Spirits of the Earth

Ghanon peered through the spheres as mirrors made their way before his vision.  Sometimes it was not easy navigating through these mirrors, even if he had learned to do so for time immemorial.  He saw reflections of those whom had been keeping an eye on, those that he'd influenced or had some part in their existence, no matter how vague or fabricated.  The things he'd done, that which he'd seen.  He would never bring himself to forget, but nor could he bring himself to blame.

It had been a strange and unusually long month in the north and Ghanon lingered for reasons he did not know.  There was something peculiar in the air, beckoning and he knew he could not waste any opportunity with which to find her.  He was somewhat desperate, somewhat fascinated with the way this woodland formed and though he could teleport anywhere he pleased, no matter where or when it was.  He knew he was risking much by finding Lana, and he knew that he could not stretch the patience of the one who held the dreamshard.  If he found out about it...how to use it—No!  He could not think about that.

Already the stress of finding Lana had been one worry to focus on, he did not need to further intensify the odds already against him.  Ghanon knew the Fallen Prince was not one to be trifled with and while he did not fear him in the sense that he, himself, might be hurt, one could feel the power surging through the darkened man and without a doubt he had cunning.  The power had come from that sword of his, or at least he sensed a crippling dependency on the blade.  Like it was a gift and a curse.  Demonblades were nothing to sneer at, however, Ghanon feared the man backing out of the agreement more than the sword.

Ghanon materialized out of thin air along the road he'd seen Lana travel along when he'd found the right mirror and viewed her like the visions that plagued him constantly.  The snowfall had melted away with the dawn and he remained crouched on the ground, a deep wound on his side that had been a little taste of that blade of Arcan's that he called Azaghal.  It was not pleasant...and nor was it often that any physical weapon could bring him harm, but it was possible.

While he was of the flesh, he was still vulnerable like flesh, though just considerably less so.

Of all people, he could only hope that Lana could help him.  The wound was larger than he thought and growing larger still if he could get to her in time.  He did not have the strength to fly and found himself walking steadily until his feet could only stagger like those drunken first steps out of the Canary Rose.

His vision was blurry for the blade had been strong, and he viewed the shape on the road coming toward him, hoping, only hoping that it was the one that he sought.  He knew she owed him nothing.  But it was not often the Astralwalker ran to a goddess for aid.  But the pain had been primarily suppressed until now and he felt his body become limp along the roadside, collapsing from exhaustion, whispering, "Lana."

The street had been bustling with the midday rush making his appearance difficult to discern at best.  It had been several weeks since their last emotional encounter, but even in that short time much had changed.  In order to blend in with the town folk Lana had taken up the task of making a living for herself, something entirely foreign to her.  It seemed that the most basic style of life there required that you have a trade.  For her, it was healing.  However, in order to avoid the direct display of her abilities to the patients that she saw, she put them under a sedating spell to cause them to be unaware as she utilized her 'gifts' of herbal remedies and enchanted liquids.  No one was the wiser, the people who did feel comfortable enough to come to her for care being willing to accept a measure of superstition in her work.  No one could say exactly how she achieved such permanent, almost immediate results, but she was on par with the fortune teller just blocks away.

Lana had made enough coin to purchase a small room at an inn, though at any time, as often she did, she could fabricate more earnings as she needed.  She was careful to only see a few patients a day and to choose only the cases that were not too extreme, save for certain desperate occasions.  It pained her to have to pick and choose whose illnesses would be cured and who would have to suffer, but it was necessary to not draw too much attention to herself.  

She had just been 'prescribing' an herbal tea in combination with eight shriveled Erdolyn berries, although her patient, having suffered from intense headaches, had been touched by Lana's magic and unknowingly would recover with or without the 'prescription' in just a day or so.  They would, however, likely find themselves a fan of the dehydrated snack.  As the older woman departed gratefully from Lana's small apartment, there was a pause allowing Lana to clean up the area before two young boys came rushing in with a familiar looking wanderer supported over their small shoulders, and a little girl in tow.  They looked incredibly disturbed, and though they had not heard him whisper her forbidden name, they had immediately thought to bring the wounded stranger to her care.  Lana seemed a bit alarmed at first, especially to see Ghanon in such an exposed and distressing state, but kept her composure, ushering the talkative and concerned boys out the door with the younger girl.  Lana had helped them lay Ghanon on her tiny, grey bed and she quickly locked the door behind the children and took a deep breath.

After a moment's contemplation staring over Ghanon's form she regained herself and approached the bed in the manner of a good nurse.  The blood was leaving him rapidly from an ever gaping wound that seemed to be rapidly growing wider.  It wasn't an ordinary laceration.  The flesh around the stab wound was a sickly green with occasional blotches of purple bruising, signs that his flesh around it was slowly dying.  A dark magic had been responsible for this, and she was suddenly struck with the worry that she might not be able to counteract it.  With wide eyes she silently set to work first removing the blood soaked clothing from the gash.

Ghanon was not accustomed to being dragged along the road like some pest that was crushed by wagon wheels.  He was in an out of consciousness and he felt as if his form was about to return to the astral plane.  With whatever will remained in him, Ghanon forced his body to remain physical rather than fading like the shadow of a ghost on the road.  He didn't know where he was or how fast he was going or if he was going to reach the one he hoped to find at all.

Ghanon clung to his every breath even as the wound along his side hurt him desperately and he labored for breath, even if he didn't need to breathe.  A mortal form was sometimes just an all too physical form.  And the blade had cut him deeply, a show of Arcan demonstrating just what he might do in the event that Ghanon did not uphold his end of the bargain.  But he had all his own reasons to do it that were motivation enough.  The dreamshards were not exactly that which could be so easily understood.  Not even he, with all his gifts, could fully comprehend them.  But it was in his mind that it was better that he than anyone else.

Ghanon opened his eyes slightly and recognized that his surroundings had changed...and it was not by his doing.  Someone had moved him, or someones.  Ghanon did not care which.  The place was not out in the open and certainly had an air of a room at an inn.  Ghanon's eyes fluttered open and he saw something familiar standing before him.  His wound still ate away at the flesh, like a disease of perpetual rot.  Azaghal was not something he would like to come into contact with on a regular basis but at least now, he knew what that godless weapon was capable of.

A breath sunk in and his vision blurred as he felt the bloody clothing being removed.  His garments were as much a part of him as he was a part of them, but they were still clothes all the same.  The felt like cloth and his garb was gradually pulled away from where his wound was and he let himself be moved like a doll at the whim of this person who would either harm him or heal him.  Again...he did not much care for which.

Eventually his sight cleared and he peered at her with sullen eyes, and he found he could barely speak sans for one sentence that came slowly, slightly weakened.  "Is that you, Lana?" he asked.

Though he spoke to her, and though anyone with a spirit of compassion might try to immediately comfort him, caught up in the joy that he was responsive, Lana did not.  In fact, she purposely ignored him.  It was her intent to address his decaying flesh and then, sedate him, and in his delirium send him on his way.  She wouldn't let harm come to him, of course, but she also couldn't let harm come to herself.  It had been such a short amount of time since their last meeting together, and she hadn't fully prepared to again dive into their impassioned, confusing friendship.  Again, it wasn't that she didn't want to see him, or that she hadn't dreamt of him once or twice during their parting, but there was something foreboding about him and she was not willing to submit to it just yet.

Not even her eyes met his.  She knew who he was, but if he could leave there without knowing who she was then all of her concerns would be addressed.  Lana had peeled away what was left of the soaked cloth, and now stood a moment in awe of how obviously tainted the wound was.  It emanated a power that was demonic.  If it were very powerful, she would be putting herself at some risk by healing it.  However, it wasn't enough risk to dissuade her.  She knew Ghanon was in immense pain, and she knew that shifters of any kind were often more aware of it than most others who were bound to their bodies.  

In order to heal this wound, she would have to remove the dark magic with it.  But if she were to heal alone, with no where for it to transfer, she would take it in herself.  It was inevitable that she would have to absorb some, and if it weren't for the dark jewel that had been implanted in her flesh, she would have felt the toxicity in her own body.  She turned away, and for a moment played with the small serpent pendant that had remained faithfully at her chest during the last month.  It was small, but the stone had been fashioned from the very volcanic ash of their hell, and the power of her King had been so grand and deeply imbued with darkness that even the tiniest trinket of his would be more than tolerant of the simple black magic she saw here.  It was an emotional sacrifice, but the pendant would not be marred.

She returned to the bedside with the knowledge that time was of the essence.  Snapping the pendant away from her neck she pulled the small orb from its chain and dropped it into the center of the gaping wound.  She then placed her hands on either side of the gash and began to heal.  The orb remained between the mounds of inflamed flesh in full form, but as the flesh began to drift toward itself to close the opening, the orb slowly melted into a liquid substance almost exactly like molten metal.  It seeped into the bloody flesh, absorbing into it, and soon, the black and red soup could not longer be seen as the wound finally closed itself.  

Lana pulled her hands away from his side and opened one of them to reveal the pendant in its full form, sitting atop her palm.  She refastened the necklace and looked with interest at the scar that had been left.  Her face was flushed from the tingling magic that coursed through her body toward the originally dim starred jewel that now flickered a thunder blue, and her eyes followed the serpentine scar that followed the exact length of the stab wound.  But only a moment was needed to take in the sight, and she turned away again to her small wooden table to begin to mix a mild sedative for him.

It pained him more to will himself to remain, than to endure the wound.  As it ate away like a remnants of flame turning a sheet of paper to ash, Ghanon kept his eyes locked on the ceiling.  Not even this stranger could hold his interest and his sight seemed to peer through his immediate surroundings.  The silver of his eyes glowed and appeared glazed over, and tears threatened to breach the ramparts of his lids, but he blinked them away and his eyes burned for it.

He saw not the wooden ceiling and rafters, and peered through it to the sky of this plane, and viewed the sun without the sting of the rays, and he felt the burn of solar winds scathing along his skin, and there was the beckoning vacuum of galactic holes that summoned relentlessly, and the cores of stars that could no longer contain their dwarfism and exploded along each other, and the vastness of bright-eyed valleys that proved to be a swirling blur if you stood still long enough and he saw the ethereal faces of deities that haunted him, hounded him, and hunted him.

In his agony, Ghanon refused to cry out on the contact of another along the wound the delirium set in that familiar fear that he sought to shove away like an acid bath.  There was never a stagnant nature or definition of magic and it was more than obvious that the blade that struck him was capable of far more ravaging attacks and he felt the soul of his form burn away like his skin.  Magic took on so many different incarnations that even the corrupted sorcery that coursed through him was paining him as another magic took it upon itself to close the wound.  It was said the Abyss provided the same feeling to the souls of the damned that swam down into the whirlwind of terror.  He knew that that he'd be cast down there to spend forever punished for his wrong-doings.  But he couldn't let them catch him, not yet.

This person near him, whoever they were, they had dripped of the astral aura, much like he did.  But hers....yes, hers, was far more pronounced.  Ghanon did not think to know if this was she that he sought, but immediately his heart jumped into his throat and the fear clasped onto him and he could not remain still after the wound had long since been healed.  He immediately moved and leapt back violently and opened his eyes full tilt, eyes that were reddened with anger and alarm and he sat up and far away from her as possible.  "Get away from me!" he lashed out, seething and clutched the cloth underneath him with white knuckles.

He was mad from the pain that still lingered through the wound had closed up.  He looked over at Lana, not recognizing that it was she that he had called for in the first place.  "What have you done to me?"

Lana was calm to his reaction, continuing to stir scalding liquid with a powerful herb.  She finished her task and removed the wilted leaves from the wooden cup and turned to him with a serene expression.  She set the cup beside the bed on a small stool she had used for a table.  Extravagance was not a luxury she afforded herself.  Extravagance was deserving of a Queen, and a Queen she no longer was.  Whatever she could manage with she would as no one place would be called 'home'.  She smirked at his alarmed interrogation.

Pulling a chair over from the table which served her many tasks, she set her elbows on her knees, folding her small hands and peering at him.

"I am she who has just saved your life." She reached over and picked up a leaf from one of the many bowls of various picked plant life that sat atop the table, and bit off the tip of it. "And I have done exactly that."

Her eyes glowed in his presence, the extension of her energy and the absorption of his was intoxicating.  She was feeling a high from the ordeal, one she wasn't used to, and it was causing her heart to palpitate furiously.

Ghanon remained alarmed, though his senses began to dim more than usual and he still peered at her though wary, narrow eyes as if she was just about to put some strange curse on him, or as if she used him violently.  He was accustomed to being a object where and when needed, but not when he was not conscious of his own decisions.  It was one thing to be an object and quite another to be a guinea pig.

He clutched at his side, were his bloodied clothing had been removed and watched the scar that snaked up it.  The cut had been deep and for some reason he winced as if he still felt it burning through him.  He scrunched his face up in irritation and looked at her, like a cornered animal that was gradually coming to his senses.

"Saved my life?" he echoed in inquiry.  He did not tell her that the wound, though threatening and painful, would more than likely wouldn't have killed him.  Death for a being like him was not a simple thing and he was more than sure it was beyond his grasp.  Ghanon sighed and pulled his legs close to him, almost protectively, as if still very much threatened by her presence.  There was a strange look in her eye that he hadn't seen before.

"How...." He cleared his throat. "How did I end up here?"

Lana wasn't certain if he recognized her yet, but it didn't matter.  One way or another, he would have to leave soon.  She slipped the leaf between her lips and sucked at the sweet moisture that flowed from the damaged end.  It was the same herb that she had made the sedative from, however the calming effect of just one leaf would only help settle her heart.  She stretched her legs from beneath her to rest her feet on the edge of the bed across from her.  

"You simply did."  She continued to enjoy her drug of choice and seemed rather preoccupied by it, "That's all that matters, isn't it?  That you're safe, that it's quiet, and that you're no longer bleeding profusely."

Her eyes glanced toward the cup she had set on the stool.

"Tea?"

Ghanon did not dare speak her name and rubbed away the fogginess of his gaze.  He relaxed physically and sat with his legs off the bed right next to her.  He still clutched his side, sighing before looking up at her and letting a thin, wry grin spread on his lips.  He didn't expect to find her in a place like this.  Even with only knowing her for a month she seemed so much the wanderer that he did not think that she would stay at an inn.  It seemed she'd been here for a short while.

She offered him tea and he might have been inclined to refuse her but a drink would be just what he needed right now, any kind would do.  "Yes, please," he said politely and looked at her with a tilted gaze.

"I didn't know you would be settled," he commented idly.  "But you're going to leave soon aren't you?"

Settled.  She laughed a little at the idea.

"Your tea is next to you." There was a glint of mischief in her eyes since she knew that the tea would relax him to a point of delirium, or so she hoped.

Even now she found it incredibly hard to sit still.  So, she stood with intentions to sort the plethora of colored stones she had collected and grinded down to a polish.  They were each elemental with the potential for aid in magic.  Now that she was exiled and so far from her world, her magic, though preserved, had been unfortunately dampened by the loss of connection.  Any small thing that would simulate this communion would give her an advantage.

"I hardly consider this settled.  It is a place where I can feel a little safe in the meantime.  That's all."  She poured herself her own tea, however, a different kind, and leaned against the table blowing on the surface of the hot water, then took a sip, "I am leaving soon, yes."

Ghanon was feeling restored now but he did not reach for the tea just yet.  The sorcery that flowed in him coursed like poison and made him feel gradually renewed.  He did grasp the tea before it got cold and sniffed the tea before taking a sip for himself.  It tasted like boiled herbs, but not just herbs for healing.  Ghanon quivered at the taste of it but set it aside soon enough.

A need to feel safe.  Her choice of words were curious to him and he savored them for a short time before reaching out to his bloodied clothes.  His hand waved ever so slightly before they shimmered like water and soon returned to a state of mended normalcy.  The scar on his flesh however would remain until that too healed with time.  He slipped on his shirt and took a glance at her with solemn eyes.

"You need to feel safe?  What ever happened to your wolf companion?  You know I never did catch his name."  Ghanon put a hand on her shoulder and looked at her softly.  "You've been hiding from something?  Hiding from me?"

There was a slight joy that leapt through her as he took a drink of the 'tea'.  It would only heavily relax him, if it worked properly on an immortal, but she couldn't be sure.  She had only worked with mortals a short while and her own resistance to it told her that the blood of an eternal would likely require a magical additive, which she could supply.  However, she wouldn't if it wasn't needed.  He looked as if he felt sorry for her.  She didn't like it.  But his touch was kind and familiar, a dangerous familiar, and she gave in to the wave of delight that quickly passed through her.  

A twinge of sadness twisted at her heart as he mentioned Canis.  Yes, Canis was gone.  And yes, it had been necessary.  But that didn't negate the feeling of loss that it had caused.  Still, her face was emotionless as she responded, guarded.

"Yes, Canis..." She nodded, "He is undyingly loyal, but I released him.  His service to me, though wholesomely motivated, was however still motivated by his memory of me in my former glory.  And there is no road to future glory for me, and so it didn't seem right to keep him from a lifetime of possibilities when I can easily watch after myself."

And now, to address Ghanon's next inquiry.  It actually greatly amused her that he thought she might be taking pains to keep him away from her.  His arrogance, however ignorant of it he might be, was always quite silly.

"Perhaps I used the wrong word...  By safe, I mean enclosed, sheltered.  I don't feel that from sleeping in the fields where no simple comforts can be found.  And certainly, there's no need to flatter yourself." She smiled and patted his hand, "I wouldn't dare try hiding from  you."

Ghanon could hide his amusement and he really didn't want to hide it either.  As clear as day he chuckled and smiled at her a grin of genuine kindness, one that was not often seen on the face of the shifter such as he.  "You do me too much honor.  Please don't.  But thank you nonetheless for attempting to see a stroke of my own ego," he said with clear humor and took his hand away from his side.

