Hunting For His Heart

Oy, terribly sorry for the lack of updates! xX; I’ve been real busy lately, as I knew I would be.

Anyway, this chapter is filled with emotion, from horror, to sorrow, to anger! So enjoy! X3

Disclaimer: I own Krysta and everything else I made up. Happy now? (grumbles)

Chapter 9 – Traversing Memories

Darkness. Nothing but darkness invaded the boy’s sight, eating away at the light, corrupting everything its wispy fingers could grasp.

Flames. Flames so high they towered over his body, laughing at him the way fire does in its own language, dancing about frenzied glee.

Blood. Blood so red, it stained the very ground it fell upon, looking like liquid jewels upon the dusty, scorched earth.

And amongst all this darkness… flames… and blood… was a young boy, kneeling over the charred remains of what was once a human being. His left arm was nothing more than bones and corroded tissue, the crimson life in his arteries draining their contents out upon the ground.

But the boy was dead to it all. His ruby eyes were looking over everything, but saw nothing. His ears heard everything, but listened to nothing. He was blind and deaf to all around him, save the pile of ashes in front of him… the ashes that had only moments before been the boy’s father.

“Father…” the young swordsman breathed.

A tear fell and mixed with the ashes.

“No…” the boy said silently.

More tears fell, joining with their kin.

And as a wave of emotions crashed into the boy, flooding his senses and overwhelming him, Albel Nox threw back his head and screamed his anguish into the smoky sky.

---

Albel.

…what was that?

Albel… please.

…was someone calling him?

Albel, please wake up.

Why? To face another day of harsh reality?

Albel! Please! Wake up!

…go away….

…Albel!

“Albel!”

The loud voice in the boy’s ears made his eyes burst open, his pupils contracting to stop the sudden invasion of light. A figure soon came into view hovering over him. He blinked a few times, clearing his eyes of sleep, and noticed that it was Krysta, a look of worry and concern etched upon her face, her purple eyes filled with helpless fear. It took Albel another moment to realize he was still lying down and that the girl was hovering over him, her hands upon his shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” he finally asked, gently pushing her aside as he sat up, his voice thick with saliva from being asleep.

“‘What’s wrong?’” the girl echoed. “You were screaming in your sleep! That’s what’s wrong!”

Screaming… in his sleep?

He must have been giving the girl a blank look as she shook her head and began to explain.

“All of a sudden, you started yelling out,” she explained. “I couldn’t really hear what you were yelling about since your pillow muffled most of it, but whatever it was, it must have been pretty bad. Look, you have even been crying,” she said, gesturing to his face.

Albel raised his hand and ran his fingers across his cheek.

They felt wetness.

He looked down at the tears that clung to his fingers, and then back up at the girl, at a loss for words.

Not knowing what to say, Krysta did the only thing she could think of. Leaning over, she gathered the boy in her arms, holding him close.

“Well, whatever it was, it’s over now,” she said softly.

Albel, actually content with being held close, buried his face into the girl’s shoulder.

“My father…” he finally spoke, his eyes closed and breathing in the girl’s scent of blueberries. “I’ve had these nightmares… since that incident nine years ago.”

He knew the girl knew of the incident he spoke of. Everyone knew of it, and a majority of those blamed the young man for it.

“He caused the death of Glou!”

“If he wasn’t such a stubborn brat, General Nox would still have been alive….”

“The boy should have died for his foolishness….”

“He should be fed to the dragons! His life is not worth living!”

Those comments and others stung at his heart. As if losing his father wasn’t enough! And ever since then, Albel had closed his heart to everyone, trusting no one, and treating everyone the way he himself had been treated.

Recalling these memories, Albel didn’t realize that he had started shaking. However, Krysta had noticed and start speaking softly to him, holding him closer to herself, and stroking his black-and-yellow hair. The wetness on his cheeks increased as more tears fell, but no sound escaped his lips. However, he did his best to regain his composure, and after a few moments, he pulled away from the girl, taking deep breaths to calm himself.

“Albel…” Krysta said softly, reaching up to brush the tears from his face. “You’ve been plagued by these nightmares for nine years?”

“…yes.”

Krysta narrowed her eyes. “…then I will help you rid of them.”

This statement surprised the boy.

“What do you mean?” he questioned. “How can you get rid of them?”

“Through a ritual I learned. I’ve only done it once before, but I’m sure it’ll work for you.”

Albel narrowed his eyes. “You mean you’re going to use Runology on me? I’ll pass….”

Krysta shook her head. “No, no it’s not Runology. I can’t even use Runology. It’s a special ritual that anyone can do if they follow the directions precisely and have enough willpower to concentrate.” She grasped his hands in hers, although he could only feel her hand with his undamaged one. “I want to help you. Please… let me try?”

Albel kept his gaze upon the girl. He could see there was not going to be an easy way to deter her. However, it would be nice to have decent nights of sleep for once instead of waking up covered in sweat and tears.

“…all right.”

