inexplicable and irrational, all of which his opponent was measuring up to be. A difficult thing as it was to put himself in the shoes of an insane Tzorkian Commander, Kin closed his eyes and did so.

If I was a madman looking to triumph and nothing but, where would I attack?

The answer was clear, and a moment later, Kin was running down to the General�s room.

About a minute of banging on the door proved fruitless, and a passing guard told him that General Hikaru had already gone to the throne room and was waiting for him there. Kin blinked, and made his way to the throne room, moving fast so that he didn�t have to think about the growing feeling of dread deep in him.

�I think we should make sure the western front is covered,� he said, bursting into the room. An unnatural hush fell over the room. The General, standing in the middle of the room, nodded to the soldier he had been talking to, and he left. Kin barely acknowledged his bow, and looked directly at the General.

�You were not in your room when we went to find you,� the General began, but Kin cut him off. They had to send soldiers. They had to. Something was very wrong.

�The ports at least,� he pressed on, looking at the General, who closed his mouth and listened, a look of solemn patience in his eyes.

Kin�s voice was shockingly agitated. This, more than anything else made the General let him press on. Admittedly, he wasn�t supposed to be a child anymore. He was the PRINCE of a nation at war. But the young face, the childish flush to his cheeks and the struggle to find hope that was almost painful to watch made it easy to forget this. There was something about Kin, something that was painfully young and at the same time painfully old, that made the General want to protect him. It was actually quite ridiculous, seeing as Kin was the prince of the nation and everything, but the General couldn�t, at times, help it, treating the prince for the boy that he was right now.

�And the big towns,� he was saying, �we have to anticipate an attack from that side, because� well, it�s the least expected way for them to come, isn�t it? So it�s logical that they would use it. I� know it�s not the most rational route for them, General, but� I know we need to anticipate it. I feel it.� A silence followed this admission, in which big brown eyes looked at the General almost defensively, as though anticipating apprehension and doubt.

�Would you, at least, sit down?� asked the General, finally, looking so grave that Kin gave in and sat down, looking at him expectantly. It took the General some effort to continue. �We�ve already sent soldiers to the western front,� he said, and Kin frowned, looking somewhat relieved.

�Oh,� he said, nodding.

The General looked at him, a strange mixture of many things on his old, quiet face. �We�ve already sent them because about an hour ago we got news that��

Kin looked at him in disbelief, knowing what he was about to say, grateful that he was sitting; he got the impression that his legs would have been unable to hold him up for this.

�The western front was attacked in the day,� said the General, looking very directly at the prince. �They did use the illogical way. You are right.�

Kojishi had drifted from subject to subject, babbling on softly, simply because walking on in silence in the darkness was all too familiar, too like the night before, that she had spent in the forest with Kazu and Jukodo. Silence was frightening, and Kojishi � who normally would have shut up after the considerably long and serious speech from Jukodo, a little while earlier � was doing all she could to keep its cold grasp away from herself, without being too loud.

She had started off with babbling about how Jukodo was right about everything, but the silence was rather overbearing. Didn�t he, Jukodo, think the silence was overbearing? But of course, he seemed to be used to it. Why was he used to it, really? But then again, perhaps it was not her place to ask. Could he hear her at all? Probably not, so did it matter that she asked?

Jukodo, throughout this endless babble, was quiet, quite focused on getting his charge to safety. If one thing could be said about Jukodo, it was that he had the concentrating power of a lioness on the trail of potential food. To his credit, he was doing a very good job of keeping to the trail, for they were been doing just fine, walking along with very little difficulty, unless you call Jukodo being so engrossed in finding the way that all he could say was "Hn" a difficulty.

Once, he stopped and looked at the princess, who was stumbling like a toddler all over the hilltop, with something like kindness, and cut her a staff. But then, she had realized, this was obviously part of his job. For a moment there, Kojishi babbled, she had thought he was nice, but heaven forbid that happen�

Amazing, wasn�t it, Kojishi babbled, how it was the lionesses that did all the work, and how despite this, the lions got credit for being the king of the jungles. Did Jukodo agree? Well, probably not, seeing as he was a man and all men were inclined to side with the lazy lions. Which brought Kojishi to the subject of men and women, and how men tended to be rather oppressive, and that she couldn�t imagine why anyone would want to marry a man.