So this is where she'd been all this time and her companion had been excused.  There was a small wish he could have gotten to know the wolf creature better, but there was always time for that and he didn't want to linger on tragic feelings, not now that he'd just met his old acquaintance for another time, perhaps even for the last time.

Ghanon looked at her and he found that his eyes had been smiling, not something that was common either.  "I meant only that I was worried about you," he said genuinely, even to his own vague surprise.  "I'm sorry for not making much of an effort to contact you through the pendant.  But worry is half-hearted from a long-distance summons, isn't it.  How have you been?"

That he even apologized for something she had thought they mutually understood was not expected was peculiar to her.  The pendant he had given her, she thought, had been a spontaneous act of emotion rather than truth, and she had expected it to remain a mere trinket.  Using it as a means to communicate, though he had specified that was his intent, did not occur to her.  In fact, she could have apologized for becoming so aloof herself.  But she didn't feel remorseful that she hadn't spoken to him.  His reaction now was most likely due to the recent ordeal he had endured, and she knew better than to believe it was more than that.  

She humored him, however, and gave him a grateful smile after taking another sip of her tea, "I have been as I have been.  Roaming, discovering, and fashioning a new existence for myself."

There was no reason to go into further detail.  It was obvious he was hoping to gain more from their meeting than she was willing to give, and she was ignorant to the fact that he had  come intentionally to find her.  The happenstance that he arrived the way he did was still just that in her mind, a coincidence.  

She rose from her chair and set the tea aside, then pulled a dagger from one of the stuck drawers of her table and slipped it into the side of one of her knee-high boots.  She was wearing the outfit she had worn the last time they saw each other, only now her feet were hardly bare.  She had needed something sturdy and handy in case of trouble or long travel, and they served her well.  

"As much as I am delighted to see you," her voice was filled with less gravity than her words, "I am taking off very soon.  In fact, you found me at a very inopportune time.  I am about to be on my way."

It may have been an accident it may have been not.  Ghanon knew better than anyone that it was a naïve thing to believe.  Experience taught him that there were no accidents and that everything happened for a purpose, even if said purpose was initially inexplicable and purposefully mysterious.  Ghanon did not intend for him to be dragged along the road like the dog he was, or taken to see her so quickly.  But it could be argued that perhaps he'd foreseen that he would all along.  For even those that knew Ghanon, they could not always know what lingered on his mind, or what he might do next.

Ghanon did not like that she was about to be leaving just as he was recovering from his wound, but he understood her for doing so.  There was no blame there and he too was ready to leave as well.  He grabbed his robe jacket and with a quiver the cloak shimmered over his form.  He did not drink the rest of the tea.  There was something from it that he felt flow through his body that, while refreshing, he was not familiar with.

His hands buttoned the second button from his jacket and let the top flap off as it usually was.  He saw that she was wearing shoes now.  And it seemed she'd found fortune enough to find them.  The dagger was fortune as well.  He grinned at her, amused and his eyes were glittering as he looked at her.  She truly was a thing of beauty now that he thought about it.  Sometimes beauty was more than skin deep.

His hands fiddled the silver bracers on his arms which gleamed and reflected with strange glyphs, runes of another world, in the dim, flickering candle light.

"Perhaps," he began softly.  "It is not as inopportune as you say.  You are leaving...and so am I.  Perhaps where you are headed, I shall be too.  Would it be too bold to ask if I may travel with you?  And...if you would do me the kindness of accepting my company."

It was good timing that Lana had turned away when he offered his company during her travels.  She was not thrilled at the prospect, though touched.  She wasn't sure what to glean from his attentiveness to her other than he was possibly a bit lonely.  It was understandable, if he was, though he didn't seem the kind to let such emotion overcome him, or even truly feel it.  He had been such a lone wolf, from what she had come to know of him, that it would be hard to imagine him afflicted with the feeling of being lonely.  What else could he want of her, then? She wondered....  Nonetheless, he had just been severely wounded, and she hadn't even had the care to ask him what happened.

"If you happen to be traveling in the direction of Hyoite..." she slowly replied, her movements more languid now that she was in the midst of thinking, and she continued to load her boots up with the necessary weaponry, "Then I might not be able to refuse."

Lana pulled her mass of curls up away from her neck and tied it so.  

"But take care not to slow me down."

She smirked.

Ghanon had kept his eyes to the ground and let them linger on her legs as he watched her arm herself as much as her boots could store.  He honestly questioned just how many daggers she was going to stuff in there but they looked like they were holding together pretty well.  He wasn't going to question her decisions, not right now.  Ghanon smirked back when she looked at him and suddenly he recalled something that hadn't thought about in over a month.

"Lana," he said quietly.  "Remember that room you paid for back at the inn.  The one that you never used?  I don't know if it matters at all, but I couldn't help but think of the, well, pointless way in which you lost your money."  A hand reached into his jacket and he produced a coinpurse, a small one and of just the right weight that she had spent.  It was only prudent that he return it to her.  He handed it over, unsure it mattered anymore, but decided the gesture was worth it nonetheless.

"I'll do my best not to slow you down, darling.  So tell me, would you prefer to travel the old fashioned way?  Or my way?"

She ran her hands over figure to dust herself off as he spoke.  The Inn hadn't come to her mind either, mainly because the money she had spent was easily reproduced with magic.  The earning of money was more of a way to feel normal, and more importantly to appear normal.  It was inconvenient to have to hide her magical skill, but she couldn't be sure how others would respond, and being noticed by the civilians she lived near was the last thing she desired.

Though the money was inconsequential, she accepted it and smiled, holding his hand for a moment in goodwill, "Thank you.  I had let it slip from my mind."

She pocketed the coins and looked back at him inquisitively, "I'm assuming your way is quicker?"

Devious bastards took what they wanted in any which way they could, never offering a kind gesture or instance of goodwill, even if it was more prudent to do so.  Ghanon wondered what she saw him as, for it was more than obvious with the way he looked at her that she could sense his own deviousness, but even if he had no intentions to directly harm her, he knew that she would be no more a tool to him, as everyone was.  When he looked at her now, beautiful as she ever was, he saw not the goddess he first met in a small town market, dressed like a fool and acting as one.

He had played his part and she had as well, yet here they were now, wanderers crossing paths again that was more than coincidence.  He wondered if she was wise to his habits, as she'd gotten a taste of his character before.  Ghanon was always a hard one to predict, his loyalties were his own and even if he'd let her go before, and watched over her through her pendant, he knew he'd have to play his hand well if he was going to keep her around.  She would bolt, no doubt, at the first hint of danger.

Ghanon saw that she was guarded, but it was only natural.  He wanted to reach under that guard, to reach that level of familiarity that had come between them during their first encounter.  But after having been away for so long, a distance had taken place that would work against him if he wasn't careful.  There was a solemnity in his gaze as he looked at her, but a softened one that saw her as something of an ally.  Even if it was a little convoluted.  He could not determine, however, if he wanted that familiarity only to use her...or because he himself wanted her?  He cringed at the thought of the latter idea.  He wanted the shard.  And if he had to use her to get it....then so be it.

He reached for her hand and took it firmly in his.  "Always quicker.  Anywhere or any time you want.  I can take you there."  He grinned slyly and let his form begin to fade, to shimmer like a ripples in water.  If he so much as wished it, she would as well, fading along with him as if her body and soul were combined in a manner very much like a ghost.  Reality wavered and warped around them until it wrapped them in a rough embrace as he plunged them down in a portal that opened up when they vanished from the room.

It was like flying through a tunnel that transported them at speeds beyond the mortal imagination.  All he had to do was see the image clearly in his mind's eye and he could take them anywhere she wanted.  If that was their destination, they'd arrive in a moment's notice.  But...it seemed to feel slower than usual and something was strange about the sensation of the portal.  Their surroundings had melted away, but soon he felt reality bend around him once more and suddenly it spewed him out, rejecting him violently and they appeared as if thrown from mid-air to the road outside.

He rolled onto the ground, confused and clearly shaken by the ordeal, but he looked behind him as the portal closing without a second's notice.  What had happened?  And why?  Ghanon looked around him and felt along his side as his wound began to throb.  "Gods be damned," he muttered and looked around, savagely, angrily.  "That son of a bitch!  How would he even know I could teleport?  And how could he have stopped me from doing so?" he said to himself, beyond audible range.  The wound had sapped him, how, he didn't know.  But it had, it was the only way it could have happened.

"I'm sorry Lana," he said apologetically.  "I guess we'll have to be taking the old fashioned way after all."  And he frowned as he got to his feet.

It had been many months since she had last transported by portal, a gift of magic she herself did not possess.  It was rare that she could transport herself on a whim, and it seemed it happened sporadically and at just the right moment in a very tight moment.  This, she could not attribute to her own power but to the friendship she shared with the elements.  As if they, too, had personality and could sense the peril that threatened her, they aided in the most severe of situations.  However, this had only happened once, and only in her world.  If it were even possible here, it was unlikely that there would ever be a need for such intervention.

She did, however, possess other abilities that were perhaps not as effective as summoning a portal, which essentially served as a door to any destination they wished, but certainly it was far better than traveling by foot.  

The throttling force of their ejection had slammed her onto her back, and she reeled for a moment looking up at an abstract blue sky.  The clouds churned like a swirling candy, blue and crisp white mixing and melting together, while a feeling of weightlessness and a lack of visual spatial feedback made realization difficult.  Gradually the scene became recognizable and she pulled herself upright and dusted herself off.

Ghanon seemed struck by his inability, mumbling to himself too quietly for her to hear.  

She stood herself up and drew near to him, lowering her voice, "There is a field that stretches beyond the alleyway, if you want to follow me."

Lana turned and made her way toward the long alley, looking behind her to make sure he followed.

He was astounded.  It couldn't be possible.  It hadn't happened before.  It shouldn't have happened.  But he was quickly coming to the conclusion that this Arcan was intending for him to delay his arrival.  He knew the Fallen Prince was smart enough to know there was more about the shard that Ghanon had not said, and the slick fucker was buying time for him to figure it out.  He had here here, could have taken her in an instant.  But he didn't want him to arrive that way it seemed.  He'd have to work for the shard if it were to be his.

He looked up at Lana and stood when she beckoned for him to follow.  He didn't question her and was right behind her tail, scrambling away as fast as he could so that nobody saw him.  It didn't matter anyway, but if she knew a better passage, he'd gladly lend himself to her should she need him.  "That's never happened before," he explained slowly, if with a great deal of confusion.

As he spoke, they came to a decrepit brick wall that had long since lost its dusty red color.  She took hold of a dislodged brick and managed to lift her small form over the top of the wall, straddling it for a moment as she looked at him.

"That is strange." She shrugged, "But I have no idea what kind of ordeal you've been through."

Lana then swung one of her legs over the barrier and landed stealthily on the other side.  Behind her was a vast spacious unclaimed piece of land with a valley leading toward a slowly bunching group of trees.  A couple of deer grazed in solitude off to the side near a gathering of bushes.  A small watering hole lived peacefully near them, slowly drying day by day in the sun.  She glanced back to watch Ghanon ascend as well, and extended a hand to him for support as if he were the lighter, more fragile one.

"What kind of ordeal... did you go through?"

Ghanon was not above traveling where he needed to go by foot.  But for so long he'd been accustomed to just appearing wherever he needed to go, without any of another.  It was a good thing he was always in top physical shape now didn't it.  He would never tire, never stop, and followed her like a blonde, crippled shadow and watched her as she scaled the wall.  Ghanon felt the solidity of the wall, his hands feeling far too physical for him.

A smirk appeared on his lips before he too managed to climb over the wall.  He landed with a crouch and regained his footing, grabbing the offered hand for support and towering over her as he stood.  He looked back and  then ahead.

"Now you're curious?  Before it seemed you couldn't wait to get away," he joked with a grin, but it was genuine.  "It just so happens, some people don't like it when I take things from them.  And sometimes those people possess weapons powerful enough to hurt me."  He looked down, his face seemingly embarrassed.  "That doesn't happen often you know.  But that wound hurt like hell.  How were you even able to heal something like that?"

Lana's expression remained nonchalant as he mentioned the veiled reason why he had stumbled into her lodging with a powerful wound in his side.  Inside, she was wondering at what exactly he had pilfered to anger a creature, or otherwise, to provoke an injury that appeared fatal.  And it had been poisonous, wrought with blackened magic, the kind of toxin that could very well eat away at the flesh down to the soul.  The mere fact that he had already made a new enemy within the short time they were parted was a bit astonishing.  Even more so, he seemed callous to his wrong doing.  His honesty was to be commended, but by the same token it was the fruit of a careless attitude, not a desire for honorability.     Whatever had occurred, he sounded more amused with himself than regretful, and this spoke to his character, which she would guard herself against.  

While he gathered himself she took the liberty of trekking through the field, feeling the soft whiskers of grass tickle her exposed knees.  The flowers looked hot and dehydrated under the sun, but they were still gloriously colorful in their random speckling pattern amidst the greenery.  She clutched at her pendant as she traipsed through patches of mildly exotic plant life.  As she drew nearer to the watering hole, the deer looked up, their grazing jaws snapping shut at the sight of her.  She smiled at them and brushed a curl from her face as the wind picked up a bit.  But it wasn't she that had signaled their tentative listening.  Something else was prowling about in the bushes.

"What do you mean?" she was genuinely surprised by his question of her, and she looked over at him with a pursed brow as she walked ahead of him, "I am a goddess...  If the magic that affected you had been of a deity, and if it hadn't been a simple stab wound, I would've had much more difficulty.  But it was more a nuisance than anything else."

No, there was not honor to be found in nearly anything Ghanon did and he refused to have anything to do with such a silly, useless idea.  Honor was for fools that loved dignity in death, but could not sacrifice their character for the sake of survival.  Honorbound was the general that led his troops on a foolish mission for glory where in actuality there was none to be had.  Even if honor tempered you, gave you good sense in some things, Ghanon refused its leash and tried to sever himself from it at all costs.  Yet, even if he carried as little honor in his heart as possible, it did not mean he acted without sincerity or honesty, and, in some cases, absolute humility.  The nature of his transgressions went beyond black and white thought.  And in some small, obscure facet of himself, he knew that he was beyond redemption in the eyes of those that governed all things.

Perhaps Lana would consider this, but he could not place himself on a perilous ledge with hope.  Nothing Ghanon did was without reason and every corner he turned, he found himself at odds with the universe.  And those in it.  It was not be expected and he understood why things had to be the way they were.  Life wasn't easy and neither was anything that was worth doing.  He followed her and viewed closely the way her surroundings seemed to react to her.  He didn't know whether or not she noticed it for it was an extremely subtle reaction; the greenery seemed all that much greener as she passed through it.

He found his eyes lingering on her and they traced along back where the jewels of her spine could be found.  It was so unusual to think that such things could bring power, and if they could be of any use to the Fallen Prince.  Even if all Ghanon wanted was the shard, he wondered if there was a way to get one jewel from her back without crippling her...or killing her.  Even if he killed, it was never without reason or scrutiny first.  Ghanon avoided murder when he could, but he had serious doubts this Arcan really cared who or what he killed that got in his way.  That much could be deduced by the heinous wound he'd inflicted on the Astralwalker.

"Be it deity or demon, it seems...the effects were far more than a mere wound," he found himself saying.  "I felt something strange within it...something that went beyond normal healing attributes.  I've seen a god heal before.  But yours—"  He paused there and reached her side.  "It had something to do with that other, interesting pendant you keep on your neck, didn't it?"

Lana felt a bubbling, crystal laughter rise from her throat.  There was no reason to reveal the power of her sacred ornament to someone who was so easily lured by the temptation of taking that which did not belong to him.  It certainly was not as impressive as she was sure he imagined it to be with his greedy mind.  Likely, he created some grand explanation for the part it played in the mending of his side.  However it had aided her, it was not necessary to share such trifles of information with Ghanon.  She was quickly learning how deviously he carried on his days.

"You're generous to think I possess such delightful toys as a pendant with special capabilities." Her eyes widened with her words to give emphasis to the silliness of his assumption, and she smiled, touching the skin beneath his chin with her forefinger as they walked, "But I am rarely so extravagant.  You make one mistake in your statement."

Lana smirked and confidently faced away from him again as they arrived near the watering hole.  The deer had already fled sensing some impending event, but Lana was hardly disturbed.  She knelt down and cupped her hands with her palms facing skyward and dipped them into the water.  Instead of trickling out of her hands between every microscopic crevice to escape back to its home, it took form like a gelatin clay, following every adept movement of her fingertips as if she were a sculptor at her wheel.  As she continued the formation, she drew slowly backward following the size of her creation which grew to enormous proportions.  Soon, standing fourteen feet tall at its crest and with proportionate width and weight was a creature entirely formed of water and made in the image of a great six legged creature with the noble posture of a sphinx.  The legs at the center were tucked away toward the edge of the ribcage, having no use for them at the moment.  The dwarfing wings were neatly folded against its sides until, like a butterfly pumping blood into its wings for the first time, the creation expanded them as far as it was capable, tentatively flapping and seemingly gaining strength with every impact of movement.  It was a magnificent thing, not entirely original bearing easily identifiable features of bird and dragon, the head entirely fowl shaped and the body intermittently patched with scales and feathers.  The tail was short and wide like a spade, only useful for aerodynamics, and the feet were reptilian, each with six digits, a thumb and a dewclaw.  

Lana stepped backward to view what her magic had produced, willing the beast to solidify to something more akin to a hardened jelly.  She then glanced over at Ghanon.

"You may have seen gods heal, but I am a goddess.  And one which you have not seen the likes of in your realm."

[Sorry for the late post!  Yours wasn't lame, I'm just an ass and I didn't know what to write.]

He had a feeling she'd play it off like it was nothing, little more than a trinket worn for decoration.  But even a complete stranger knew it was more to her than such a thing.  The way she idly clutched it, fiddled with the damn thing like she had to constantly ensure that it still remained on that chain around her neck.  He was not always in a clever mood, and certainly didn't feel like it this afternoon, but even then he could see it.  He grinned at her play and nodded, moving away from her finger and taking a look around the watering hole.  He did not need her confirmation to know that the pendant was special.  He had seen it before, though he would have preferred if she would have told him herself.  Curiosity, after all, did not always kill the cat.