---

The day went fairly quickly. Both Krysta and Albel packed up camp and headed on their way after changing back into their clothes. (Albel was pleased his clothes had dried somewhat.) While checking his pack, he remembered Ember, the little stuffed phoenix. Krysta was more than pleased to get it back, so much so that Albel now had a sore rib due to her not-so-gentle hug.

The landscape changed little as they continued on. Their destination was as far south as they could go to an uncharted part of the map that Krysta carried with her. On that part, there was supposed to be a ring of mountains with a rounded valley between them. Because of the elevation, no dragon riders could simply fly there, and finding a path to enter the valley was said to be impossible. But Krysta’s determination knew no bounds, and she was certain that was where the Snow Stag resided, as said in the poem in her book.

She had read and reread that poem many times, Albel even reading it to offer his thoughts. Although he hated poetry, he tried his best to figure out its riddle-like structure as best he could.

Body of snow and antlers of ice,

A great being of lore,

Whose power doth entice,

The flowers of ice upon the tor.

With the ability to cure

All those who ail,

It is seen as pure,

Both strong and frail.

And this being doth live

In a place of but one season,

And will only give

To those of unselfish reason.

So, if thou must see

This creature of ice,

Make thy heart free

Or think twice.

High upon the land,

A god viewed by all,

A being of great power and

Nurturer of the wholesome and the small.

Such a poem was obscure in its reference, but Krysta had insisted that the Snow Stag resided in the Airyglyph Mountains due to it having but one season: winter. While winter was indeed fading, it seemed to be stuck eternally in the mountains, as the snow covered everything in sight, from the ground to the evergreen trees.

However, the reference of the ‘flowers of ice’ was something that was lost to both Albel and Krysta. Flowers died or never grew in places of ice, so what did it mean? And what was this ‘unselfish reason?’ Also, Albel had no idea what a ‘tor’ was.

“It’s a pile of rocks,” Krysta explained. “It’s a geology term, not a common word.”

Flowers of ice growing upon a pile of rocks?

Well, anything could be possible after meeting that certain blue-haired kid not so long ago….

---

It was dark now, and both Krysta and Albel were making camp. Krysta was clearing the snow away as Albel fed the Lum and removed the creature’s burden from its back. After clearing the snow, Krysta set up the tent and the bedding inside. Albel created a campfire and began to get some things together to cook as he was going to be the only one eating what was going to be cooked—meat.

Krysta noticed that the young swordsman was having a bit of trouble keeping the fire lit due to the damp wood. Taking out her concealed knife, she cut off some of the hair from the Lum’s tail and placed it upon the firewood.

“Try it now,” she instructed.

Raising an eyebrow, Albel yet again struck the two pieces of flint together. After several hits, a few sparks few out onto the hair and started to eat it away. Soon, a decent fire was alight.

“Thanks,” he muttered. He began to use a spare hunting knife to cut away at the carcass of a rabbit he had caught earlier, (with the help of Krysta as he had missed the first time.)

“You okay?” Krysta asked, sitting next to him and watching him skin the carcass and stab it through with a long, thin branch.

“…not sure,” he finally replied, placing the rabbit over the fire and resting the two ends of the long stick upon some other sticks that were on either side of the fire. When he was sure it wasn’t going to fall into the flames, he let go and sighed, staring into the fire. “I will admit… I’m a bit nervous about tonight.”

“…about me trying to rid of your nightmares?”

He nodded. “What if it doesn’t work?”

Krysta leaned her head on Albel’s shoulder, and unconsciously he wrapped his good arm around her.

“It’ll work,” she insisted. “You keep having these nightmares because your mind wants it to conclude, but you don’t know how to conclude it. So they replay themselves every time you sleep. However, when a conclusion is established, they will vanish and be nothing more than a distant memory.”

Albel glanced over at the girl. “How do you know?”

“…I’ve had to help someone before.”

“And it worked?”

“…somewhat.”

“What do you mean by ‘somewhat?’”

Krysta sighed. “I was able to rid of the person’s nightmares, but… I have no idea what happened, and next thing I knew… he started to have hallucinations. He slept fine, but when he was awake, he kept thinking he saw things that no one else could see….” She broke eye contact with him. “I… I’ll understand if you decide not to go through with this. It’s just that, I want to help you. I don’t want you to suffer anymore.”

Albel pulled the girl closer to him and leaned his head on top of hers.

“…thank you,” he said softly. “Although I know what might happen… if you feel strongly enough to try to help, then I will allow it.”

Both sat in silence, watching the rabbit cook over the fire.

---

Are you sure you want to go through with this? the voice of Albel’s Crimson Scourge asked the young man.

“If I can be rid of these poisoned dreams, then yes,” he said, staring off at the top of the tent.

He was lying on his back upon the covers and pillow. His sword was off to the side as well as his gauntlet and other pieces of armor, leaving him completely defenseless. But Krysta had assured him that he wouldn’t be needing them, not where they were going, deep into the recesses of his mind.

I sense you are somewhat frightened. Do you wish to call this off?

“No. It will go as planned.”

Then I wish you luck, mortal.