Not all potential husbands were terrible, though, Kojishi babbled, as she was reminded of Oda, who seemed like quite a nice fellow to have around. �Maybe it wouldn�t be too bad, this whole marriage thing,� she was mumbling, keeping close to Jukodo, who had, after his stern reprimand, not said a word. �After all, Junko does seem happy with Oda and she�s independent en� oof!� she finished, for she had bumped into the protector, who had stopped very abruptly, for some reason, turning sharply to look at her.

�What?� said Jukodo, and for the first time, his voice was a little louder and its pitch higher than the normal, soft, yet firm tone Kojishi had almost grown used to not hearing.

�Huh?� said Kojishi, baffled by this sudden break in the steady flow that they had been proceeding in. �What?�

�What did you say about my sister and that oaf?�

�Who?�

�Junko and��

"Well, well, well, look what we have here."

Jukodo turned around, pushing Kojishi back rather roughly. Kojishi would have been indignant, but this was really not the time.

The four soldiers in front of Kojishi and Jukodo were as big and bulky as the ones they had bumped into at the palace. Maybe it was her imagination mingling with fatigue, but to Kojishi, they seemed even bulkier. She clutched her staff tightly, steeling herself. She had to fight. Jukodo was a very good fighter, but he could not take on and defeat four soldiers, each double his size. She wasn�t very experienced in this particular field, but once she made up her mind, she stuck to her decision. And she made up her mind now.

For a moment, no one knew what to do. All that could be heard was the gurgling of a nearby stream. The mountain quiet echoed uncomfortably around them. Kojishi could feel Jukodo all tensed up next to her. The soldiers looked at them with triumphant eyes. One of them laughed.

�This is a piece of cake,� he said, in a horrible voice, not unlike Gushiken�s.

The moment of stillness passed, broken as the four soldiers lunged towards them. The next moment, Kojishi was trying to fight a large man who just would not get hurt, much to her exasperation. She swung her staff one way, and he dodged easily. She swung it the other way, and he dodged again. It was the annoying smirk of triumph on his ugly, mean, weird, annoying face that got to her. After a long series of blows which never quite connected, Kojishi got really annoyed and hit him on the top of his head.

It worked brilliantly. The princess gaped as the man fell to the ground, out cold. She looked at her staff, and grinned.

Sword met sword, as Jukodo kicked out at a soldier, his foot connecting with the larger man�s neck. A sickening crunch followed this action, but no one had the time to listen to it and think about what it meant, for at this moment, Kojishi was trying to knock another soldier out in the same manner as she had done the first one, and Jukodo and the fourth soldier were engaged in a heated battle of skilled swordplay. Loud clashes were heard as the swords met each other, generating sparks.

The other man, complacent and egotistic beyond words was grinning, in Jukodo�s opinion, like the largest idiot he had ever come across. And yet, he could not get past that sword to his flesh.

It happened in less than ten seconds. Kojishi�s opponent, physically stronger, took hold of her swinging staff, and pushed her backwards against a tree. She fell, startled, and looked up to find her own staff heading her way. It connected with her back as she ducked, or tried to.

Unimaginable pain shot through her body as she cried out in anguish. At this precise moment, another scream was heard through the forest, as Jukodo�s sword pushed past the man�s strong defense and pierced his heart. Throwing her staff on her, Kojishi�s opponent turned, an aura of rage almost emanating from his body.

Looking around, he could see bodies of three of his friends lying grievously injured, if not dead.

Before Jukodo could even turn, he whipped out a dagger, and stabbed him, with an anguished cry that echoed through the forest.

A pain, unlike any other he had felt filled Jukodo�s body. It was strange really, being stabbed. You felt nothing but pain for a while, and then you felt nothing at all. The last thing he heard was a cry of �Jukodo!� before he fell backwards. There was a sound of something falling� was it him?