Ghanon watched her create the water creature and viewed it like an artist to his own painting.  It was a fascinating trick but magic failed to surprise him most of the time.  He put his hands in his pockets and looked at her all the while the creation came to fruition, eyes that wanted to look into her more than what she was doing.  The way she moved, and allowed the creation to come to full form.  There was beauty to be found in life amidst the ugliness, even someone like Ghanon could appreciate that and he was smiling when she came too look back at him.  It was a grin of pride, but a pride not in himself.

"No, not in my realm," he agreed and stepped towards her.  Corroth was such a stifling place; he was only so happy to be free from there.  "That is why I prefer to travel, because there is so much more to be seen and learned from in the realms beyond.  I'd love to learn from you.  You have so much to give.  I wonder if you realize that sometimes."  Ghanon busied himself then with studying the magnificent creature she had created.  It was regal and awesome and he wondered what purpose there was to it, but no doubt he'd find out soon enough.

"I've nothing to teach." She stroked the eager creature, allowing it to nuzzle its epically dwarfing beak into her palm, "Nothing to teach you, anyway." And with this she gave him the time to surmise whatever he may from those five words.

Lana may have been seduced by him physically, and even emotionally, but he could not seduce her good sense.  She knew the potential for deception in his every word the more he spoke.  Exactly what was real, and what was feigned, and what was truth and what was a lie, none of that could be quite clear to her.  But his carefree way of life, the unpredictable circumstances he was often swallowed in, she even went so far as to say the smile that widely graced his face often when he looked at her were all key indicators of a well crafted guise.    And the more he complimented her, the more she wanted to scoff at him.

She then hooked her foot into the jelly side of the animal and hoisted herself atop it with a little effort.  The creature was so grand in scale that she looked to be an annoying insect in its feathers.  She stood and stabilized herself as it breathed heavily in and waited for Ghanon to join her.

"I don't get the sense that you're the kind to be taught, anyway." She watched him, "You may learn, yes, but not by being the willing protégé.  You'd rather reap what you can by other less traditional means.  I assume you learn your life lessons through your suffering, or through the suffering you cause others, and I can't promise you a different style of proverb from myself.  Whatever lessons I might share with you, if I even possessed the desire to try, would only be the echoes of your own method.  What you imagine I could "give" to you, to whatever, I might've been able to give in a simpler time, when I knew less of the stupidity of hope."

How her tongue had become so bitter, she didn't know, but the moment had possessed her.  She wanted to call him out on his bluff, to cease the unnecessary fluffing of her ego and for him to become real.  What was she to him, anyway?  What was he to himself?  Was he so lost in his disguises that he had become so transparent?  And did he know how transparent he was?  It seemed that he still thought her naïve, as the moment they first met, and though little time had passed between then and this moment, she was a quick learner, and she had absorbed every detail of her experience here.  Certainly, she knew nothing of the depth of his nature or the exact details of it, but there was enough of the stench of dishonesty rising off of him, as it initially had when he revealed himself to her a stormy night ago, that she was not to be taken in by sugary words or tender tone of voice.

And all of a sudden, she felt angry toward him, and though he joined her atop her creation she focused away from him and on the task of travel.  The wings expanded again, this time with the intent to gather air beneath them, and the creature moved to take flight ever so carefully.

It was plain to see the distrust by which she spoke and in all seriousness, it did nothing more but amuse him.  He did not convey his sentiments and such a response was more than expected.  In some ways it was welcomed.  He was pleased that she was not blinded in such a way that she expected him to be more than altruistic to her, if anything she would only prove her own naiveté in doing so.  He did not think her naïve in the least; in fact, she was anything but.  And that's what he found so admirable about her in the first place.  Fools were a waste of his time, and though her comment was clearly one-sided, Ghanon fought hard to hold back a laugh.  He did not smile and merely shrugged when she was done talking.  There was nothing to be said and he left it at that.  She would learn in her own time.  After all, life was the greatest...and cruelest of all teachers.  And no one could possess more than the sum of their experiences without making anything they said convoluted in any way.

He had climbed onto that back of that peculiar water creature without any hesitation on his part and was ready to take off when he paused briefly, his body clearly locking still until the sounds became clearer to his ears.  Of his blood, he was not limited to the range of hearing bestowed to a normal human.  He had been born a mortal, and the many gifts of his mortal heritage, he still retained.  Ghanon paused and his face visibly stiffened as the wounds became more prominent, more violent, to the point where he could not ignore it.

The creature was ready to bound off, to take to the clouds where it would never again touch this point on the soil until their riders deemed it so.  "Stop," he said.  "Stop!  Wait!!"  His voice was desperate and he rushed off the creature's back, sliding down and landing on his feet, taking off with a run in the direction of the sounds.  In a flash, he could have teleported, but that damn debilitating wound refused to allow him.  His running was the only way to get there in time.  Ghanon's mind's eye viewed far through the trees and there he witnessed the man with the axe and the poor body he was dragging through the trees, crying, sobbing, pleading.

Ghanon knew of the people in this part of the country.  It was not uncommon for those to interpret the will of the gods as they saw fit.  But this...this was beyond interpretation.  This was murder.  Ghanon did not know or care if Lana bothered to follow him.  The vision of the boy, and the man holding the axe vanished from his mind quicker than it came, and soon he saw the two figures through the trees.

The voice of the boy reached him first.  A young man no more than fifteen or sixteen.  He saw the fear in his eyes, the sorrow as he cried.  "Father, please!  Don't do this!  Please!"  The words fell to deaf ears as the boy's father slumped the boy's body over a stump.  The wood was flattened and smoothed over from much use.  A leather rope was pinned to one end of the stump and had a clasp with which it could be buckled, to keep in place whatever was placed on the top.  The boy, his hands bound behind his back, was helpless to fend off the cord that his father placed over his neck to hold him in place.  He faced the ground, on his knees and his body partway on the stump, while his chin perched on the edge.  Tears streaked his dirty swollen face.  He was already bloodied up pretty badly.

His father, there was anger in his eyes as he walked around his son for a moment, a simple woodsman's axe in his hand, shining silver on the edge from being freshly sharpened.  "I have to," he murmured at last.  "It is the only way for you to be forgiven...for me to be forgiven for letting you disgrace your family.  The gods will forgive you, my son...as a sacrifice to them."  As Ghanon rushed through the trees, he saw the swollen eyes of the boy's father, eyes that were filled with disappointment that he knew only too well.  He saw the face of his own father and nearly paused from his own running.  But that thought only made him run all that much faster.

The father held the axe as if it were the heaviest thing in the world, his shoulders heavy, weary.  But in his face was the look of a man who knew what had to be done.  He lifted the axe high above his head and waited moments, minutes deafened by the cries of his son.  A tears overflowed from the man's red face, but his hesitation, Ghanon knew, would only last so long.  In a quick second, Ghanon flicked a spark of green energy from his right hand, a spark of magic enough to knock the man backwards, and off his feet, and the axe away from his grasp.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked savagely as he stepped towards the man, stopping as he faced the boy's father.  "You're not going to kill your son.  Not on this day."

"Who...who are you!?" the father was incredulous and he was still trying to recover from the force of the energy that had sunk through his chest.  He sucked in breath harshly when Ghanon reached down and plucked him from the ground with one arm, holding him by the collar of his shirt.   The tears now flowed freely from the man's face as he tried to justify his actions.  "The gods demand it!  The boy must not live!  Don't incur their wrath, stranger.  The gods will have their sacrifice."

"They are wrong!" Ghanon said with rising anger.  His mind was working quickly and he cast a glance back at the boy that was strapped to the stump.

"Do you speak for them...?"

"What?"

"Do you speak for the gods?  Are you a priest?" The father was distraught but he did not know what to believe.  His face was filled with the stands of anger and fear combined to make his skin far too red.

"I do not need to be a priest to know that this is not sacrifice...  It is murder.  You are but a man...not a god, and you cannot speak for them in the meanings of life and death.  What has he done that is worth taking his life?  Tell me and I may just spare yours."   Ghanon turned his grip to his neck and lifted the man up with little effort, squeezing his neck as a storm coursed through him.

"He defiled a girl...disgraced his family, himself!  His honor...had a bastard son by her..."  The man tried to blink the hot tears from his face but was doing a poor job of doing so.  His hands braced Ghanon's wrist as and he coughed as he tried to free himself to breathe.  But the vice of the Astralwalker's hand was nothing he could fight against.  The hand that held him up from the ground and slowly strangled him, was not steady.  It trembled with fury, with pain.  And the man held his breath when he saw the fire in Ghanon's eyes.

Ghanon could kill the man in a single closure of his fist but he chose instead to drag the man close to him.  The father's limbs moved like a ragdoll and still he fought against the hand at his neck.  Ghanon snarled in rage, and brought his face uncomfortably close.  He spoke softly, dangerously.  "You are a spineless, quivering swine of a man.  To think that all will be forgiven here and now, because they so will it.  Gods are foolish creatures that dance and drink to the pleasure of their power.  And your gods will eat you alive if they have the appetite for it.  Do you think that by killing your son that you are safe from their wrath?  There is a special place in the Abyss for murders of kin, my fearful friend.  Don't do something you know...you will never be able to take back.  You have a grandson now...and he will come to know the man who took the life of his father.  You want to love your son.  Then love him.  Or it is not his head that will be on the business end of that axe.  It will be yours."   Ghanon left the man in shock when he dropped him to his feet and released the grip he had on his neck.

The father's eyes were wide but he stood there but a moment before running off into the woods, leaving behind the axe his son and the one that stopped him.  Ghanon looked around idly and spotted the weapon.  He picked up the thing in his hands and held the shaft lightly.  Walking over to the boy, who was still tied, he looked down at him and looked at him.  "Is all he said true?" he asked.

The boy still quivered with sobs, but it was of anxiety than of sorrow.  "Y-yes....."

"I just spared your life, you realize this, yes?

"Y-yes...."

"Good."  Ghanon raised the axe high above his head.  The boy cried out loud and he squinted his eyes shut before he heard the thwack! of the axehead hitting wood.  He opened his eyes with a shuddering breath and saw that the cord at his neck had been cut and so had the one that bound his hands.  Ghanon knelt by his side and left the axe in the wood.  "You are free now.  Choose wisely, boy.  I may not be here the next time your father decides it's a good idea to take your head as offering to godly things."  The boy nodded and scrambled away, his face still tear streaked and beads of sweat having formed on his face.  And he ran in the same direction his father did, disappearing through the trees.

Ghanon just knelt there, still...  He stared at the axe and the cut cord and imagined the amount of blood that might have stained the stump had he not intervened.  His face was hard, stern; but try as he might, he could not conceal the pain that was present on his expression.  He felt cold and a shiver ran through him like he was being watched.

She had meant every word she had spoken, and silently refused to let herself feel any sort of remorse for her words.  It was easy for her to regret the things she said, felt, if they were judgmental of others.  Even while her thoughts rang unfortunately true she could not help but second guess herself.  Partly, it was due to how sudden her passing of judgment could be.  She was reactionary, unthinking at times, and this made her wonder at the outcome of such quickness to blame.  Though, she knew in this case that there was little she could have been wrong about.  Ghanon's reaction had not refuted her analysis, rather it could have been interpreted to further solidify it.  Lana had not been looking at him, however, and purposely garnered nothing from his body language.  It was her intention to put distance between them.  She had done him a favor in cleansing his wound, and had hoped to separate for yet more time until.... Well...  Lana honestly could not know.  What change could she expect from him?  Certainly none....  So she would not have waited for change.  Would it be a change in herself that she desired?  Or maybe, simply a length of time to collect her thoughts, rejuvenate.  But hadn't a month been time enough....  All she knew was, whatever relief she felt knowing she was away from him, it was relief none the less.  It simply would be ridiculous to think that time with him, for innumerable reasons, would be profitable.  The more she was with him, the more she desired to be closer to him, and it frightened her to know that so rapidly and so powerfully she had felt for him.  What he would do with her vulnerability...... she couldn't imagine.  She did know that it would not be sweet, or tender, or pure.  Not entirely.  And the knowledge that even this drew her in caused her to waver in his presence.

It was her consumption in these thoughts that caused her to start and lean forward in response to Ghanon's yelling, her hand reaching out to grasp the creature's feathers and pull backward to stop their ascent.  Whatever had alerted him so moved his feet to flight and without warning he dashed across the grassland and disappeared into a collection of trees.  Her eyes narrowed, her mouth shaped into a delicate 'o' as she strained to see his dark figure through the trees.  There were yet more raised voices, but not only Ghanon's.  For a moment, Lana considered ordering her creature to take flight.  This was the perfect moment to seize of she truly wanted to part ways.  There would be no need for a fumbling explanation, and no emotional struggle with saying goodbye.  She would simply leave, and he would return and see that she had left him, think ill of her, and never know of her internal struggle with her feelings... and perhaps... they would never see each other again.

Lana faced forward, the angry voices still reverberating in her ears amidst her thoughts, and her fingers gripped the beast's feathers as she bit her lip in resolve.  It was the only way.  She had no other friends, especially no friends like him, but whether a relationship with him was positive or negative, she could not decide, and there was little certainty that he would in the next moment deserve her affection.  Certainly, she would have to expend more energy in cultivating their friendship, energy she wasn't sure she had.  To spare herself this frustration, she had the choice of simply leaping upward and away and never being tormented by this kind of uncertainty again.

But then, Ghanon spoke, and powerfully....  And it brought her attention back to the direction of the woods.

"What is the meaning of this?  You're not going to kill your son. Not on this day."

His voice was distant, in the way a voice can seem so unworldly to a mind freshly awoken from its dreams.  What he said...  how passionately the words left him....  It struck her in her chest, and she felt the over sized pang that she had known the night that he sat at her feet, naked and open to her.  It was indescribable other than it hurt and thrilled her all at once, and curiosity stopped her heart.  Was he saving the boy?  All was quiet for a moment, so that she could further listen....

But the more she listened, the more she realized she could not simply stand by and avoid knowing the situation first hand.  She leapt from the creature and laid a hand against its cool form, further cooling it until it froze in the motion of grooming itself.  Her footsteps were heavy and loud due to her boots as she bounded through the greenery toward where Ghanon remained, but it mattered little.  This situation did not call for stealth.  

Their figures came into view, and with wide eyed astonishment, her lips parted just so in quiet surprise, her hand reaching gently up to touch the side of a tree, she watched the older mortal suffer at Ghanon's will.  But Lana knew it had been justified.  This was the man who was to kill his son...  He deserved no pity.   And in response, Ghanon was livid.  But his anger seemed to stem from a more familiar source than it appeared.

"Don't do something you know...you will never be able to take back. You have a grandson now...and he will come to know the man who took the life of his father. You want to love your son. Then love him. Or it is not his head that will be on the business end of that axe. It will be yours."

Lana remembered what Ghanon had told her about his past...  It hadn't been much, she knew there was so much more to his story, but she thought that maybe this father and son were reflections of some kind of pain he had known himself.  Her eyes glanced over at the young man, still quivering, as anyone would even in the presence of their savior, especially if that savior was as overwhelmingly intense as Ghanon.  On instinct, she found herself wanting to free the boy while Ghanon dealt with the father, the poor young mortal still strapped to the stump, his chin now slightly bloodied from the roughness of the tree bark.  But she knew better than to interfere, no matter how her heart went out to the child.
And it wasn't long before Ghanon had clearly made his point, and released the son, but not without a word.  

"You are free now. Choose wisely, boy. I may not be here the next time your father decides it's a good idea to take your head as offering to godly things."

And the two ungrateful humans were soon gone in a flurry of running footsteps.  

She wasn't sure if Ghanon knew of her presence behind him.  She was privy to the quiver that shook his shoulders perhaps more violently than he realized.  From her standpoint, she could not see his face, but the muscles of his body being taut, his neck forward, head down, gave her clues enough that he was not unmoved by all of this.  And this, she realized, was why she wanted to know him so.... To be close to him.  There was more than simple arrogance and illusion, at times, though not often enough.  And maybe this was why she stepped forward, without thinking of her previous hesitancy, and knelt behind him, laying her warm palms against the back of his dirtied coat.

"You did a good thing." her voice was hushed.

He stared at the stump for quite a long time. And the silver sheen of the sharpened axe, he almost didn't want to take his eyes off the godless thing.  The weapon was such a crude thing, made of little more than a shaft of wood and a head of steel, but in an instant would have brought about the suffering a father that he saw would regret his decision.  The blade might have been fashioned of steel, but the man was little more than a creature of meat and bone and blood, the likes of which did not have the steel to kill in cold blood.  The look in his face was so much like the emperor Ghanon had called father once, the expression, the eyes and he didn't know if that's what shook him the most.  He was silent, and said nothing at the sounds of approach behind him.

His eyes still lingered on the axe.  It was easy for him to conceive of the idea of such a simple thing could bring about such drastic change.  But it was not so easy to think if the boy's father would have done his son a cruelty by using the axe, or a favor?  Had his own father been nobler because he sought to exile his murderous son forever from the plane of his birth, to cast him out and to suffocate in the vacuum of the stars?  Did the method of madness matter as much as the madness itself?  He did not want to think about it and it left him so visibly shaken that he flinched at the contact of hands on his back.  A familiar voice spoke to him. "You did a good thing," she said.

Ghanon let out a breath and licked his lips, forcing himself to tear his eyes from the axe.  "Did I?" he said with solemnity.  "Or did I just stave off the inevitable?  Perhaps I did him a disservice.  As you said before, I learn from my suffering and the suffering I cause others.  Life...is...suffering.  But it's how that suffering is dealt with...that matters most."  There was some venom in that last sentence but it was not enough to bite.  Perhaps only to make a point.