Luck. It seemed like he’d be needing it. Once again he was to delve into those haunting memories, the very memories that stripped him of happiness and self-worth. Only this time, he was to finally face his inner demons. However, he wasn’t going to do it alone… not this time.

The tent flap pulled back and Krysta poked her head in.

“Ready?” she asked him.

“Yes. Let’s get this over with.”

Krysta stooped to get into the tent and half-crawled, half-walked to the swordsman’s left side. From the limited light, Albel could barely make out strange markings upon the girl’s face, created using ashes from the campfire. Also, the strong smell of burning wood clung to the girl like some sort of curse. However, Albel liked that smell as it reminded him of the many nights he had spent in an army camp, awaiting the order to charge into battle….

Krysta’s voice brought him out of his recollection of his past.

“You still want to go through with this?” she questioned, a look of concern and worry upon her features. “There is a chance I may fail again, you know.”

Albel looked at her, long and hard.

“Do it,” he finally spoke.

Krysta took a sharp intake of breath, but then nodded, clearly understanding that there was no going back now. Slowly, she placed one hand upon his forehead, palm down, and then grabbed his injured arm with the other, wrapping her fingers around his.

“Close your eyes and breathe deeply. Clear you mind of everything,” the young bounty hunter instructed.

Albel did as he was told.

“I shall now chant, beginning this ritual. If you should feel my presence enter your mind, do not block me out. And don’t be afraid. This ritual will make your memories extremely vivid, as if you are reliving them all over again, but that’s all they are: nothing more than memories. Only this time… I shall accompany you.”

Albel wanted to respond, but it was as if he was starting to lose control over his body. He felt as if his mind was beginning to detach itself from his physical self as Krysta began to recite her chant.

“Oh holy god of the sun, hear my plea. Your great power, please bestow upon me. To help this suffering soul, I dare to ask thee: Allow me to walk through his memories.”

Krysta kept repeating this chant, and with every line, Albel felt further and further disconnected with time and reality. He could no longer feel her hand upon his brow nor her hand grasping his own. He felt as if he were floating through darkness, her voice distorted, as if being heard from underwater. And then, there was pressure in his head.

It was as if someone had put his head into a vice and was slowly squeezing it, trying to crush it like a melon. He gritted his teeth, trying to fight off the sensation, but a clear voice cut through his mind, a voice that was not composed of sound at all, much like the voice of his sword, except this wasn’t his sword talking to him.

Do not resist! it chastised him. If I cannot enter your mind, you will never be able to sever your ties with your past! It will haunt you for the rest of your life!

Slowly, the pressure increased, but instead of trying to fight it, the young man allowed it to overcome him. He felt like screaming out in pain as flashes of memories played throughout his head. It was as if he was watching them being played back, except they were being flipped through rapidly, as if the viewer was uninterested in them.

And just when the pain seemed too much to bear, it stopped, and the images ceased.

Slowly, Albel opened his eyes, and gasped aloud.

He was standing upon a mountainside, the sun high in the sky. Around him were various soldiers that Albel knew, most of them who had died years ago. What were they doing here? Where was here?

He had no time to figure out what was going on, however, as a large black dragon descended from the sky to land in front of him. Its ebony scales shone with brilliance in the sun’s rays, and its blood red eyes stared out at the boy, a look of menace and anger in them.

“Is it you who dares to challenge me?” the dragon questioned, its voice thick and harsh.

And then Albel understood everything.

He was reliving his memory of that terrible day, nine years ago.

He glanced down at his left arm, noticing he wasn’t wearing his gauntlet. He also noticed that he felt smaller, and then remembered that he was only at the mere age of fifteen when he challenged the beast that killed his father.

Albel glared at the coal-colored, winged reptile in front of him. “Yes, it is I. If I should defeat you, then you shall serve me.”

The dragon laughed, a sound that was a mixture of growling and huffing. “Serve a human? Not likely. Do you know how many have challenged me and lived to tell the tale? No one!” He flared his wings in anger and defiance. “I shall serve no human!” The beast turned his head to look at the spectators: the other soldiers who had come to watch this ceremony as well as the enslaved dragons. “And you who have become ensnared by the humans are traitors! You should not even be deemed dragons!”

The other dragons shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of the rogue dragon before them, apparently ashamed of their allegiance with the human race.

The large creature turned its gaze back upon the young boy.

“I shall not become a slave to the likes of you,” it growled. “Stand down, for if you still wish to challenge me, then I shall take your life to pay for your insolence.”

Albel drew his katana.

“I never back down,” he spat, his eyes and heart filled with rage.

“So be it.”

The dragon roared and sped towards the boy, a look of hunger in his eyes. Just as the beast was to lunge and take a bit of him, Albel nimbly dodged the attack and slashed out at the black menace.

The dragon withdrew, a long slice in its neck, fresh blood spilling out upon the rocky ground.

“I shall win!” Albel cried, leaping at the winged lizard.

Just as the boy’s blade was to make contact with the creature’s underside, the dragon pushed off from the ground and rose into the air.