Someone was touching his face. Someone was telling him to hold on. Someone was crying. He wanted to make them stop sobbing, but he couldn�t.

There was a muffled sound, as though several people were talking at the same time. Everything was so unfocused, but at least nothing hurt anymore. He sighed, or tried to, and suddenly it became very cold.

Someone was shaking him, or were they? He couldn't think anymore.

Jukodo closed his eyes and let the darkness consume his mind.

About halfway to the dining room, Kumiko decided she did not want any dinner. It was true that she had not eaten all day, but she was beginning to feel mildly sick from the vivid memories that were popping into her head tonight. Positively ridiculous though it was, she was not feeling at all as though she wanted to eat. Sick with worry, with anxiety and with a sudden need to grieve for the loss of something she had never imagined she would lose, she made her way through the hallways of the castle.

Ajibana had changed from when she had known him. But then again, in some ways, he had not changed at all. He had always been this driven, this egotistical and overpowering. Perhaps that was what had driven the parents away from him.

But the loss was profound. Tonight, she had felt something very important really slip away from him. A conscience, perhaps? Possibilities of redemption, in a way� hope that he was not all that she had always believed him to be. In a way, she had lost him. Tonight, standing before him, she had really seen him for the man that he had become.

He was standing on his own two feet. He was alone as he had always been, and when she came to get him now, he would not let her put her arms around him and take him back, in any sense. He was no longer one of her boys, from the orphanage, willful, determined. He was Commander Ajibana, of the Imperial Forces of Tzorke, and she had the strongest impression that if he left right now, he would never return, like he had so many years ago, to bring her to the castle that they could be closer to each other. She had always known that, hadn�t she?

�Not hungry?�

Kumiko stopped walking, and turned, knowing before she did who she would see standing so casually against the wall of the hallway. His smile was soft, gentle, almost amused. �Not really,� she said, quietly, but couldn�t bring herself to return the smile.

�Are you ill?� The eyes were almost concerned. Kumiko shook her head.

�No, just� not hungry,� she said, and suppressed the urge to take a step backwards as he came towards her. He wouldn�t hurt her. She knew that, through the other knowledge of what was lost forever; he would never, ever raise a hand on her out of anger or frustration. Even when he was angry, he was cautious and respectful with her. It was what made it so hard to believe that he was really causing all the destruction he was beyond the mountains, in a once prosperous nation.

He fell into step beside her and they walked together through the castle, silently. Kumiko remembered the first time they had walked through the castle together. She had been so nervous, so intimidated by the sheer size of where he had brought her, of what he had accomplished. That had been three years ago. She should have known then that he would never be satisfied with the monumental glory of being the youngest commander the forces of Tzorke had ever had, the trust that the King had placed in him. He had never been one to stop and rest, to look around and just appreciate what was. He always wanted more.

Now she knew, and now, looking into his dark eyes, which glittered in the torchlight, it was not so hard to believe.

�Old demons haunting you?� asked Ajibana, very suddenly, and there was an amused lilt to his voice.

Kumiko gave him a look, and raised an eyebrow. �Whatever makes you say that?� He had always been able to read her, like he pointed out now, leaning in so that his breath brushed gently against her cheek.

�We were children together, Kumiko,� he said. �I know you.� There was triumph in those eyes, as they reached the door to her room, which tarnished the truth in his words.

�No,� she said, stopping outside her door, looking at him calmly. �You don�t.�

�Really?� Ajibana leaned in again, so close that their noses were almost touching, that she could see the seriousness that he was hiding behind his smirk in his eyes. �I could tell you whose name you cried out for today,� he said, bringing a hand up to trace her cheek. �When you were battling your old demons.�

Kumiko remained frozen under his touch. �No,� she said, unconvincingly.

He told her.

�Am I right?� he said, smirking as he pulled back. She frowned and did not answer.

He was right.

She shut the door, and leaned her forehead against it, listening to the sounds of him walking away.

Of course.