"I saw something in the man's face...despite his cowardice, that reminded me of my own father.  I...couldn't let him kill his son, regardless of whether or not he deserved it.  Second chances are not to be squandered."  Ghanon regained himself, though his shoulders were still heavy with the burden of his memories.  "Second chances are not always afforded to the more deserving.  And those who get them...they throw them away like the daily garbage.  I should have killed that bastard when I had his throat.  But death was too good for him.  I can only hope that he will learn from this moment."

He turned on his haunches and faced her, the axe no longer on his mind.  He looked her squarely in the face, the intensity of his gaze still there.  He said nothing as he reached out and took her face in his hands, and leaned in to kiss her briefly before pulling away.  "Thank you for following me," he said and let on hand remained on her cheek.  "But why did you?"

Lana understood his meaning.  There was much in life that was unfair, especially in the region of lessons learned.  Likely, what Ghanon tried to instill in this small mortal family would not stand up to societal expectations, and the Father would stay in his destructively small minded thinking and perhaps, it would end in tragedy.  

But that didn't matter.  Ghanon's intentions had been right, and that was what would make this moment so purely beneficial for him.

She could have commented, but there was little time between his words, and he seemed to be thoughtful.  It wasn't her interest to stop his train of thought.  It was then that he unexpectedly placed a kiss to her lips, the warmth of his sweet breath and the suppleness of his mouth inciting a tingling sensation through her chest and neck, her face flushing with some color.  She felt the cold air again touch her lips, reawakening her from the moment.  She felt somewhat undeserving of this kind of affection after what she had said to him...  But then, she wasn't about to object.  It was... comforting to be able to share this kind of closeness with someone, almost as if her soul were parched of it.

"I..." her first instinct was to say that she didn't know, but she caught herself, thinking that was too trivial an answer, and she looked downward, then up again at him, "I think, because I wanted to see what you would do."

Her eyes sparkled and she smiled a little, "You sounded heroic."

Ghanon's face softened visibly, from the moment he pulled away, but the solemnity remained.  He did not feel the need to dwell on his memories, not at the moment.  And certainly not with her around.  He did not know if she could sense the way he was shaken, but it had struck him so that he could not have hidden it even if he'd tried.  There was a chance she did, but he wished that she didn't if she had.  But little did he realize that the door to his soul had been pried open on the very first moment he'd met her.  Whether she would pry it further, ask him of the things he never spoke to anyone, remained to be seen.

He didn't think that he might have been watched when he'd met that and if truth be told, every instinct had told him to punish him more than what had already been done.  He'd wanted to cut off his weapon hand, to never allow him to effectively wield the axe again.  He might have tortured the son of a bitch if he'd been so inclined, but he'd never known the importance of vile treatment of people, especially when it went beyond necessity.  Once the desired effect had been achieved, what need to be done had been done and he let the man go.   But their choices would shape their future...  Ghanon did not care beyond this moment.  This moment was what had mattered.

Ghanon's hand stroked her face unconsciously and rested his other hand in his lap.  When she spoke at last, he couldn't help the small laugh that came to him and he put his hand on her should instead.  When his chuckle ended, he sighed and he grinned with genuine amusement.  "That is a first, Lana," he said.  "Nobody has ever said that to me before.  But what made you think I sounded heroic?"

(AH!  Oops!  I actually meant to comment in that post on his mention of his father, but I was so tired, and I forgot!  Also, sorry I pooped out on you last night!  I crashed :(  )

Lana decided that she liked his smile, and it was infectious enough to cause her smile to widen as he laughed at her girlish description of him.  She pretended to be a little insulted and placed a hand on her hip, tilting her head just slightly and lifting one eyebrow.

"Well, I'm certainly happy to be the first, even if your reaction is to laugh." She playfully pushed him in the shoulder, and leaned to settle on one hip.

Nobody had said this to him before?  Strange.... She thought, because for beings such as they, it was nigh impossible not to do things that would be perceived as heroic, or godly.  How unfortunate that perhaps he had not known the kind words of appreciation for his intervention.  But she couldn't know, she could only surmise from the little knowledge she had of him.

Although, that knowledge was beginning to broaden.  Lana had perked a bit at something he'd said, something she had neglected to comment on for lack of assurance that it would be a welcome subject.  

"I saw something in the man's face...despite his cowardice, that reminded me of my own father. I...couldn't let him kill his son, regardless of whether or not he deserved it. Second chances are not to be squandered."

So, her observation had been more than simple imagination.  She had noticed the zeal in Ghanon's eyes, rage even, and it had not come from a compassion for the son, or if it had, that compassion stemmed far deeper than the reaction of a mere onlooker witnessing a crime.  There had been more, yes, something that had triggered his instinctual interruption of the boy's murder, and unfortunately, it had been something near to his heart.

She remembered her earlier thought that she knew so little of his past, even after having spent a painful night in the sorrow of their woes together.  And even though just moments ago she was considering leaving without any assurance that they would once again see each other, she found her eyes again opened to his inner strife, and she was drawn in helplessly by the complexity of his character.  It was pointless, she realized, to avoid him.  And avoidance seemed to be the worse choice, for the time spent apart had dulled memories and sharpened fears, the ideal combination for reality turned askew.

An expression of thoughtfulness, solemnity, replaced the playful smile and twinkling eyes, their color darkening to a night sky blue.  One of her hands rested over his that remained on her shoulder.  It was likely not pity he wanted, so she would try not to give it.  But she did want to offer understanding.  It was evident that this part of him was not often shared with anyone, and she wanted to be a deserving ear.

"Ghanon..." she shifted herself to be a bit closer to him, her voice lower as she continued.  She was to tread carefully, "What of yourself did you see in the boy..."

She traced her fingertips around his face which was fixed in a brooding expression, as if to analyze it more.

[Hahahaha!  No worries! ^^  Though I'm starting to think your crashing is becoming a bad, if unconscious habit! XD]

She spoke of it.  He hoped she wouldn't, but she spoke of it and he found that the smile that was spread on his face faded fast into a tight-lipped frown, and the humor in his eyes too burned away like the dying embers of a fire.  But he had only hoped and he was quickly coming to find that hopes would be dashed away without warning or notice and where the embers in his silver-eyes seemed like they were dying, the words she spoke merely stirred the flame to blaze anew.  He breathed heavily through his nose, almost trying to come to terms that she actually had the gall to mention what he said at all.  But perhaps it was his own fault and he'd brought it on himself.  He didn't watch what he said as he should have.

But he found he couldn't run away from her, not as every thread of his being pushed for that reaction.  He was coming to realize that being around her came at the price of bearing himself, perhaps gradually and painfully, but surely.  Ghanon abhorred the idea, resisted it at every turn but some part of him, no matter how small, knew that perhaps there was a chance she would understand, as she claimed to before.  Yet everything else screamed that she wouldn't understand, she was like all the rest. Maybe this was but a ploy to catch him at his weakest, to admit his sins and to cast him into the Abyss.  Somehow, however, the sensibility of that option sounded less and less reasonable.  She too had her own pain and worries to deal with.  Why did it matter what she learned of him?

Ghanon wanted to pull away from her touch, hated that she touched him at all but he just resided there and squeezed her shoulder.  He seemed burdened and he could almost not bear to look at her.  Why did she care?  What did it matter to?  Would telling her bring him back to the place he'd once called home?  Would it place him in welcoming arms?  He belonged nowhere, possessed no one and nothing.  Why did it matter that she knew?  It was the goddess in her that he feared the most, and the judgment that would likely come with whatever he told her.  He wasn't afraid to be judged, no.  It was more the consequences of that judgment that he feared, and that all his work had been a complete waste once the die was cast.

But what did he really have to lose?  Nothing, he decided.

"I knew what he was feeling as his father was about to kill him.  I know what it's like," he said simply, stoically, but his body was shaking.  "What I remember most was my father's face.  And the keen disappointment and regret that was there before he cast me away.  Like I never should have been born."

Lana sensed that her touch was not doing for him what she had hoped, and rather than continue to aggravate him with it, she demurely pulled away her hands and let them fold languidly in her lap.  This was more than she had expected to hear...  Though she couldn't be sure exactly what she had expected.  So this was where his hurt originated.  This was the pinnacle of his pain.  But it was more than pain, she suspected.  An entire life's journey redirected by it.  An entire life in jeopardy because of it.  And he had survived?  Why?  He was visibly shaking by now to the extent that their sunny surroundings could have been mistaken for bitter cold if it weren't for the fact that she, too, could feel its warmth.  Again, her instinct was to comfort him with a tender hand, but he seemed not to reciprocate.  Instead, he gripped her shoulder rather hard, though without hurting her, and she decided against provoking more of this unconscious behavior.

There wasn't much she could think of to say that might help him, only questions filled her mind.

"Cast away..." the words trickled from her tongue, "Exile?"

Her tone was bland for the words accompanying it, but it did not lack the gravity of them.  She strained not to even caress his arm with her fingertips.  It was so difficult to respond to someone in a way that was unnatural to her.  She herself would want to know the warmth of another's affections in a moment of turmoil, but some wished to only be left alone.

[If she wants to touch him, that's fine, you know. XD]

Ghanon met her eyes and knew they were glistening, as if he would cry.  He knew she could see the hurt there.  But the moment was something he'd lived with for as long as he'd been around and he no longer cried because of it anymore.  He was incapable of summoning tears for that reason anymore and the emotions in him were so long buried that he was surprised that they came up at all.  But he shouldn't have been surprised.  It didn't take much to uncover them, and once the wound had begun to have been pricked, they poured forth in a most unpleasant manner.

He was hesitant to answer her and sighed again.  "Exile would be ...one way to put it," he confirmed.  "But he killed me that day.  And I knew that he would and he did, without looking back when he turned away.  But he didn't count on me being able to survive.  Nobody survived the void.  But I did."

It was true, then.  He was far more spectacularly made than he appeared.  To have survived the void, which she had only heard tales of, was to have defied your own body, your own soul, the natural mechanics of life and death.  And though she didn't fully understand it, she did know that he was the son of Dragolir.  

A chill swam through her as he said the words, "But I did."

As if in his voice there were an eerie defiance against that which no one could hope to successfully oppose.  A darkness came through in his breath that caused her to force herself to inhale again.  His eyes told of a dead sorrow glaze, entirely unlike the tears of a fresh wound.  Her own eyes were flickering from a midnight blue to a plum purple, depending on how the light caught them.  Without notice, her hand went out to his chest and she gripped his shirt gently, as if to show in some physical way that she too was struck by the blow of reality in his words.  

"But you did..." she echoed, "Son of Dragolir."

She smiled a little, letting her fingertips caress his shirt's fabric, "And how unfortunate it must be that he now cannot know the son who defeated death itself."

Ghanon never did understand at exactly what moment he shed that burden of a mortal coil.  It was not an easy thing to explain.  The true nature of his being was a mystery even to the keenest of gods and they found no need to explain him further than the fact that he was a permanent pest that burrowed deeply in divine hides.   He was a ghost, lost in time, but was without time himself, and while he was there, it was like he wasn't there all at the same time.  He was but a caress of the wind, a kiss of the stars, and the cusp of eternity.  And if one looked carefully, one could almost see eternity itself in his eyes.

His powers emerged without his knowledge.  And they came to full fruition, it seemed, when he needed them the most.  The breath of life had been sapped from him.   But he never stopped breathing?  His form was both ethereal and physical all at the same time.  How could that have been possible?  Had he truly been the son of a god?  Was Valdric merely the reflection of a greater figure?  Of what could have been?  But Dragolir had died long before he'd been born.  Yet the die had been cast and he'd been chosen to follow in the footsteps of the god of change.  He bowed his head a little and shook it.

"Dragolir did not do that," he confessed.  "My blood father did.  It was his punishment for me for...."  He did not want to finish that sentence.  "Dragolir saved me.  He was the father of what I am today."  He put hand to hers on his chest and squeezed it with some affection and a small smile touched his lips.  "You're the first person I've ever told that too...."

His hand was warm around hers.  He had diverted, intentionally, from further explaining the cause of his father's drastic punishment.  But this, even she wasn't ready to know.  She knew so little of everything else that it hardly seemed necessary to focus on only one aspect of his life, when there was still so much more to be uncovered.  And she knew that with time, he would reveal things he did not, even in this moment, anticipate he would.  It was pleasing to be aware that she had this affect on him.  Ghanon proceeded to admit himself, of his own accord, that she was privy to things about him that not many had been.  He was genuine, and it dawned on her that some of her fear was perhaps taking up space where her confidence should reside.  She could inspire him to be genuine...  If only he knew how much more she enjoyed this part of him, in spite of what that might consist of.

"The first..." she squeezed his shirt underneath his hand and caressed the bare skin beneath the fabric with her thumb, "The first, and yet you've existed for timeless years."  She didn't expect a reply.  Her statement hadn't been meant for one, unless he felt the need.  She went on, "And who were you, then, if he made you what you are today?  What loss occupies the furthest reaches of your mind?"

Despite Ghanon's fears, her reaction was not what he expected.  It was something he was learning about this strange half-goddess, that she was so full of surprises.  And he didn't know whether or not to take them as pleasant or dangerous.  Surprises were just that, surprises.  She was an enticing mystery and he did not think she would react the way she did.  He didn't want her pity, and she didn't give it.  Even if he didn't want to say so, he admitted to himself that her touch was comforting to him.

He looked down, keeping his gaze to the ground and not knowing just what to say to her.  This was an unusual situation for him as well, to have almost no words.  He tried to lighten the mood a little with the mention of who he was, and chuckled to himself as he spoke.  "A meek, little fool who didn't know the difference between my right and left hand for the first two years of life.  I'm still not that different sometimes," he murmured.  Then his grin faded when she prodded to know his greatest loss.  He wasn't ready yet.  To reveal that part of him to her...maybe at another time.  For now he felt he'd spoken enough of his past.  "I...I don't believe you're ready to know that just yet.  Would you mind...if we continued on?"

If she had been too forward, she hadn't at first seen it having been caught up in the curiosity revolving around his story.  She felt the sudden urge to crawl into his lap with his arms enclosing her in his tight, supportive embrace; to nestle into his skin, absorb his warmth into her own body, do everything near to consuming him herself.  In all that he shared with her now, not even in just his words but his expressions, his voice, she knew communion with him.    Desperately, she sought refuge from her guarded fortress to be rained upon by the fruits of carefree trust.  But life, as she knew well, was not really as magical as all of that, and his words brought her back to the solid ground she knelt upon to simply stave off the desperation in her chest.

If all of this was happening inside of her, on the outside she was calm and wise.  Her hand slipped from beneath his and left his shirt ruffled.  

"Somehow I cannot see you being meek in any sense of the word."  She leaned back onto one of her palms and eyed him, "I won't detain you further."

With that she rose and ran her hands quickly over her figure to be rid of any dirt, and began her walk toward her frozen creation.

Ghanon too stood, leaving his own clothing dirtied by the soil, the memory of the axe left behind him as they walked back to the pond through the thickets of trees.  The sun was now falling to the west and the clouds that congealed around there were painted in bright hues of oranges and reds and blues and violets with afternoon barely hanging in the balance of oncoming evening.  Ghanon liked this kind of atmosphere on this plane.  He'd been to many worlds, and though this earthly plane was no different than the rest, there was a definite atmosphere of magic here that seemed like it drew him.

They made it back to the creature that waited for them, poised like it had been frozen.  When he got closer, Ghanon blinked at her and looked more than simply confused.  "Did you freeze it?  I didn't know you could freeze things," he commented before she unfroze it and mounted it after she did.  Whenever she was ready, he was prepared to take flight.

"Where to?" he asked.

Lana slipped onto the creature, and instantly at her touch it resumed its grooming until it was ready to obey.  It shifted at first like an old man struggling to move his stiff bones until it gradually regained its full fluidity of motion.  She laughed a little to herself.  Even the elements had personality, and humor.  She felt Ghanon's weight on the creature, and assured of his presence behind her, allowed her thoughts to influence the reptilian foul to take flight.

Their ascent into the air jolted her heart backward against her lungs, her stomach took its place nestled into her pelvis.  The bird was agile and quick, but steady enough to provide Lana a feeling of safety as she leaned backward to lay comfortably in the soft downy core feathers between its shoulders.  

Gazing at him from her head supported on a palm, she replied, "Hyoite, of course.  Why, did you have a course in mind?"

She smirked at him.

It was not the first time that Ghanon flew.  But there was a difference between tearing through these painted clouds on a creature made to coarse across the sky, than it was to tear through them with one's own form.  Ghanon's form had never truly been bound by the physical limitations planes had set on their natural inhabitants.  Among them was a seemingly unnatural ability to fly.  He did not sprout wings, nor had any physical apparatus by which to perform such a feat.  Perhaps it was the darkness of the sorcery that seeped through him, like a toxin.  Or perhaps it was that he, himself, was except from the natural laws of the universe.  If he scorned the rules of divine entities, why shouldn't it be said that he could defy gravity as well?

He kept this thought in mind all the while he gripped onto the features of the bird.  He didn't yet test it however, as a stray hand of his lingered at his side and the soreness of the wound that had nearly eaten his physical form.  If it had taken away his ability to teleport, what kept it from sapping his ability for flight?

Ghanon smirked back at Lana when she answered him and kept his eyes on her all the while the took to the skies.  The air was crisp the higher they climbed, soaring toward the horizon and away from the sinking of the sun.  But there was something unusual about the darkness of the line that was unsteady before them.  At first it seemed like merely a shadow of the mountains but as he discerned his eye toward it, he saw that what seemed to be one thing turned into many as they scattered into tiny figures miles away.