“You underestimate my power!” it bellowed, as it flew through the air above the boy.

The dragon then tucked its wings into its sides and dove at Albel.

The young swordsman tried to dodge by jumping to the side, but was struck by the great beast’s wing and was sent flying. He hit the ground, rolled head over heels several times, and then crashed into a large boulder due to the momentum of the strike. Crying out in pain, he slowly stood and realized he had dropped his sword. Looking around frantically for it, he spotted it just as the dragon landed in front of him.

“Not so tough without your blade now, are you?” it taunted, bearing it’s fangs in a wicked grin only a dragon could pull off.

Albel took a step back, clearly shaken and unsure of what to do. Without his sword, he was defenseless.

“It is time for you to die now!” the dragon roared, a bright ball of light forming in the back of its throat.

That light could only mean one thing….

“GRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”the beast cried, flames erupting from its maw.

With no time to think, Albel leapt forward and under the flames, fell to his knees, tucked his arms in, and rolled under the dragon as well, rising back to his feet in a swift, fluid motion once on the other side of the black, fire-spewing lizard. He quickly made a mad dash to his weapon, which lie out in the open, its blade glinting wickedly in the light.

“No you don’t!”

WHAM!

Albel was sent flying once again as the dragon’s tail smashed into him from the side.

Ka-THWUMP, THUMP, SHHHHH….

The boy slid to a halt, his body badly beaten. He tried to rise, but stumbled back to his knees, his fingers digging into the rocky earth. He tasted blood in his mouth and spat out on the ground in front of the dark creature.

The dragon looked amused at the gesture and smiled again, its yellow fangs dripping with saliva.

“Yes, bow down before me, inferior human,” it growled as it approached. “You should be serving us, not us serving you.”

Albel glared at the monster and tried once again to stand, this time successful.

“I shall never bow down to you, worm!”

The dragon’s eyes widened. “What? You dare to defy me!” The dragon roared and flared its wings in fury. “Then you shall die!”

With its last words, the dragon once again spewed flames from its mouth, but again Albel dodged, the heat scorching him. In the dragon’s rage, it began to saturate the earth with fire, the flames dancing high into the sky, the smoke obscuring the sun.

Albel ran, hiding amongst the smoke. Finally, he reached his sword and picked it up—

—only to see the blade fall from the hilt.

His katana was broken.

Cursing, he threw the useless hilt to the side, panicking. He needed to get out of there. He very well knew he had failed his Accession to the Flame ceremony, but he wasn’t about ready to pay with his life. To hell with the Dragon Brigade! His life was more important!

The defenseless swordsman darted in among the flames, seeking a way out. Sweat poured off his body, and he began choking on the smoke. He could hear the panicked cried of the soldiers, and the loud booming voice of his father, trying to give out commands that no one was listening to.

His father.

Albel had to get to his father, Glou Nox.

He ran again, trying to get away from the towering flames, but at every turn he was thwarted when a new wall of fire leapt up in front of him. Finally, he was surrounded by fire, with no escape route to be seen. His eyes darted around, searching, hoping for a way out of this. But that hope dwindled away into nothing as the fire parted to his left and the behemoth of a dragon stepped into the ring of fire to confront the boy.

Albel backed up, no longer willing to fight this beast. He glanced around and now noticed that other wild dragons had shown up and were at the outskirts of the flames, watching hungrily. He turned back to the black beast before him.

The dragon growled deeply, its eyes mere slits.

“You have failed, human,” it snarled. “Therefore, we shall take your life.”

Albel watched helplessly as the dragon opened its mouth wide, a strange and deadly glow forming in its maw—

—something jumped in front of the boy and shoved him aside, yelling “Look out!”—

—and the dragon released a huge wave of flames that engulfed the figure as Albel fell, hit the ground hard, and rolled a few times before stopping.

A scream of pain and agony tore at Albel’s ears, and as he stood, a grisly sight met his eyes.

His father, Glou Nox, was on the ground, rolling around, trying desperately to put out the flames.

“Father!” Albel yelled, rushing to aide the burning man. He tried to beat at the flames, but the boy’s left arm ignited, and Albel’s own screams of pain joined that of his father’s.

Albel desperately beat at the fire on his arm, but when he was able to put it out, he found he could barely move it. Momentarily forgetting the throbbing pain, he looked back at his father, who was now no longer moving.

The swordsman wished he had never looked upon the sight that was before him. He watched as his father’s skin melted in the flames, watched as his father’s armor melted as well, and watched as his body was reduced to nothing more than a pile of ashes.

“No…” he breathed through clenched teeth, gripping his badly burned and practically useless left arm as he fell to his knees. “No… no… no! Father!” he screamed, his head back, eyes closed. “FATHER!” he screamed again, tears streaming from his eyes.

Another growl could be heard behind Albel, but he didn’t move, didn’t open his eyes—just didn’t care if the dragon suddenly leaped at him and tore his throat out.

But it didn’t attack him.

“We’ve taken another’s life in exchange for your impudence. Consider yourself lucky, human, and never challenge us again.”

Literally shaking with rage, anger, and sorrow, Albel turned around and faced the retreating form of the dragon.

“Go to hell you flying bastard!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, tears dripping from his face, which was contorted in fury. “GO TO HELL!”

The dragon paused, and turned around to face the boy.

“You still defy me despite the fact you have lost? Perhaps I should not spare your life after all….”

Albel knew that the dragon would not kill him, otherwise he would have never existed when that certain boy, Fayt, showed up. He knew that he was reliving a memory, and that the dragon would leave and Albel would be in deep grief, anger, and pain.

But all that changed when a certain figured leapt over the flames and faced the dragon, a familiar pole-arm weapon in her hands.

“Sorry I’m late!” Krysta cried. “Man, your memories are a mess! It took me a while to find the right one and then make it here!”

And now it was no longer a memory, but a true nightmare, a fabrication of his mind created in order to destroy his sanity slowly over the course of years. But this time, a new variable had been added into the equation.

Krysta.

Could she defeat this dragon-like phantom of his mind and enable him to live in peace?

“And who is this?” the dragon asked, obviously unfazed by the arrival of the young glaive master. “Another challenger ready to become fertilizer for the mountain plants?”

Krysta tightened her grip on her glaive. “I’ve come to destroy you. You’ve been hurting my friend for nine years… and it ends now!”

Krysta leapt forward, her carbuncle giving her amazing speed and agility. The dragon had no time to react as she swung her bladed pole and jumped back.

For a moment, the dragon just stood there, its eyes wide. And then, there was a sickening sound of wet flesh sliding against wet flesh as the head of the dragon slowly slid off its neck and landed with a kwump. Its body fell next and the whole ground shook with its impact.

It was over—the dragon was dead.

But… why was Krysta still standing there in a fighting stance?

Suddenly, the head and body of the dragon began to melt away into a bubbling black ooze. It fizzed and churned as it slithered together to form a great blob of goo. And that goo took the shape of a demented-looking dragon that appeared to be literally dripping apart, a fetid, poor excuse for a dragon.

“Foolish mortal!” it cried in a bubbly voice that sounded like air escaping from the seething mass. “How dare you interfere!”

“Why don’t you take on your real form?” Krysta replied, a cold look in her eyes. “I know who you are… Corruption.”

The dripping mass seemed to laugh at the girl. “Yes. Yes, I am Corruption! I see you haven’t forgotten me little girl.” The ooze churned as it spoke those last two words. “You know you cannot destroy me, try as you have. I live in all things in the world!”

“True,” Krysta agreed. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t stop you from driving my friend insane.”

“You couldn’t stop me with the other mortal,” Corruption retorted. “What makes you think you can stop me now?”

“…because I have more faith in myself now,” Krysta explained, her eyes narrowing. “And also because I have something truly worth protecting…. Now, show your true self!”

Upon Krysta’s command, the black, bubbling mass began to twist around itself and harden. Slowly, the form of a black skeleton emerged, complete with a skeletal tail, dragon-like wings on its back with holes in their membranes and looking as if they’d rot off, a black beak instead of a human mouth, and long, sharp talons on the ends of its toes and fingers. In its hands were two scimitars, their inside blades serrated for ripping flesh off bone and their outside blades for slicing.

Albel took a step back. Never before had he seen such a creature… yet Krysta knew of this demon? What the hell was it? A demon? A god? It very well couldn’t be a figment of his imagination for Krysta apparently knew what it was as they had met before.

The dragon’s fire continued to burn the mountainside, but Albel could no longer feel its heat. Too focused on the confrontation of Corruption and Krysta, he merely stood there, holding his raw, injured arm, grimacing as the throbbing pain came in waves.

Krysta twirled her glaive a few times, a warm up to make sure her grip upon it was secure.

“If I defeat you,” she said to Corruption, “you know the drill.”

“Yes, yes,” he replied in a bored tone. “I leave and never come back. However,” he remarked, “this boy has already been tainted beyond salvation. All soldiers who experience war—who have taken lives—can never truly be cleansed of their sins… of their corruption.”

If it was possible for Corruption to smile, then he just did, and it sent cold shivers down Albel’s spine. He knew that smile all too well.

That smirk of coldness used to be plastered upon his own face when he towered over the weak before finishing them off.

“Then that’s where I come in,” Krysta replied.

She leapt forward, nothing but a blue blur, her purple glaive out in front of her, blade aimed for the demon. Just as she was to impale the monster—

—she was parried by Corruption and kicked aside, rolling a few times before bouncing back up on her feet.

But the damage had been done. In a mere few seconds, Krysta already had a gash upon her forehead, and the blood was beginning to trickle down into her right eye. She brushed it away.

“You’re losing your touch, mortal,” Corruption taunted. “Is the poison in your body that far along already? What a shame. And I was looking forward to a good fight again, too….”

Krysta ran again at the monster, but this time he merely flapped his fetid wings and took to the air, dodging the girl’s attack. She jumped high into the air thanks to her heightened abilities, and her weapon clashed with that of Corruption’s two scimitars.