"Hyoite, huh?" he remarked absently, his mind slinking immediately to the darkened image of the Fallen Prince, kneeling before that blackened sword of his, sinking it into the ground.  He remembered Arcan's face, the clear expression there that no games were to be played.  Ghanon knew he was being watched, but if the Prince's intension was to kill them both, then he would never get the jewels that he'd been promised.  Perhaps, Ghanon slowly realized, he'd intended to do just that because he found a greater power in the shard.  He froze internally at the thought and bit the inside of his lip, staving off feelings of fear and anger.  Time, he was starting to realize, was of the essence all the more.

"How about getting us the hell away from those!" he yelled, pointing to the line that was coming right at them.

The darkened line became starker and suddenly the seemed to darken, and the creatures scattered as they flew closer to them.  The flew swifter than hawks and seemed to be larger than birds, though bearing tattered black feathers, some of which were torn out of place leaving behind exposed flesh underneath.  Their beaks were thorned and they had two pairs of taloned feet, talons that were long and gnarled, ready to snare onto the vulnerable flesh where it could find it.  And behind them trailed not a tail of feathers, but what appeared to be a dragon's tail, barbed with yellows spines and on either side of their head, were beady yellow eyes that pierced through prey, paralyzing them.  They came in hordes, flocks of what seemed to be thousands of them, fully prepared to dig those talons deep into their flesh.  Ghanon did not like the look of this situation.  But it seemed it was too bad that these were not the only things they would have to deal with.

Ghanon felt his hands grow colder and the crystalline feathers beneath his hands seemed to have ink spreading through them.  He removed one and  saw that the creature no longer resembled a bird created by the good graces of a goddess and he viewed large, repulsive fangs that spewed out form the snout that now formed the creature's maw.   This looked like it was going to get real ugly real fast.  And he knew it the second their deformed mount turned and attempted to bite Lana on the leg.

Lana was not oblivious to the hoard of sharply armed demon creatures that formed to overtake their prey in the opposite direction.  She was more alarmed, which inspired a conglomerate of other reactions, not the least of which was to survive.  She leapt to her feet and stumbled backward into Ghanon to barely miss the deadly incisors of her own elemental being turned monstrous beast.  The motion of the creature required its body to turn in mid air, leaving its passengers no choice but to lose balance and suddenly find themselves at the mercy of gravity.  Lana was the first to go, partly by choice as the alternative to desperately cling to the monstrosity would have been futile.  She didn't scream, only let out a fearful yelp as she was lost to the air.  Her ice blue eyes were cast onto a more deeply shaded sky, the fear in her rising to the surface of her irises, her mouth open in wonder at the openness above her.  She reached out with the full extension of her arm toward the heavens as if expecting another hand to grasp her own.  As she fell, gravity pulled her harder, faster toward the ground to bring her closer to the life below, but her fingers remained outstretched.  Lana closed her eyes to let the feeling engulf her, no thought of the moment, her focus only on the certainty that she might die, and if so, it was as it should be.  

Above her the animals swooped and dived, eyeing her hungrily.  One of the demented birds dove toward her and deeply slashed the extended arm with his spiked beak.  Dark blood climbed her skin toward her fingertip, and a drop escaped to the air above her.  One of her fingertips seemed to graze something delicate and soft, and it happened to be the wing of a tri-colored butterfly passing by through the chaos.  It flitted about, abruptly knocked from its pattern of flight.  Lana felt a pang of sadness for affecting it so, her silver eyes reflecting its beauty.  She closed her eyes and listened to the demonic foul dive past her as if she were a piece of meet to a collection of buzzards.  Another bird attempted to nab her for himself, but instead his talons cut through her boots to her flesh, leaving bloodied marks behind, and his attempt failed.  And then, suddenly, she collided with something midair, and jostled from her trance she looked about to find herself caught on the back of a glistening silver reptile that seemed to sprout multi-colored wings.

Arcan!  That bastard!  He couldn't leave well enough alone could he?  Ghanon didn't expect this whole thing to be easy and all he had to do was bring the goddess to him, and yet even that didn't seem to be enough.  Ghanon couldn't help but consider that the whole thing was starting to turn on him, and the game suddenly made a turn for the worse.  It was not one for the faint of heart but it was one that was either played by you, or played you]/i].

Ghanon was flung from the mount that had carried them into the skies and for a great moment he doubted whether or not he still maintain his ability to fly.  His body felt light in the air, and the tendrils of this mortal plane dragged him down toward the ground to meet the makers he loathed more than anything in this world.  But that weightlessness seemed not to be provided by gravity, because he soon found himself upright and surrounded by hordes of those birds.  Their mount, now transformed into this hellish entity, flung itself after him after having knocked them off.  Ghanon thrust himself away in a trail of greenish light, the trails of his coat fluttering in the gusts of the growing wind.

The air was sharp and swifter than it was a moment ago and it seemed the clouds had grown darker because of it.  They rolled in like a thick black carpet with a sudden, harsh rain pattering down on them.  Ghanon only saw Lana at the corner of his eye and he saw that she was falling and falling fast, perhaps faster than he could get to her in time.  He darted for her, at the same time, trying to dodge the angry bites and sharp jabs of the birds that clawed at him.  He flicked blasts of magic at them, hitting a few that screeched as they burned, while the others were merely repelled by the energy.

Damn the gods.  Damn her!  She didn't need to die, not like this, at least.  Ghanon knew her timeline was not yet spent, but if only he could get to her in time.  Then suddenly she landed, on something silvery with rainbow wings that glistened in the pelting rain.  He paused only for a moment, staring at the creature in wonder, and bewilderment.  But was a second enough that the monstrosity they were riding on once, used to swooped down toward Ghanon and sunk its teeth deeply into his shoulder.  Ghanon cried in agony and the impact of the creature with him made him tumble through the clouds.

Lana collected herself, drawing her aching body up again from her collision.  Through a curtain of sopping golden hair she saw the back of the tiny creature's skull.  It was a small enough being to dive quickly between the demonic horde, and almost reminded her of an infant dragon.   It gave out a great cry as  one of the vicious minions dove head first into its side knocking it off course.  Luckily, the great pliable wings gathered enough air to right the creature, forcing Lana to hold tightly to her mount with all of her strength while gravity battered them, pushed and pulled them through the atmosphere.  In the distance she could hear Ghanon's desperate cry, and instantaneously her eyes darted toward his direction only to find that he was brutally attacked and throttled into the clouds.   She urged her mount onward to find him, trailed by an organized line of demon foul with their bloodied jaws snapping in anticipation of a meal.  She had attempted this without thought, for she was easily in sight of the largest threat that had just taken a bite of Ghanon.  It's eyes burned for a taste of her, catching sight of one of the glistening shapes on her back, and lunged for her.  She couldn't reach Ghanon, having to instead draw out one of her blades and rip through one of the eyes as its jaws opened wide to engulf her.  The demon seemed unfazed by the minor damage she'd inflicted and instead produced a trio of laughter from its throat.  The voice sounded superimposed three times over.  She sank backward as it grasped for her, a paw previously made of claws now turned to a hand to pull her from her mount.  She dodged the grip but not without a violent lashing of its bulbous tail against her delicate form.  Blood spattered from her mouth as she was forced forward from the blow, her enemy's laughter penetrating her hearing, almost deafeningly.  She turned her head to see a second throng of miniature hell-sents flutter from the gaping darkness of its throat.  They appeared like a plague of locusts, their appearance thickened by the sheer number of them.  Somehow in the confusion, the many attempts to evade contact with the creatures, she was able to arduously make her way to Ghanon. She grasped his hand in her own, crimson blood from her initial wound drizzling down her arm and onto his in an attempt to steady him.

Ghanon wrestled away from the beast, shooting a blast of energy from his hands that sent it hurtling away from him at the last moment, only to have his hand grasped by Lana as he was unsteady in the air for a moment too long.  Ghanon eyed her with fluctuating silver and at the blood that drizzled down her arm and onto his hand.  He nodded to her with narrowed eyes and let go of her hands when he was steadied.  Flying by her side, Ghanon evaded the jaws of the beast as quickly as he could, and grimaced in anger at the voice that hounded them.

Unlike her, Ghanon had no physical weapons to fight with and though he knew the wounded eye of the beast had been her doing, and he was quite impressed with it, Ghanon had only his magic to with which to defend himself.  He knocked several birds out of Lana's path, that attempted to shoot their barbs into the reptile's hide, with blasts of light, incinerating a great deal of them with the intensity of each blast.  They blew away as dust in the rain, and gusted with the wind.

One found its way onto the head of the reptile and he grabbed the ugly bird with his bare hands tearing it off before it could pierce the Lana's new mount, and ripped it shreds with his bare hands, and throwing away the animal.  Ghanon snarled and looked at the beast that hounded them with dagger eyes.  He did not enjoy being chased or followed and he knew he could only evade these demonic entities for so long.  "They won't stop chasing us," he shouted to her, barely audible amidst the screeching and howls of the hellish animals that yearned for their flesh.  "We have to take the fight to them!"  His own wound throbbed, but with adrenaline was already running hot in his blood and this was increasingly becoming a do or die situation.

The dark servants were becoming overpowering, far too much for two mortal sized immortals to overcome.  They needed an army of their own.  The only problem facing them was, Lana's creatures were easily taken by the darkness.  It was the nature of things for them to be consumed by that which was oppositional to them, as a crystal cast in shadow becomes a blackened orb of multi-faceted darkness.  It seemed that in this case it might be wiser to fight fire with fire.  Lana reared her small mount to end their trek toward the mass of angered bird beasts.  Ghanon was right, there was no time, and yet just enough to allow her to put to use yet another idea....

She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the torrential sky, raising her arms toward the heavens and allowing her palms to face the open air.  She was drenched, the single layer of white fabric that comprised her outfit becoming translucent, making her appear as one with the moisture as the rain itself.  Beginning with the base gem at the tail of her spine, one by one her decorations began to illuminate until the central gem between her shoulder blades glowed.  At this moment her eyes opened to reveal entirely blackened, stony eyes giving away the possession of power in her being.  She lifted herself as she could from her mount, her hands remaining in the atmosphere above.  Her body seemed to lift, the delicate musculature around her bones seeming to relax as if something were being released from the very pores of her flesh.  The air occupying the space around her began to bleed a darker gray and continued to spread, penetrating everything around her.  A form took shape behind her, attached at her back and hips as if a beast formed of the tempestuous clouds around them hovered above her, eyes glowing a disturbingly inconstant array of colors as oil does in water.  Easily twice the size of her former ice creature, and made of not darkness, nor light, it could not be drawn in by the evil powers that possessed their enemies.  It seemed to make a motion as if drawing in a deep breath, but within its intangible shape droplets of water collected into a floating mass at its middle.  Lana's gaze once again returned to the beasts in front of her, her arms now returning to her side.  Their movements were in unison, the recognizably monstrous entity behind her mimicking her every slight motion.  The organism opened what appeared to be a newly formed jaw, though no discernible throat could be seen.  The moisture that floated in its belly drew up behind the jaw and poised there to be further utilized.  The breath that her monstrosity had taken in was now being prepared to be expelled.  It made a hideous sound, like the sound of nails scraping on a chalk board, however still with a tinge of life to it, as if it might truly belong to a flesh and blood creature.  With this sharpened sound came daggers of icy glass propelling itself into the soft hide of the devilish creatures before them, tearing flesh from bone, sending clumps of spongy, bloody adipose every which way.  Behind her minion came a blackness that, upon closer inspection, resembled a fog of hungry insects which then proceeded to eat away at the birds exposed flesh.

Ghanon already knew that his attention had to be spared any which way it could.  And a single distraction could mean another tumble out of the sky and away from Lana.  The trickster, in all his consideratin, did not think he would be placed in a position to have to protect the very one that he had sought out.  Yet, now of all times, it was a given, and his vision stretched far away as the eye of Azaghal swirled like the Aybss and the storm raged wilder all the while the shrill sounds of the birds screeched in agony.  Ghanon looked back at Lana and saw the entity she had brought into this world and knew that these creatures' onslaught would not last much longer.

The mount beast, that had turned on them, was the largest of them all and the ice shards that flung out maimed the creature's hide in a bloody torrent.  The attack only seemed to anger it further and its jaws opened wide for the screaming birds in front of it.  It still pressed, even as it's flesh was cleaved away from bone.  It swallowed three birds and pressed for Ghanon, the last creature to remain as the birds realized the futility of pursuit.  They clumped together in their flocks and in their hordes and tried to escape with what remained of their numbers.

But not the beast.  Even in it's agony, there was a hate in its eyes that raged on, pressed it to move onward despite the damage that Lana's summon had done to it.  Ghanon flew forth and crashed into the beast, which flew erratically out of place in the sky.  He strangled the beast with his legs as it tried to get steady itself with its wings.  Claws came up and embedded themselves into his legs.  He raised his hands above his head, placing the tips of his thumbs together along with his index fingers, and in an instant a glow emerged from them, of the energy that had encompassed his very being.  The silver was gone from his eyes, and they swirled with a pale green mist as he grit his teeth and placed both hands on the side of the creature's skull.

It was slippery with rain and blood, but the beast shrieked even louder as Ghanon's hands became all that much hotter.  Pressure was compounding on either side of it's head until one could visibly see the bone bend.  In a blast of blood, the creature's head imploded, and black blood smeared Ghanon's hands and face.  He remained on the body of the beast now, and his own power seemed drained out of him.  Ghanon looked at Lana fleetingly, and as if from exhaustion, found no power to leave from the corpse he rode on.  The body fell down through to the earth below and Ghanon fell with it, his body swirling through the clouds as he separated from the corpse.  The battle might have been over, but it took more out of him than he could have imagined.

Lana felt a pang of complete sorrow watching her once delicate and beautiful creature mauled.  Though it was necessary, it hurt her to think that she had created life only to murder it in such a vicious way.  She watched from a ways away as Ghanon put the creature out of its misery.  But quickly her concern was turned from its pain to Ghanon's, and with a gasp she watched as he tumbled through the sky, at first with the weight of his enemy pulling him ever downward.  She wasted no time in following after, urging her small dragon-like mount ever faster.  Reaching out a hand, a pearly, bluish mist came from her wrist and danced about in the air like music notes to much more quickly seek out Ghanon's steadily plummeting form.  It reached him and seemed to recognize him, and began to wrap itself around his body to slowly soften his gravitation toward the earth until he was only floating peacefully downward in the air.  Lana was able to come along side him and took one of his arms over her shoulders, pulling him with all of her strength in front of her.  Her arms wrapped beneath his own to steady him, and she peered at his unconscious face with her chin on his shoulder.

Ghanon floated down through the atmosphere like he did in the moments he'd been pushed through the void, left to die, to be exiled forever in death from the place of his birth, set to drift along for eternity through the emptiness between stars.  He felt as if he'd just passed through an asteroid belt, through a torrent of speed and stone and blood and hell.  His form was weary, weary as it had never quite been before and even though he was momentarily unconscious he felt himself being drained vicariously.

When Lana caught him and pulled him in front of him, he moved like a ragdoll, completely victim to her whim.  He moved where she pulled him and sat slumped on her newly formed mount.  He was filthy and wet and cold from the rain.  His hair, where it had once been sleek and slicked back,  was drenched and slumped in a white blonde mess on his head, water seeped down his face, off his eyelids like the slopes on a pale hill.  Ghanon took in all these sensations as he was arouse from his former state.  He looked like a corpse, felt like one.  A ghost in the flesh, finally assuming the state it was meant be in the first place.

Ghanon saw the faces of memories, of worlds he'd seen die from the carelessness of high powers, powers they put faith in only to be used and abused.  Perhaps he was no better than the gods he encountered, no better than the mortals he'd meddled with.  The question of who was the puppet and who was pulling the strings always came into play, always messed with his mind.  But he knew the things that had to be done, and there was no one better suited to carry them out than he.

He felt something propped on his chest and finally his eyelids fluttered open and he saw that he was placed on her mount.  He still felt weak, and his head turned slowly to meet hers and he looked at her confusedly and with furrowed brows.  She should have let him fall; there was nothing left of him to be saved was there?  Ghanon could only mutter one word as he looked at her, the silver of his eyes returning and shifting like the surface of water.  "Why?"

Lana strengthened her hold around him, feeling him slacken against her like a little boy.  She felt his breath against her lips as he attempted to turn and breathlessly utter a single questioning word.  She watched his eyes become familiar and then shift to something, sometimes someone, else that she didn't recognize as his own eyes.  He was weakened, a state she hadn't seen him so entirely immersed in before.  It bothered her to see him like this, but then, god or not, she knew he was not free from the burden of harm.  The cloud of smoke behind her began to absorb into her mount as one ethereal creature joined with the tangible one, causing her mount to swell and broaden into a larger beast than before.  It wasn't much of a change, but enough to aid Ghanon's added weight.  They floated in the air for just a moment giving them time to recuperate from their taxing battle.  Lana's chin remained on his shoulder only because he was so much taller than her, that to see him required her to stretch her neck over his shoulder.  

What could he possibly mean by 'Why'?  She wasn't sure if she knew exactly what he was asking her.  If it were his questioning her decision to save him, it would be her last assumption.  To her, it was perfectly natural to save a friend, to save anything in peril.  Life was precious, and though commonly thrown away as casually boring jewelry, this made it all the more valuable to her when she was able to intervene.

She shook her head and brought her fingertips from beneath one of his arms to his chin and gently stroked it, "I don't know what you're asking.  You're weakened.  You don't know what you're saying." She cooed.

The weakness of his body and his mind made him somewhat delirious.  He did not notice the expanse of the mount underneath them or that the mist behind her had vanished.  The blood on his hands was slowly washing away by the rain that continued its assault.  The weather was nothing, however that did not stop his body from quivering in a shiver.  Ghanon kept his eyes on her, though his mind faded in and out from this world to others.  He appreciated her touch and hardly noticed his own hand coming up and feeling along the moistened skin of her hands.