However, just as gravity set in and tugged Krysta back down, Corruption whipped his tail forward and grabbed her around her middle, carrying her high into the sky.

“You don’t know when to quit, do you?” he hissed, trying to force his two blades down upon her head while she blocked him with her glaive.

“Nope, sorry,” she huffed as she strained against the demon’s weapons.

Corruption smirked. “Then I shall have to teach you.”

Twisting his body around, he aimed at the ground and spun, releasing his grip upon the girl and hurtling her at breakneck speed right at the rocky ground.

Krysta didn’t even have time to react as she struck the unmerciful earth. She was able to land on her feet, but a loud, sickening snap filled the air, and Albel saw as she doubled over in pain that both of her legs were broken, pieces of bone sticking out of her flesh and clothes, blood pooling around her. He scream filled the air and hurt his ears as she cried out in pain, clutching her ruined legs, her glaive a few feet away from her battered body.

Corruption landed next to her, towering over her form, a smirk upon his beaked face.

“So, it ends already?” he mocked, raising his two scimitars. “Heh, you always were a fool.”

As Albel watched, horrified, something in him snapped. He ignored the pain in his arm, ignored everything around him. It was all nothing more than an illusion of his mind, and as he kept telling himself this, he felt himself change, reverting back to his present-day self. His familiar clawed gauntlet appeared on his left arm, and at his side, the Crimson Scourge.

Let us work together to free your mind of this devil and save Krysta, the blade spoke to him.

The young man didn’t even reply. He dashed forward, his war cry filling the air. Curious to see what was going on, Corruption turned, only to have a katana slice right through one of his wings and slice it off.

A sharp, shrill cry filled the air as Corruption wailed in pain, jumping back and hissing at the young man. Black, watery blood dripped from the wound where his right wing was once connected to his back, smelling like a mangled corpse that had been sitting in the sun too long and was bloated with various insects feeding upon the meat.

“Insolence!” Corruption spat, glaring daggers at Albel. “How dare you interfere!”

Albel glared back, coldness in his eyes and heart. “You will not harm her, nor shall you haunt me any longer.” He pointed his blade at the monster in front of him. “You shall become nothing more than a fresh meal for the maggots!”

Corruption stared at the boy for a moment before responding with, “I was going to wait to break your mind, boy, but it seems that waiting is over.” He raised his scimitars and stood in a fighting stance. “Any time you’re ready to die.”

Albel glanced down at Krysta, the blood becoming sticky on her, the sheen of sweat upon her brow and her blue lips a sign that she didn’t have much time and was more than likely going into shock. However, she managed to choke out a few words.

“B-b-be… ca-ca-care… ful.”

Corruption laughed. “Oh, he’ll be careful, all right. Careful enough to make sure he goes insane before he dies!”

The demon laughed again, and Albel watched as the landscape around the three of them shifted and changed. It blurred, and then ran together like muddy water. Strange forms appeared from the ground and rose until they took on grisly shapes.

Albel gasped, looking around him at the carnage.

Bodies. Hundreds of bodies strewn about. Most mangled beyond recognition, others fresh. Some were heaped into piles on the ground, while others were impaled upon swords and spears thrust into the air like twisted versions of butterflies that were pinned down in display cases, their heads back and mouths open in silent screams of agony. The ground was literally soaked with blood and was muddy and hard to stand upon without sliding around. Maggots were in abundance, fat bloated grubs eating away at the decaying flesh all around him. In this monochrome world, the stench of death was nauseating.

Albel felt as if he was going to throw up.

“Surprised?” Corruption grinned, obviously amused by the boy’s reaction. “These are all the poor souls you have murdered, mortal. Throughout your life, ever since you got your first taste of blood, I have been keeping tabs on the number of bodies as you kept killing. One by one, I have placed them here, deep in your mind, spreading their festering diseases throughout every fiber of your being.” He gestured to the butchery around him. “It’s a slow process, but the results are most rewarding. I enjoy watching you sink into despair, watching as your inner demon takes hold and corrupts your very soul.” He grinned again. “Never before have I had a more entertaining specimen.”

“No…” came a gasp, and Albel glanced down at Krysta, seeing a look of utter horror on her face as her eyes darted over the bodies. “Your… nick… name….”

Yes, his nickname. Albel the Wicked.

From the looks of things, the people of Elicoor had chosen the perfect words to describe him.

Do not become fooled by Corruption’s illusions! the Crimson Scourge cried to the boy. We must destroy him and save the girl, for if she dies in your mind, her body will be nothing more than an empty shell!

Krysta.

Yes… yes, he had to save Krysta!

Without warning, Albel lunged at Corruption, who was mildly caught by surprise. However, Albel’s swing was blocked at the last second and he was pushed back. Trying to go in for a second assault, Albel slipped on the blood-soaked ground and was sent sprawling when he was struck by the demon’s tail. He landed on a badly decomposed body, the smell enough to make him feel like he was going to start throwing up, but instead he dry heaved as he quickly stood, brushing pieces of fetid meat from his clothes.

This time Corruption jumped at the swordsman, but Albel was ready and blocked with his gauntlet, using his good arm to jab his katana forward, but Corruption leapt back out of harms way.

“You’re good,” he muttered as they circled each other. “But you will fall, just like the girl.”

Albel said nothing, too focused upon the threat in front of him—interacting with Corruption would more than likely be fatal if he didn’t keep his guard up.

Suddenly, both boy and demon clashed, their weapons pushing against each other. Corruption was at least a good head taller than Albel, and he sneered at the boy, his putrid breath enough to want to make the swordsman gag.

“Give it up, boy. Just embrace who you are, for it is too late to repent what you have done. Just allow the darkness to consume you, and all will be well….”

Albel glared at Corruption.

“Go to hell.”

Swipt!

“What! NO!”

Albel smirked coldly at the demon, who now only clutched useless scimitars. The boy’s Crimson Blade, notorious for having the ability to ‘cleave the sky in two,’ had sliced clean through the demon’s two blades.

And before Corruption could fathom what had truly happened, Albel swung his blade with such force, one could almost feel the air shifting in front of him as the atmosphere was sliced, the power of that swing carrying over to Corruption.

Corruption gasped, dropped his useless scimitars, and then staggered forward, splitting in half as he did so, his two halves twitching ever so slightly before falling still.

It’s over… the Crimson Scourge announced. Now check on Krysta.

But Albel didn’t need to be told that—he was already dashing to her side, kneeing next to her, frantic. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was labored.

“No…” he breathed, looking over her. “Come, on, wake up,” he hissed, shaking her. “You need to wake up and tell me how to help you!”

But Krysta did not stir.

Albel shook his head in disbelief, not wanting to accept that it might already be too late.

“Damn you,” he hissed, “wake UP!”

Tears welled up in his eyes as he again shook the girl who, again, didn’t respond. He checked her pulse, taking note that her heart was still beating, but weakly. But what could he do? She had already lost too much blood and he didn’t know any healing arts.

Once again, he felt helplessness drape over him and begin to smother his hope, like a wet cloth being draped over a weak candle flame.

Not knowing what to do, Albel just gazed at the sleeping girl, tears falling from his face, He reached up to her face to brush strands of hair away, but as his fingers brushed her forehead, something unexpected happened.

She began to disappear, and the hellish landscape blurred into nothingness, leaving the boy in darkness.

Not know what was going on, he stood, brushing the tears away and looking about, trying his best to figure out what had just happened and where Krysta was.

And then, slowly, the scene changed, and a room faded into view.

It was a small room, hardly furnished at all. All there was in it was a bed, a desk, and various medical items and books on a lone bookshelf.

Confused, the young man walked over to look at the books and silently read the titles.

Human Anatomy, How to Mend the Bones of the Featherfolk, The Proper way to Make an Incision, Transplanting Organs and Tissue….

He tried to reach up and pull out one… but his hand went through it.

“Another illusion…” he muttered, shaking his head.

Footsteps outside the door.

Turning and drawing his sword, Albel readied himself for another fight, not knowing where he was or what was going on.

However, when the door to the room opened, Albel very nearly dropped his blade in complete shock.

Standing before him was Krysta, but not the Krysta he knew.

This Krysta had to only have been about twelve years old.

She was very short and thin, and instead of the short hair she sported in the present, she had long hair now, tied into a lose ponytail. Her attire this time was skin-tight dark green pants with dark blue shorts over them, a dark blue long sleeved shirt with flare sleeves, and regular all-purpose black shoes.

“Krysta…?” Albel asked in disbelief, sheathing his blade.

The young girl didn’t respond, and instead walked forward towards him. Thinking she was going to hug him or something, he put out his arms to embrace her—

—and she walked right through him and straight to her desk, sitting in the chair with a sigh.

Albel was surprised, and thought that he’d be able to touch her like he could earlier. However, she had passed right through him… as if she were a ghost. Did that mean…?

Fear not, for I can still sense her, Albel’s blade assured him. It seems that we have somehow entered one of her memories, and by doing so, we have left that nightmare Corruption created. By doing that, Krysta was also freed from that world and is no longer injured, but I know not of her whereabouts. This girl is nothing more than a distant memory of her past self, and until we can find a way out of this memory, all we can do is watch and wait….

Albel watched the young Krysta as she removed a pad of paper from her desk drawer and a pen and began to scribble upon its surface. Curious, the swordsman approached the girl, peered over her shoulder, and watched her write. From what he could tell, the little girl was writing a poem, and even though he wasn’t big on poetry, something about this poem seemed to tug at his heart and make him feel a deeper meaning within it.

It read:

I watch as the seasons creep by my window;

I watch as the days fly by my door;

And as the hours spin by in my clock

I feel as if I can take no more.

To live this way would be a lie,

And the happiness a false truth.

But I cannot be free

So long as I live under this roof.

So I shed this life

Like a snake sheds its skin,

And I say to you all:

“I shall never return, ever again.”