With his eyes trained on her, Ghanon did not expect her to readily understand his meaning.  He was not worthy of being saved, and would have rarely done so for another unless he saw them as something useful to any plans of his.  It was the way of nature, of the balance of things.  Yet he was the perfect imbalance.  He might argue that she should have let him die, might say that if only she knew where his true loyalties resided.  But that statement brought confusion even to himself.  Where did his loyalties really lie?  For once, he could not find an answer to that question so easily.

He looked at her like something beautiful and rare and said nothing for a long while.  His eyes were a storm in and of themselves.  Perhaps she saw something in him that might yet be saved.  But if that was so, he knew he would have to show her that such a thing was impossible.  Or was it?  All Ghanon knew was that he was somehow thankful for what she did.  The angle was a little awkward but he was more flexible than he looked,  and he turned as best he could to reach around and put a hand up to her face before closing in with his mouth to hers.  He kissed her softly, gratefully, and did not pull away for a while.  "You know what kind of man I am," he murmured when he finally did.  "Why would you save me?"

His lips were feverishly warm in spite of the horrendous weather around them that was quickly becoming heavy.  She knew they would have to begin traveling again and forget their unfortunate engagement with the dark creatures, as it was imperative to move ahead of the storm.  Behind them thunder cracked and lightning split the sky.  She was comforted only by the mutual warmth of their bodies.  Her lashes pressed together for a moment in the kiss, and then once he pulled away she parted them again, dewy with droplets of rain.  Yes, she knew what kind of man he was, what kind of entity he was.  But life was not only for the deserved.  In fact, it had nothing to do with who deserved to live it and who didn't.  Life was unbiased, belonging to no school of thought, only the rules of nature.  And it was against the very reality of things to decide that his character gave him the right to life or death.

She sighed and pulled her face away from his, looking at him from a small distance now, "I do know, I think... what kind of man you are."

Her eyes were downcast for a time, "And I can't say that you would return this favor in kind were the opportunity to arise.  I can only say that you are my sole companion in this world, as much as it frightens me to know so.  And to lose you would be to create a void in space and time that cannot be easily filled.  Whether you like to accept it or not, your life is significant."

Ghanon was recovering quickly from his delirium, but the perplexity of his own emotions did make him feel any better in regards to his weariness.  The kiss was satisfying and felt like it was the right thing to do, to show her that her actions had been appreciated.  Whether she knew it or not, or if he cared to admit it, she was becoming something constant to him.  Perhaps even something important.  Yet there was so much at stake here, so much in the balance, Ghanon didn't know what to think, didn't know what to decide and his weariness did not aid in that process of decision making.

He smiled at her uncertainty.  But not a grin of arrogant amusement, but one that said her words brought him a small amount of joy.  It seemed this encounter was filled with many firsts.  Perhaps it was because of his state of weakness, but he found himself drawn to her yet again and he had not thoughts of the shard, or of Arcan, or of the torrent from the sky.

"Thank you, for what it's worth," he said.  "You're more important to me in more ways than you know," he admitted, his voice was soft as he leaned in close again.  "And I meant it when I said that if you needed me, I would be there.  With or without that necklace.  I promise."  He smiled at her and stroked her cheek before he kissed her again, deeper than before.

His kiss was like an overwhelmingly rich delicacy that sent pleasure from her palpitating heart throughout her chest.  She felt her bosom heave in response to her satisfaction, and reflexively her hand reached upward to grip the lapel of his thick black coat as if holding tightly to it to steady herself.  It was unfortunate the kind of power he had over her.  It was only luck that she had been born with a sense of caution, or otherwise she would have been easily swept away by the sheer power he emanated.  Nearby another streak of lightning ricocheted through the atmosphere, touching them with its electric pulse.  Her body tingled in reaction to the tiny voltages trickling through her body.  It was nice to know she wasn't alone, not entirely, not ever, if he meant what he said.  And she hoped he did mean it.  She convinced herself he did.  It was far more wonderful to believe in the truth of possible illusions than to scrutinize every one.  Life was full of decisions, risks, and it could not be lived to its full potential without them.  Ghanon was a great risk, but at times, he proved himself to be far worth it.

"Ghanon..." she breathed without full knowledge of why, overtaken by the intensity of the moment.

Her eyes met his as she pulled away, afraid to say much more.  She tore her gaze from his and briefly distracted herself, commanding her mount to continue forth at inhuman speed.

Ghanon did not think, did not say a word, for words were empty in moments like these.  He said nothing more when she uttered his name.  Gave her a breath, a sigh, as a way to show that the same kind of energy surged through him.  Her lusted after her, certainly.  But as a creature of temperance and great patience, Ghanon always remained in control of himself.  Or as in control as he bothered to be.  But she took his breath away for a clear moment, that much was clear by his body language.  He grinned when he turned his gaze back to the front and they blasted through the sky.

They covered miles in an instant and passed through the clouds, between mountain peak and crag.  He saw far ahead of them, as best as his weary eyes could.  Ghanon saw the mountain crack and pointed to it as they darted for it.  He shifted his weight on their mount, leaning in to turn in that direction.  Soon they came upon the mountain crevice.  It was a breath of a ledge, an opening between the rocks that was wide and dark.  But it served as the perfect escape to the rain.

When they dismounted, Ghanon reached out a hand to help Lana out on the ledge.  "Will this serve well enough as shelter for the evening?"  he asked her as he looked behind him toward the opening of the cave.  The peak they were on was high and the air was lighter up here, colder even.  They were somewhere between the clouds, away from the eyes of creatures that lurked in the woodlands and hidden, if for a moment, to rest from the battle they'd just fought.

Ghanon stepped first into the darkness, and let his fingers alight with a greenish glow, illuminating the darkness.  It large enough to house them, but enclosed and there were no tunnels leading down into the mountain that he could see.   He turned back at her, dripping water from the rain, and smiled.

She was unusually quiet now in the wake of all of their previous excitement.  Even more so, she felt at home in the shelter of mother nature.  There was nothing more comforting than being surrounded by the very minerals that made up their fleshly existence.  Her eyes had not been upon him, still wandering slowly about to take in the time-honored shape of the small crevice.  When she did turn to look at him, he was but an illuminated shadow protruding against a pitch black background.  Her own figure appeared dark, but lightened by the outside flickering of lightning now and again.  She was dripping too, but she hardly felt the cold.  Leaning down she caressed the air above the ground to create a luminescent orb that ignited into soft, white flames.  Lana stood back again to allow its heat to penetrate the air around them.  Soon, with the light Ghanon provided and the all-purpose orb at the center of their hideout, it became something akin to cozy.  Her mount had since disappeared into her palm, leaving its last momentary imprint in her hand in the shape of a dragon tattoo that soon glowed and then vanished.  She glanced up at Ghanon.

"It's perfect."

Behind them, the crevice remained open, and with a wave of her hand a sheer and translucent covering formed to give them added protection against the elements.  Soon, the distant rumbling became an agitated growl, and the trickling of water along the inside walls of the cavern was the only other background noise to their abode.

He nodded in agreement and soon cast the glow of his hand aside in a flicker when she created her all-purpose orb.  Her light was brighter than his, and in his weakened state it was virtually useless.  The cave provided shelter from the elements and the background rumble of the sky outside sent a shiver down Ghanon's back.  He remembered now that he was soaking wet.  And his body was far too tangible for him to just dematerialize the moisture away as he might have on any other occasion.

Ghanon pulled the sleeves of his coat out from underneath his runic bracers and unbuttoned the clasps that held the front of his jacket.  He took it off and spread it out on the floor, before taking a seat beside it.  His sleeveless shirt exposed where blood soaked along on his right and he looked at his shoulder where he'd been bitten.  The blood had stopped but the throbbing failed to cease.  Soon the deep slashes on his thighs were throbbing as well and he was forced to take a seat.  Droplets of blood seeped onto the floor where he disturbed the wound.   Despite his own wounds, however, he looked over to Lana and motioned for her to come to him.  "Come here," he said.  "Are you hurt?"

Lana watched him tentatively, unused to seeing him, or any celestial being for that matter, in such a state.  Something was truly not right, something was effecting him, but she couldn't begin to imagine what it might be.  However, with Ghanon she knew that the eye was often deceiving.  

She stepped toward him and knelt to inspect his wounds.  She ignored his question and proceeded to run her soft hands along the blood-soaked fabric.  What energy she had was more than he possessed now, and though her energy had been drained considerably, she had escaped with much less damage than he.  At her back the bruising that had occurred as a result from the blow of the beast's bulbous tail was already beginning to become flesh colored again as her body naturally rejuvenated itself.  The process slowed, however, as she transferred as much of that power as she could to his wounds.  It would take a while, and perhaps wouldn't be perfect, but she could heal him at least to the point of comfort now.  The blood continued to drip from his thighs, and then slowly, beneath the fabric, the flesh began to reform itself.  She took her time, unwilling to rush it, as any overabundance of attention spent on this wound would sacrifice the rejuvenation of the other, and she needed to distribute what she had as it was necessary.  

"I'm fine." She raised her eyes to him, remembering his question, and then moved to the hideous jaw mark in his shoulder and smiled, "I suppose scars become you."

Ghanon winced when she gave attention to the wounds on his legs.  He didn't know what was wrong.  Normal circumstances would have it so that such wounds were trivial things and would heal nearly on impact, if Ghanon allowed them to impact at all.  Magic had always been a stronger in dealing damage to him than physical attacks.  But they hurt all the same.  And he was finding that the slashes on his legs hurt worst of all.  He was used to pain; one might even say he sort of thrived on it for if one did not learn from their own pain, how could they better adapt to survive from it?  Ghanon shifted uncomfortably until the healing was starting to commence.

He visibly relaxed and shifted his head up to look at her, offering her a wry grin.  He watched her work and gave her his arm to get a better look at the task at hand.  "Do they?" he remarked.  "I've never bled so much in my whole life, to be honest.  This is rather unusual, and if I scar, I'm even certain the blemish might be permanent.  But they were necessary I suppose.  And better that I get hurt than you do..."  He looked at her with candle eyes and thunder rolled again.

His words were significant to her, especially in light of his immortal body reacting in such a mortal way.  

"Perhaps it would have been better if I had been hurt." She said lowly, inspecting the wound with suspicion.

After she had done what she could with his shoulder, her grip on his arm tightened, "Is something ... not right, Ghanon?"

Ever since meeting him she had imagined that he had more power than her, an amount that he somehow kept secretively within.  Maybe it was just the illusion he made for himself, he was very talented with that, but it was certain that he was more than just weakened.  He was flawed.  And what had made him this way was the mystery to be found out.  He had come to her infected with a magic that she herself would have been poisoned by if she had taken the blow.  And now, he was acting more like a mortal than a god.

"No, I don't think it would be very good if you did," Ghanon said firmly.  His jaw was set and it was apparent that he meant what he said.  He may have been a being without a timeline, without a destiny of his own, but that did not mean he would sacrifice the state of his body to be consumed by the magic and will of another.  He knew his weakness was Arcan's doing.  That son-of-a-bitch and his godless sword.  He seemed capable of far more than he realized.

And Ghanon, for the first time in his timeless years, felt fear stab into his heart.  It was a cold feeling and he didn't like it one bit.  Ghanon looked at her work and was satisfied with it, but he did not let his face betray his fear.  He knew he could not act like everything was all right.  Everything may as well have been all wrong.  It was the wound at his side, that one that had began to eat away at him before being healed over that he realized may have been the cause of all this in the first place.

Ghanon looked at her gravely and sat up higher now that his legs were better.  "There is more I feel I have to tell you," he said slowly, even a little uncertain himself.  "Remember the gaping hole at my side?  Ordinary weapons cannot wound me, wound me in a fashion as that sword did.  My form...is not of this world or of any world.  I may change shape as I please, into what I please.  But I fear that may no longer be.  I feel heavier, more tangible than ever.  And the blade that caused that wound, I fear, may be the reason why I feel weakened.  And my further weaken me still, if I cannot find a way to reverse it.

"By the look of the sword, I could tell it was a demon sword, right away.  And the name of that sword is Azaghal."  He was looking at his hand now, staring at it as if it held the secrets to the universe, but his eyes were hard and he found truth in the very things he said.

Lana was very much concerned with the source of his wound.  The name, Azaghal, did not reverberate familiarly in her mind.  It was completely foreign to her, but it seemed that Ghanon knew it well.  However, the sword was of little importance in comparison to who might have wielded it.  Normally it wouldn't be her place to interfere in his personal trials, and it wasn't her interest.  She was not his keeper, and though she felt cold for admitting it, when he was not near her concern for him was very little.  It wasn't that she didn't care, it was that she didn't feel she had to.  Her confidence in his ability to handle his own problems, sometimes being the repercussion of his own choices, was so much that she was never plagued with worry for him.  Whatever he dealt with, he dealt with.  Until now, that was.

Now was the time to be concerned.  Now, when his foe was perhaps greater than he.  If luck were on his side at all he would tell her that it was just a lucky blow, and hopefully this would be the worst of the tribulation to come.

"Azaghal..." the name rolled off of her tongue like a temptation, "And does the wielder have as foreboding a name?"

The name was barely something he might define himself.  All he knew of it was what he'd seen, what he felt by the ice of the metal as it cut through his vulnerable flesh like he'd never felt before, heard the voice of the blade hiss it's words to Arcan.  And he remembered the way an emerging smile flickered eerily on the face of the Fallen Prince.  Ghanon was never one so easily intimidated or thwarted.  He'd endured the wrath of gods for ages, why should he be afraid of a lone man and his sentient sword?  Now...now he was starting to understand why.

Ghanon just wanted to rest, to sit for the moment and bask in the warmth of the fire.  But his mind was far from rest.  It worked endlessly; infinite clockwork in the clockwork of eternity.  And the gears of his mind grinded restlessly, endlessly until he thought he might get a headache just by looking into the light.  And gradually it was coming together and he knew that Arcan was not going to let him get the shard if he didn't deliver Lana too him.  There was no other option and suddenly he felt as if a hand had come up to his throat and was ever persistent in squeezing the life out of him.  He knew what it was to die once...he didn't think he would have its tendrils so close once again.

Ghanon turned his head to her and found his eyes couldn't meet hers.  They drifted over her face, looking for something he'd be unable to name.  "Arcan.  He called himself by that simple term.  Arcan Rizer," he said slowly, but not without bitterness.  "Though, I don't know if you would call that foreboding," he remarked and grinned a little.  "But these are just flesh wounds.  They might heal a little slower, but they will heal in time."

Lana was a little less than convinced of his confidence in the ability of his body to heal so well.  But, he knew it better than she.  Certainly with her help the wounds would heal better than they might've, though the pain might persist.  The body, fleshly or only mimicking the flesh, was an interesting organ in that it could mend itself and yet, sometimes even after an injury had fully subsided, the flesh would continue to be sensitive or painful, a permanent reminder of past traumas.  Perhaps this would be the case with Ghanon, and maybe this was something that he had never known before.  Permanent pain, other than the psychological.  

Lana knew this sort of pain, though it ran more deeply than a scar, into her nerves, connecting with the pathways running through her entire body.  She had first known this kind of pain when the implanted star at the bottom of her spine had been damaged many years ago.  The purpose of this jewel had been a sort of sick gift, though entirely desired by her.  Her lover, Slater, being also a great friend, had known her to possess a sometimes unbearable longing to know more of what it was to possess the 'yin' of existence.  She possessed only the 'yang', the bright, positive, strong, upward essence, and yet she longed to know balance.  It had been so inwardly trying for her to feel isolated, shut out to the broad knowledge that a balanced life would bring her.  Having loved her and only her, so profoundly, Slater felt her depression as his own.  He knew it would be invasive to give her the only gift that might bring her to be more at peace with herself, and he knew it would be excruciating.  However, being wise, it was obvious to him that her ongoing confusion would eventually eat away at her from the inside, and the loss of soul was graver than gaining a periodic physical pain.  Presenting the option to her, she agreed in haste.

Lana's eyes glazed over for a moment as she remembered how awkward and miserable it was to receive this gift.  Miserable not only for herself, but for Slater.  They had been intimate at his silent palace, laying side by side in the same silence, both heavy in thought about what they knew was to be done.  Slater had shown her the diamond he had fashioned for her from his own blood and volcanic ash that was rich with the furious power of his world.  As minerals could be found in such materials on earth, in the same way energies were a key component to the material of the lands they occupied.  It was a bloody installation as she lay naked, prostrate on their bed, her dark life force seeping into the sheets.  She cried quietly as her flesh clung to the foreign body in an attempt to heal itself around it.  Little could have been more foreign than the very materials that partly defined the blackened magic of his world.  If he had forced a rusted metal spike into her body it couldn't have been more inappropriate.  Unlike the white, nearly translucent gems that already occupied the path down her back and were in harmony with the microscopic structure of her flesh, this new addition had to grow into her and make permanent, unnatural connections to her.  In time, it was a deeply embedded part of her that she cherished.  Mortals wore tattoos for similar reasons and with similar, though greatly lessened, painful repercussions.  It was a segment of the new identity she was to soon establish, and an integral part to gaining a personal peace.  Eventually, even the toxicity of the dark jewel's magic became tolerable to her and existed in harmony with her own, though it taxed her to make use of it.  It was the greatest gift she had ever been given.

She returned to the present momentarily.  So Arcan, was it?  Arcan....  The name even sounded like a slithering snake.  

She passed her hand over the ethereal flames as a child does over the flame of a match to see if they would be burned, "And who is he to you that he would hurt you so?"

Her eyes were inquisitive, her hand still absently passing through the dancing flames.

Ghanon spurned the feelings of vulnerability that suddenly seeped over him with the realization of his fear.  He spurned them as he spurned his emotions that had no place in an existence like his.  Perhaps he seemed cold at times, or withdrawn.  But he could not trust the feelings that surged in him, for they both had great potential to help or hinder.  Ghanon felt the fear like coldness in his gut that slowly spread to every appendage of his body, numbing him to the very sensation of the warm of the all-purpose orb Lana had constructed.

He'd forgotten her for a moment, and receded into his thoughts, his considerations as what to do about this man that walked the line between humanity and beast.  Ghanon's own being could not so easily be considered, but this Arcan...he couldn't even put into words what he might have been.  A demon in possession of a prince...a prince in possession of a demon.  Worlds collided in many places, and what one was in one world, may be entirely another in a different world.  He saw Arcan through arrogant eyes.  He knew now that his arrogance had been folly.  He was a large man, so much larger than Ghanon, like he carried a shroud that made him broader of shoulder.  And Arcan's face.  It was a face he had a feeling he wouldn't be forgetting soon enough.  That driven way he looked when he spoke, like there was nothing that could meander the path he'd taken.  Arcan's eyes said it all of his desire for power and he'd get that power one way or another.

Then there was a sword.  Ghanon had seen demon swords before, and many took on a standard appearance that marked them as such.  But Azaghal.  It almost hurt him, it seemed, to carry that blade, but at the same time it was visible that Arcan thrived on the energy that Azaghal surged in return.  When he'd first seen it, the blade was soaked from hilt to point in the blood of three men.  Ghanon saw their corpses himself, saw the way it tore through flesh like a predator devouring prey.  Whether or not there was just cause to take the lives of those men, Ghanon would not be the judge of that.  He only knew that gravity did not take the blood to the ground like it should have, but it gradually seeped upward toward that glowing eye at the center of the blade.  The sword relished in its destruction, burgeoned from it.  He knew that despite the power it afforded to its wielder, Azaghal was not unlimited.  Always would it be hungry, starved and leaving behind a trail of bodies in Arcan's wake in a futile attempt to satisfy its thirst.

The sword was the key, he knew then.  Azaghal needed Arcan as much as Arcan needed Azaghal...  And Ghanon saw that if he stripped him of that sword, he might be able to reverse what had been done to his body.  If not, Ghanon did not know how much time he had left before all his own powers might be taken away.  Or he too might end up another body lying in the snow of these northern wastes.

Ghanon looked up at Lana when she spoke and appeared lost in his features.  When her question registered, he blinked thoughtfully.  "He is a broken man, thirsty and relentless.  He hurts me because I hold the key to something he wants.  My powers.  I think you know now that I'm not a god's son, not truly.  I am something else entirely.  

"Remember when we first met...back in the cabin, you dared not surrender your name to me?  And when you spurned me time and again and I threatened to tear it from your mind....  I could have, if I really wanted to, you know...  But I think something inside of me didn't want to.  I wanted you to reveal yourself because it was your choice, just as I had revealed myself to you.  It hurt.  I'm not going to say it didn't. But at least I was not alone in my anguish.  We might not have known each other for long and perhaps even in the best of circumstances, but I feel connected to you, in a deeper way than I might have anticipated."

Lana didn't visibly recoil, but inwardly she felt herself squeeze tightly that part of her that might have felt warmth at his words.  It was strange for someone to seem so attached to her, it was almost... reminiscent.  In the months that had passed between her arrival and this moment, she had taken great pains to put from her mind all that reminded her of what she'd lost.  Who she had lost....  It was as if Slater were an echo from a dream within a dream, that at moments she would swear that he was a daily part of her existence silently at her side, and at other times he was so faded that he might have fit well between the pages of an old book as nothing more than a few imaginative sentences.  Sometimes she would tentatively pore through the pages of her diary and as her eyes would drink in his name over and over again scrawled on the tattered pages, she would feel teased by the memory of such tangibility.  Sometimes, Ghanon reminded her of him.  Slater had been a calmer, much more centered spirit.  However, they had shared the same kind of inner conflict that made them unique.  It was embarrassing to her to look up at Ghanon and see in his eyes the same capturing gaze she had once been overwhelmed by.  However, Ghanon held his own magical spell over her, and at this moment it wasn't Slater she saw, but the beautifully pained expression of a being uncertain of his own meaning.  

"And I, you." she whispered, feeling a dry mass rise in her throat, "More than you can understand."

Had he asked, she might have bared her soul to him then, lay prostrate before him the tenderness he inspired in her.  But again, she stifled it with sensibility.

"You are like my own, my kin...  It is so very rare to meet another celestial entity, even with so many light years of space and time full of so much life."

For a moment, her gaze was void, and then after a short breath, as if she had stopped herself from producing words, she captured the flame in her palm and allowed it to consume her hand to her very fingertips where long, flickering talons reached from them.

"I had only known my brother, and one other, to be ethereal beings."

Ghanon knew there was trouble in saying what he had said for he knew that any kind of attachment would ultimately fail and be destroyed.  It had no place.  Perhaps it was something in him that wanted to spare her of something that couldn't possibly last forever.  Could it?  Nothing lasted forever, and surely whatever feelings he knew he couldn't possibly be having for her would fade with time.  But even as he thought about that, there was something in him that didn't even believe such a well-crafted lie.  They were kindred spirits, and he knew that.  But he feared there may have been something deeper and when he looked at her, he felt his stomach grow cold with a kind of trepidation that he didn't want to understand.  But he knew it was there, and he couldn't be able to deny it's presence for very long.  There was something about her, that he couldn't put his finger on, that he found himself being drawn to her.  It was a feeling that both compelled and repelled him, and he did not want to name it for fear of it being true.

Ghanon smiled softly at her when she whispered back to him, words that might have unfurled that feeling he wanted to bury deep inside him and never have flourish again.  He was silent and found no words to even want to interrupt her because the element of her voice soothed him and he let her go on as she pleased.  He reached out to her hand that held the flame, knowing....rather, hoping that the flame wouldn't hurt him.  He moved slowly tentatively until his hand touched hers and would have recoiled the instant the flame scorched him, but when he found it didn't—yet anyway—he wrapped his hand over hers and clutched it gently.  He kept his eyes on her hand, seeing the fire wrap around both of them and longed for that fire to burn him, to make that compelling feeling go away, but he scooted closer to her and reached to hold her other hand in his, to entwine his fingers into hers so that he might stay connected to her.

"You are like my own, my kin... It is so very rare to meet another celestial entity, even with so many light years of space and time full of so much life."  He mulled over her words and looked at her hands.  Then he turned his silver eyed gaze to her eyes, the green that encircled them fluctuating and spinning like water.  "The universe is a big place.  And life persists throughout...in so many wonderful shapes and forms and the way it functions is a fascinating thing," he muttered softly.  He turned his eyes back to her hands.  "I wasn't always this way...I was a mortal once, born on a plane very very far away from here a very very long time ago.  So long it's hard to even place the date.  My mother was beautiful, gentle, sensitive, but on that world, women were second to men.  My father was stern, cold, and his word was law.  I was the second of two sons, born to serve my brother for he would inherit what I would not.  And then I did something, something that changed everything.  I didn't know why I was spared, why I was given the power that I have.

"But I've come to understand that life throughout this universe is ofttimes a hard thing to be borne, even for beings like us...  Perhaps especially for beings like us.  The universe is such a lonely place, and when it's rare for us to come across others like ourselves, perhaps we were drawn together for a reason.  A reason even I do not understand," he said honestly.  He did not know what he meant by his words, just that he meant them and his tone was soft and uncertain.

The way he touched her hands was... indescribable.  There was such a pull of erotic gravity, not only physical, but very deeply emotional.  He was dangerous, she knew, but this only served to further her want of him.  And what it was she wanted of him was in constant fluctuation.  Sometimes, she desired him to hold her tightly and to forget the life around them, or their purpose.  Other times, she longed for the intrigue of his story, like now, as he spoke she listened absorbing every word from his mouth as if it were to become a memory of her own.  She also knew that she may not have very many opportunities to hear him speak so freely, and he again mentioned this ... thing, this change he had committed.

Their hands remained tightly intertwined in a braid of greenish fire that encircled them and tapered off at the length of their arms.  It tingled and soothed like a slithering snake tickling their flesh.

Lana's downcast eyes rose to meet his under a heavy curtain of thick black lashes.

"I never knew my mother." The words flowed from her mouth without will like a dam broken, "I wasn't even supposed to be born.  As a spiritual being, I was only to arrive as she passed from life and I came to it.  But..." Lana gave out a sigh without realization, "She fell in love with a mortal, and opened herself to a new type of birth, the kind that would allow her a meeting, though very short, with her own tiny creation.  It was taxing on her to accomplish something entirely foreign and destructive to her body, and she died, as was appropriate, leaving myself never to know that the circumstances surrounding my birth were abnormal.  I grew swiftly under the care and guidance of those who had looked after many of my lineage.  I was entirely unaware that I was different, except..." she found that her hands had been nervously clutching his perhaps too tightly, "Though I tried to be a good Queen, I innately desired true unbound knowledge.  I craved, no, lusted after all things prohibited.  This, I was taught to be afraid of.  I was taught to silently inhibit my curiosity.  It was not that I hoped to murder or to be a savage.  I wanted only to –know-.  What was it to make a choice based on one's own feelings?  Sometimes the best thing can be wrapped in the worst disguise."

She felt she had gone on too long, on a tangent.  She visibly shut her mouth and gave him a tight, slightly embarrassed smile.

After a moment, she concluded tentatively, "And it seems you know what I struggle with?  Perhaps not exactly...  But... You've mentioned this thing that changed your world, brought you to this point.  Though, you haven't even eluded to what it was."

Strands of electricity coursed from his fingertips throughout the rest of his fire.  The fire soothed him, and scorched him all at once.  He turned his eyes to the flame and longed for it so to burn him, and wake him up from the dream he was living in.  For he was a living dream, an entity that longed for an existence that no longer had a place for him.  If only he looked at her eyes and saw the kindred spirit that resided there, but he was afraid to, afraid what he would find, afraid that everything he'd worked for up to now would swirl into the Abyss and be lost forever because he was drawn to the communal call that she exuded and he was summoned to.  Ghanon, though, chastised himself for being so foolish, for being so weak and found strength to meet her eyes.  And the silver and green-ringed storm that swirled in his own, betrayed the tumult that raged on inside of him.

He listened to her words and nodded in understanding.  His fingers brushed the skin slightly, where it could as he knew that feeling exactly.  The desire to know the unknown.  It was as foreboding as it was beckoning and Ghanon's eyes drifted to Lana's form for a moment before trailing languidly back up to her face.  He had craved knowledge once and his mind drifted to the memories of candlelight study, of opening the forbidden tomes that contained the secrets to Corrothim Sorcery...  It was forbidden, it was said, for only the Three Magi were wise enough to use the magic to its fullest potential....  It was forbidden because it ate away at it's use, consumed them until there was nothing left to consume.  For does not power the consume those that crave it most.  But Ghanon had wanted something then, something made him stronger than his brother...something that had made him worthy in his father's eyes.  He had thought the sorcery would give him that.  If only he'd known what it would take away.

Ghanon surreptitiously reached out with his free hand and caressed her face, without speaking and waited for her to finish.  When she finally did, he suddenly frowned.  But not because she had spoken so much at once.  No, that he could handle...but because she had brought up that which he swore to never speak of to anyone.  Ghanon wanted to withdraw away from her, to shove her and make her take back her question, to hurt her for even bringing it up.  But she could not know that it was something he would refuse to answer.  He could not bring himself to know where to begin.  Why would she want to know this of him!?  What underneath the damnable power of the gods made her worthy to hear it!?  And shame bent his shoulders as he cut his eyes away from her.  There was nothing he could do to keep her from hear it, and whether she would run from him or spurn him, he didn't know.   He would have to let the dice fall where they may.

"Sometimes, yes.  Or sometimes, it was worse than you could imagine," he began slowly.  How could he tell her?  Were there even words to describe it?  She knew of loss, she would have to understand.  But it hurt Ghanon to even admit that it was there, and that it festered so long, a rotten wound that made him squirm and scream.  But if there was no easy way out, there was only the choice to say that which had to be said.  "I am a murderer," Ghanon said.  "I've done many things in my life.  Many...bad things, you might say.  But this...was different.  I was stupid then, I thought I could make a difference, prove something.  I was wrong.  My father saw that I was wrong and punished me for it.  And how could he not...  But I would do anything if I could take it back, if I could...but I just can't.  What's done is done...and what's said is said."

[Bet you can't guess where that last phrase comes from! :B]

Maybe Ghanon had not meant for her to see it, but the rage that filled him boiled over into his features and the tumult of it filled his eyes.  She knew that she had done wrong in asking, though why she couldn't fathom.  It was he who had hinted at it all along as if dangling a toy in front of a curious kitten.  Hadn't she told him how she craved knowledge of the world?  Her need to learn about life in all of its forms had not disappeared at the end of her Kingdom, no, indeed it increased with the freedom, however ashamed she felt in feeling so free, of having no one to rule.  And now that Ghanon opened to her, he still stayed enclosed enough not to reveal the details of his story.  Perhaps, then, if he knew of her sordid past, he would soften to her warmth.

"A murderer." She said this with no feeling as if it were a commonplace fact like gravity.

She paused for a moment, intentionally trying to make him feel uncomfortable with the silence surrounding that single descriptive word.  Because, Ghanon needed to feel what it was to have that most secret part of him divulged to someone else, the vulnerability.  Lana knew it was necessary for him to hurt over his shame to move past it.  

It wasn't that it didn't affect her.  The feeling that he was capable of taking a life made her instantly all the more wary.  There was much he had to hide, and primarily it triggered all of her instincts of distrust, however...  This was only the initial shock.  It was... a very human reaction, and over the many years of her long life she had learned to occasionally decipher between her mortal and immortal natures.  In truth, she had fallen in love with a murderer.  Not only a killer, but a callous one, one who existed as the harbinger of death and chaos, and it had thrilled her.  Perhaps it was wrong of her, but who was she now to deny even her darkest yearnings.

She pulled her hands from his and shaped the fire into the image of what appeared to be a man, though much larger in actual comparison with a great deal of emanating strength that seemed to gush from his pores.  His face was hard to see in the greenish tint of the fire, but as it flickered it was apparent his features were chiseled, Kingly.  Pain touched her as she enlarged the figure to stand at least a foot tall between them.  Lost for a moment, one of her fingertips caressed the right cheek of this man, and in turn the image seemed to respond with a small caress of its own.

"Ghanon." She spoke quietly, "We have more in common than you may be willing to believe."

She let the words soak into the air.

"May I introduce you to Slater." She turned the visage around to face Ghanon, "The one I killed, and the one I loved more than I have loved anyone or anything.  It is he, ever imprinted into my thoughts, the shadow of my shadow, who keeps me loving despair.  I don't know who you murdered, or why, or what other evil you've done since then, but I know he was an addict to bloodshed.  I also cannot know what specific pain gripped you from the moment that you altered your universe, but you must hear me when I say that darkness lurks behind every bright eye."

Her eyes were silver now, shimmering, and she noticed the storm brewing in his own swirling gaze.  Maybe he would see her differently now, after appearing so innocent and childish.  It would hurt her if he lost the intrigue of becoming close to a being so seemingly the opposite of him.  But, it was the truth, and at her core, though she sparkled and delighted in all that was good, a great part of her was enraptured by all that beckoned her from the shadows.  He was tainted, but so was she.

She passed her hand through the fire and it dissipated into the air like a dust.

"Darkness lurks behind every bright eye."  Yes, that much was true.  Ghanon stared at the flaming figure that she had created and felt his own emotions roil up inside of him, but the foremost of it was anger.  Anger at everything that had compounded, layer upon layer, until there was nothing left.  How could he let himself be so weak, expose himself to her in that way.  It wasn't as if telling her would purge himself of the guilt and the rage that boiled inside him for so long, it only roiled over.  Nothing could fix what he had done.

He trembled, quivered even, and only stared at the creation formed from fire.  He said nothing while she spoke and recognized the name as it passed through her lips.  He recalled it faintly, vaguely and remembered the feelings of a battle-plan parchment that he'd 'destroyed'.  But that was a far away memory and the more he tried to focus on it, the more intangible it became.  She knew this man though, knew him and loved him, for all the evil he represented.  Evil had many faces, and many names and nothing was as it seemed.  Ghanon turned his eyes toward hers and stopped trembling for a long moment, his breathe coming out in short bursts through teeth that slid along the other's edge.

His body had recovered from its aches and he shifted in a half crouch, kneeling on one bent leg and resting his arm on the other.  "We have so much in common, you say,"  Ghanon finally said and his tone was low, dangerous.  "Perhaps more than I think.... Tch."  Ghanon seethed inside and he clenched his fist until his nails dug into the flesh of his palm and made it bleed; small droplets seeped through the cracks and onto the cave floor.  His breath was caught and he suddenly bolted from his position and reached his arms out to grab her by the upper arms, his hands like neutronium vices.  He gripped her hard and held her close, his lips curled into a snarl and his eyes fluctuating madly.  

"I killed my brother!  I killed him because I was jealous, because he was worth the universe to my father, and I was worth nothing!  I killed him to prove that I was the stronger one!  I deserved to inherit the throne!  Not him!  For why should only one son receive everything and I, worthless simply because I am second born, receive nothing?  No....that was not the way it was going to be.  So I found the power, the power no one else was brave enough to wield and I took his life.  I hated him, he was a fool and he deserved to die.  He would have driven the throne into the ground....

"But....I loved him too.  He was my brother...my blood.  How could I not?  We shared the same mother....  He was my brother..."  Ghanon's eyes burned, but he refrained from crying.  He quaked, but held onto her still.  "There!  Now you know what rots away inside of me like a festering wound.  Does that satisfy you?!"  Every part of him wanted to tear her apart, and stick her head on a pike, anything to make her deaf to what he'd just said, or to forget it completely.  He wanted to hurt her physically, even as he doubted his own ability since being drained, but he still retained much of his power, and he would not hesitate to kill her.  Was the shard worth unearthing these torturous holes inside him?  He was starting to doubt it.

He was an animal then.  Pure instinct.  A wolf infected with rabies.

It was this, this she had foreseen and been so afraid of.  This was the danger in him that threatened to pour forth, so far and so different from the tender, vulnerable child before her in the cabin months ago.  He held her so tightly that her muscles gave way to his manipulation after tensing in response to the pain.  She could do nothing but let him treat her as a rag doll, a dog's chewed and abused toy.  She fought against the wild thoughts of resentment and terror that comprised the shock she felt.  She couldn't let herself believe he acted this way out of coldness. She knew, she knew that this rage was the subsequent consequence of the poison he carried inside him, and she had to feel for him, had to connect to what was still tender inside of him.  

"It doesn't make me happy!" she cried out against his own cries, hoping that her volume would make him see her as an equal in that moment, "Who would be happy to know that you've slain your own brother?!"  Her words came out bitter, though curiously there was another intention behind them. "You've committed a brutality, an act of sheer evil so repulsive and selfish and treacherous!  Yes!  You destroyed your family!  Yes!  You dishonored your father!  This is what you want to hear, is it not?!"  Tears glinted in her eyes, and though the emotion did not overcome her, her body still shook in his grasp, "And you can do it again!  Look, I am helpless to your rage, let chaos reign.  Destroy me as you destroy yourself daily, you would do me a favor.  And maybe, just maybe you'll finally be satisfied!  But then, as life has proven to you time and time again, you'll only be alone with your thoughts, destined to continue to relive the torture you subject yourself to."

She strained to lift her hand to his face knowing that she took a chance touching him as he was, this wild creature, but pressed ever more against his iron grip and managed to briefly touch her fingers to his skin, "I know what you did.  It isn't I who is persecuting you!  I don't judge you, I see through you!  I see you, Ghanon.  You are the man who killed your brother and loved him, loved him!  You are the man who hangs himself every day of his existence for his crimes.  It is you!  You had a choice in telling me!  If this is how painful it is for you then why trust me with it?  Do you even trust me?"

She wanted him to answer these questions, to own the responsibility that was rightfully his.  Part of her wished he would abuse her, throw her to the ground, beat her.  What did it matter if in the end he was relieved of this burden.  It was a toxic energy that filled him with such self loathing, and it had to be expelled.  But she was still afraid, still understandably tentative, and it seemed that they only existed in moments now.

If he'd been more conscious he would have realized then that he'd been sweating this whole time, once drenched from relentless pelting rain and now coated with a layer perspiration, his forehead beaded and glistening.  He held her still and could have done all the things he wanted to do to her  now that he had her at his mercy.  He could have plucked one of the jewels from her spine right now if he wanted and have been done with this whole charade.  Arcan would get what he wanted, and he would get the shard, what he worked so hard to find.  He would not let all his work be for naught.  But he refrained from doing so now...not when he felt so cornered.

Ghanon was consumed and he shook her against him.  "You think I don't know that!?" he exclaimed.  "I've tried!  Believe me I 've tried!  But I can't.  No matter what I do, it will always happen.  Because I no longer have a timeline, I therefore cannot alter the fate that befell me.  Killing you would prove nothing, Lana.  Nothing.  But you now know, and that is what you wanted.  Isn't it?  ISN'T it?!"  Ghanon sighed and loosened his fingers, only slightly.  "I know I can't take back what I've done.  I've already accepted that.

"Believe me...I wouldn't have told you if I didn't trust you.  And if it was knowledge that you wanted, it was knowledge that you got.  We all have a choice to make or break whatever destiny the gods set before us...  That was my destiny, and now I make my own fate."  Ghanon let her arms go of his grip, but moved his hands underneath her arms and wrapped them around her, embracing her to him.  "I know I'm a monster...and the things I must do because it's my purpose to do so, makes me one.  It does not matter, we all deserve to make our fate."

He was many men in one, or many facets of a single, complicated person.  Whichever it was, she knew he harbored the woes of a celestial creation destined to exist beyond those he loved, beyond the past, perhaps in a way beyond the future.  He was right.  He was a monster, a deliciously tempting monster.  And she found his monstrosity to be pleasantly abusive.  At the same time in her torn reality, she knew she was feeling the pull of a toxic relationship that may or may not prove to be just what they both needed, in the end.  Lana sighed against him the breath that had been held the entire time that their eyes had remained locked as he vented his fury at her.  

She could only muster a few words, "I'm glad that you trust me.  At least there's that."

And she found herself pushing him away, fighting a grimace of disgust as she parted and turned from him.  Her diamond spine glistened in the limited light as she ran her hands over her arms, composing herself.  He had given her quite a shake, and though she had known, had even in a sick way craved seeing his inner rage pour forth, the reality of it had effected her deeply.  She ran her hand over her slightly tangled, pale golden hair and traced the outline of some carvings that remained from eons before, when indigenous peoples made use of the cave as a home.  If ever she missed her brother, it was now.  At one time he had been her rock, and though she had grown a healthy independence over the years, there were times, breaking points, when he had been the only thing between her and her own self destruction.  It was hard for her to imagine him now, as he had been gone for so long, and she had learned to endure long centuries without him.  Wherever he was, if ever he was, she could not feel his presence within even light years of where she was.

"Of course we all make our own fates.  Be glad you still serve a purpose, even one that you sometimes loathe.  Even one that brings you such pain.  We are all the architects of our lives," she continued to trace the small figures of children, "Some of us are handed a blue print and a framework, others are given boulders and mortar, and strong hands."

Her figure drooped a little now, and she was overcome by a deep sadness.  She felt that something dreadful was soon to occur, but she was so surrounded by darkness that she couldn't find the direction of its source.  

"I want to be dark, Ghanon." Her voice was almost sing-song, thinking, "I was once very bright and safe, a presence of comfort and stability for my people, but I have no one to serve now.  No need to be anything, for anyone.  I've lost all of my companions, all semblance of anything I can relate to, and now I must fashion a new path.  I want to let in the darkness, but I know so little of it that I don't even know when it touches me.  I mean, truly touches me.  I have been sad, I have been hated, I have been murderous...  But sometimes, I feel there's more."

She glanced over her shoulder dreamily, and smiled, "In you.  There's a kind of darkness that tantalizes rather than invades, the kind that is not evil, not the kind you hear of in fairy tales.  Real darkness is as natural and necessary and purposeful as light and gravity and rain.  Real darkness is actually... sweet."

She blinked, and then cast a downward glance and returned to the tracings, reading the archaic stories.

Ghanon let her go, if a little wearily, when she pushed him away.  He sat back against the wall and he stared at the stone work.  Now she knew what she'd so direly, desperately wanted to know.  But why she wanted to know, he couldn't answer that.  He'd committed many crimes, had been the cause of many an atrocity against mortals and mortals worlds that he knew no matter what he tried to do, in the end he was damned.  But this...this had been the one sin he regretted, had wanted to take back.  Imagine, a being given the power that he had, through some unknown worth, he could do whatever he wanted, anything he wanted.  Except the one thing he wanted most.  The futility of it all tore at him, drove him mad and he knew that even that in the end, would all prove for naught.

"And some of us are thrown into the void without so much as a droplet of oxygen.  And even when death seems to be your only absolution, you're trapped in an existence that is no existence at all," Ghanon added bitterly.  He kept his eye on the stonework, the silver fluctuated like stormy water coming to rest.  Wind still gusted outside and while the rain continued to pelt the mountainside, all Ghanon could feel inside was loathing.  The architects of our lives....  That was not the way he saw it, it was not the way it was in his experience.

He could not respect the gods, those Architects of the Universe that sought to paint everything in their own image.  Mortals were merely playthings in their palms, puppets on strings of fate and destiny and performing a stageplay that only would end in doom, if only they knew.  But there was some relief in the knowledge that was released from that crippling coil that was his mortality.  His life may have been stolen from him, torn by the unseen hand that embodied godly things.  And yet, he knew that it'd been by his jealous selfish actions that it had all happened.  But everything happened for a reason, and when those reasons fell together in line, in the end, it didn't matter what happened in the past, only what one chose to do with their future.

Ghanon was thrown out of his introverted thoughts when Lana at last spoke to him.  What was this?  Seeking to forge a new path, huh?  He was momentarily confused by this statement...but her words, the way she spoke them sent a chill down his spine.  He did not smile, did not harden his expression and leaned to the side, across from her.  "And what would you with this darkness if given to you?"  There was a challenging expression in his eyes, not a smug one, but he wanted to know how far she was willing to go to test her newfound desire.  His right hand reached up and grabbed her by the head, hand gripping her hair, hard enough to jerk her close.  "You have to have to guts enough to do what needs to be done, Lana.  And I know you're strong in your own right, and there's enough pain in both of us to make us resist whatever opposition comes our way.  But real darkness lurks in the heart.  Would you really be willing to sacrifice all you once were in order to unleash that darkness?"  It was then that he grinned darkly at her, almost frighteningly should she be capable of fear.

Did he really see her as so plain, so innocent?  There was no innocence in her, only constant new discovery of the black, white and grey areas of life.  She was only a sponge soaking in anything that would threaten to consume her.  She had not been that gleaming representation of purity for a very long time now.  She felt as if that girl had never been.  

As he handled her she did not grimace in pain, but set her jaw in anger, her brow furrowing and her nose crinkling in disgust.  She gripped his arm with her hand and silvery talons grew from her fingertips to draw blood from his flesh.  The other hand held hard to his shirt and pulled him close to her, so close that they breathed each others air.

"What you so obviously failed to hear when you forced the tale of my past from my lips, was that I have already sacrificed all that I was, all that you apparently think I am, and there is nothing but a void at the center of me.  You may have known the unfortunate fate of having your future set before you, a change of destiny that forced you to become what you are, and forego what you were.  But me, I made my choice, albeit unknowingly, and I could not suppress who I am anymore!  I had to break free, I had to destroy those around me, all that I loved and held fast to, all of the lives that I had influenced, protected, nurtured, I demolished them, because it was all a lie.  I am not pure, Ghanon.  I have more than tasted darkness, I have bedded it.  I am stained by the selfishness and perverseness of a mortal, and yet deified by the blood of a goddess.  Like you, I have no place, no agenda, only I embrace it.   Accept it.  Immerse myself in it.  I cannot go back from my pain, I can only drink it in and let myself drown.  There is nothing left, Ghanon.  I am no enforcer of good, I merely played the part.  There is nothing left for me but discovery."

With this she thrust him from her and turned to make her way outside to the rain.  He enraged her so.  At times it was as if he didn't have anything in common with her, and she felt it heavily now.  If he knew her at all, he wouldn't have lashed out at her for pressing him to bare his soul.  Up until now, she had thought that was how they were so connected.

"Find your own way." She raised her hand to the air and clasped a moth in her hand, then blew it from her palms and into the air.

It fumbled in the air momentarily and spun wildly until it became a horse-sized creature, much like her previous creations.

She mounted, drenched now in the rain, the fine lines of her body emphasized by her wet clothing, "You've insulted me enough."

Ghanon was unmoved by her words, they brushed over him like the ashes of fire.  Though he was cut by her nails and bled from his wounds, he only looked at her shining eyes.  She was livid, angry, and with the way she was spoke, it seemed she was dead set on everything she uttered.  He expected nothing less from her, for she answered with every syllable that came out of her mouth.  He clasped his arm when she let go of him and moved to make her way out of the cave.  He could let her leave...but that would mean his existence and all he worked for would be for naught.  He couldn't let that happen, not again.

Ghanon stood and followed her to the mouth of the cave where the rain pelted down in sheets, having become harsher than before.  He was nearly blind in the water, but his eyes were steady enough to catch her and he stood several feet away from her, his wounded arm clutched on the wall.   "You say you've become one with your own darkness, what lurks inside of your heart...and yet you would run away like a child," he said softly, impassive almost, but inside his was boiling with conflicting thoughts and feelings.  "You let yourself drown in your own pain...but you always seem to be running away from me.

"You think that I don't understand you, that I assume you're weak when I know you're strong.  That I think you naïve when you're anything but!  You walk away from me, and you walk away from the only other person who's wanted to know you in this world, who has reached out for you.  Even if it meant baring my own pain...my own memories, that I've long since hidden away, and it took you to bring them out.  We're more alike than you think...and just as different in as many ways.  You turn back now...and you'll be just as alone like you were before.  Drifting without a purpose.  If that is what you truly want, then I will respect your decision...and I will leave you alone.  But it has to be your choice.  It MUST always be your choice."

Ghanon stepped closer to her, cover the distance until he was at the very edge of the cave, that opened up to the cliffside and rocks below.  He didn't look down, he just stood beside her and reached out a hand for her to take if she wanted it.  "All I asked was if that was what you really wanted.  The things I've done...all I do is show the person the way, it is up to them what choice they make.  If you want to be dark, then I will be there with you.  You want to discover more...let me show you more."  Ghanon was close enough to feel her breath and he did not think about it before he did it; he knew that if he did it, he would have reconsidered.  He leaned in and took her lips with his own, kissing her in that torrent of rain, and if she shoved him over that cliff that moment, he wouldn't have gave a damn.

The cold could have made her shiver, but instead her body adjusted to the low temperature and she felt one with it.  His lips were sweet, as always, and now she could confirm that he knew the sway he held over her.  She let him take advantage of the moment and bring a tone of dramatic romance to the scene.  After a long, breathless moment, she pulled away, her teeth capturing his bottom lip between her teeth lovingly.  Her eyes flashed every now and then with the vibrancy of her anger.  She was not dissuaded.  He had touched her deeply, in so many ways, and it bothered her a little that his opinions of her, or what she perceived to be his opinions, effected her so.  She drew a talon down the side of his cheek and left a track of water where it had touched.  

A decision in her was made.  She was in an adventurous mood, and she wanted him to realize that sometimes, he was meant to follow her.

"There's nothing more you can show me here."

Her body ached to be close to his, but she held fast to her resolve.

"I need to be alone for a while.  I will meet you at our destination."

And with that, she turned and ascended into the atmosphere.

He could have sworn she was going to shove him off that cliff and that would be the end of it.  He wouldn't have found reason to blame her, after all the poking and prodding he'd put her through, the trust he'd needed her to feel for him, to listen to what he had to say, to what he felt, even if it meant exposing old wounds best left forgotten.  He needed her because without her, he would not get what he had sought so much...and he knew that his own existence would begin to fade.  It didn't take long to realize that so much more was at stake here than just the Dreamshard, so much more.  And it was at this moment that he realized that his search for the shards may just cost him his existence.  And all would truly be for naught.

He needed her now more than ever, not just for the shard, but for himself....and perhaps even more than that.  But that was a thought, he could not afford to give emotion towards.  It would cripple him!  It would make all this far more a risk that he might be willing to take.  He was afraid to lose himself in her, for fear that he would forget his purpose.  She would turn away from him if he told her why he'd really found her...  But then he thought of Arcan and knew he wouldn't tell her if he really didn't have to.  He was the thread holding both sides together, getting stretched thinner and thinner by the moment.

Yes, she could have thrown him off that cliff and he wouldn't have cared because at least he had the chance to taste her before she let him break his now fragile body on the sharp rocks below.  Instead, she pulled away from him, as she seemed destined to do.  Yet, he didn't fret.  This was the choice she made and they would meet again to the North, in that place of ice and snow.

"I'll see you there," he said, grinning slightly, watching her fly away.

Months passed, as they always seemed to between the two of them.  They truly were creatures of undying life who could go eons without seeing one another, and have the happy happenstance to have their destinies cross and the time that had once distanced them seemed narrower than the tip of a feather.  Months were milliseconds to them, however, Lana was careful to utilize her time wisely.  She also was aware of how patience was of most virtue in gaining the trust of the inhabitants she soon found herself immersed in.  It was a stark contrast to the bustling life they had left not long ago in a thriving town.  Here, the weather wasn't the only bleak aspect to the land.  The villagers were comprised mainly of women either swollen with child, or women already trailed by a number of tiny children at their feet.  Men were scarce to find at this time of year, and there was an intimacy between the women that was somehow unique to them.  It was understandable, as from what Lana understood, what was necessary to maintain survival caused them to have to rely more heavily upon one another than a much more populated, and less rugged place.  The fact that she was a woman, or what they perceived to be one, allowed her to be more easily accepted into their social sphere.  Slowly she gained their trust and immersed herself in their culture.  It was obvious to them, however, that she was foreign.  Whether or not they suspected her to be more than this, she wasn't aware, but it appeared that if any there were any wild whispering going on, it was few and far between.  

The cold suited her.  It touched her, but often she had to feign her shivers on a particularly cold night to make sure she did not disturb their suspicions.  She was able to learn to make fine clothing from the most basic, and rare materials about.  In secret thanks to them for their welcoming spirit, she imbued their clothing with protection and long lasting health.  

It was apparent to Lana that this small, removed group of people all carried the characteristics of oddities.  Their body language and solitude demonstrated that they had once been considered outcasts.  This, she realized, was why she was so easily accepted into their small world.  

As days grew long, arduous, and repetitive, Lana realized that she was yearning for his company.  She had needed to give herself space to breathe, but she knew it could never last for long.  The months had seemed to go by quickly while she was immersed in her discovery of this tiny culture, but watching the sun rise and set so many times, and being caught in the snow, the snow that reminded her of her home, her heart began to ache, and time became a nuisance.  

The day had begun as normally as any other.  The women awoke to prepare breakfast, but there was a particular liveliness among them.  The men were to return.  In all of the hustle and bustle, Lana wondered if it were time for her own to return....

The sun arose above a small, pathetic bunch of trees that poked from the icy ground giving a depth of life to her surroundings.  Lana sat with her knees to her chest wrapped in her arms, her chin rested on her forearm, and contemplated the excitement of her friends.  Her fingertips caressed the small pale shard at her neck, and instantly a warm pain gripped her chest.  An aching.  The women were laughing behind her at a distance.  

"Ghanon...." she sighed, her frustration mounting with her realized need of him, "Please be near."

She pressed the small shard to her breast.

[Continued in What Shadows May Lie (//http://spiritsoftheearth.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=95&t=12578).]