When finished, the little girl signed her name, tore the page out of the pad, and placed the poem upon her bed. She then gathered a few things and placed them in her pockets, and left out the door. Albel walked over to the window and peered out, watching as Krysta dashed down the street into the darkness of the night.

“This must be of the time she ran away from home…” he muttered to himself.

And yet again, the scene changed, and this time Albel was at a dock. Large ships were moored there, and one in particular caught his eye.

It was large ship used to trade goods between Gaitt and Greeton. Gaitt mostly took in imports, but some things such as resources were exported.

As the swordsman approached the ship, a shadow dashed out from behind some crates and ran up the plank and onboard the ship. The few men who were loading the ship didn’t notice the stowaway, but Albel did, and he ran to follow.

When he was onboard, the door was open to the storage area, and so he climbed down and looked among the boxes.

And in the far back, tucked away in a corner, was Krysta. She was currently bundling up some cloths she had taken out of a crate and was making a makeshift bed, to which she buried herself in.

As Albel approached to get a better look, he could hear her sobbing silently, as well as whispering “mom” and “dad.” And after a while, her sobs subsided, and her breathing became regular again as she fell asleep.

Again, the scene melted away and was replaced with a shoreline, just outside of Peterny. The docks were further down the strip of beach, but what caught Albel’s eyes was the figure emerging from the sea.

Krysta, soaking wet, dragged herself out of the waves and staggered onto the shore. When she was just out of reach of the water, she fell to her knees, panting heavily and wiping the hair out of her eyes. She glanced over at the docks and muttered, “Good, they didn’t notice me.”

The swordsman figured the girl had jumped overboard and swam away from the ship and docks to avoid being noticed; he was sure that if the crew had spotted her as a stowaway, they would have taken back to Greeton… or worse. He knew of the cruelty of sea-faring men, and they were just as foul to women as they were to men, even if those women were little girls.

Albel watched as Krysta pulled something from her pocket.

A knife—the same knife that Krysta kept concealed in the present.

The little girl took the knife out of its sheath and brought it to her long, flowing hair. She then began to hack away at it, cutting it all off until it was short, just like he knew it to be when he first met the girl. When Krysta was satisfied, she collected the hair and tossed it into the waves before sheathing her knife and putting it back into her pocket.

After trying to wring out some of the water from her clothes, the young Krysta began to trudge her way across the beach to the city of Peterny.

She shed her past, Albel’s katana spoke up. Just like in the poem she wrote, the cutting of her hair was symbolic to her—it was as if she was severing her ties with her past and home and starting fresh.

Another flash forward, this time appearing in the streets of Peterny. Albel tried at first to dodge people automatically, but realized that he could phase right through them, and instead walked on, looking for Krysta. However, a loud cry stopped him.

“Stop you little thief!”

Albel turned—

—just in time to see Krysta dash by, dressed in rag-like clothes, a large loaf of bread and some apples in her hands.

And following close behind was a large, burly, bald man.

“Stop!” he cried. “Give those back to me you dirty little rat!”

Albel followed, and just as he entered the main square, he saw that the man had caught up to Krysta and was holding her up by her collar, her feet off the ground and kicking at the air, the food left unnoticed on the cobblestones.

“Thought you could get away, eh?” the burly man questioned. “So, which hand will it be that you wish to lose? Left? Or Right?”

Krysta didn’t respond—instead she spat right in the man’s eyes.

“ARG!” he shouted, dropping Krysta and rubbing his eyes to rid them of the girl’s saliva. “You little beast!”

However, Krysta was already gathering the articles of food and high-tailed it out of there, managing to get away.

Yet another flash forward, this time during some important event. The streets were littered with people on either side, and coming down the middle were Airyglyph cavalry soldiers. Krysta was also there, sandwiched between the people in the crowd, trying her best to see what was going on.

As Albel watched the spectacle, he had the feeling that it seemed familiar, as if he knew what it was about, or he had been there before. Where had he….?

And then it hit him once he saw the carriage and a familiar face looking out.

It was him—his fifteen year old self.

Albel could see the pain and anger etched into the features of his younger self—the dark circles under his eyes, the contempt seething off of him, the haunted and sickly look. The young Albel’s arm was tightly bandaged, but the bandages were already beginning to turn red with the blood he was losing.

“This is when I was taken to Peterny to have my arm worked upon…” the older Albel muttered as he watched the equestrians trot by.

And as Albel continued to watch, little Krysta had squeezed herself through the crowd and was standing almost directly in the road.

“Out of the way!” a soldier barked at her.

Krysta sidestepped out of the way of the horses and carriage and continued to watch. And as the carriage passed by, her amethyst eyes locked on with the younger Albel’s ruby ones—

—and the older Albel now knew why he had felt so compelled to meet with Krysta back when she had delivered that Cockatrice’s head.

He had seen her before in the past but had forgotten it.

As the older Albel continued to watch, little Krysta’s eyes showed concern and sadness as she saw the boy’s injury.

The younger version of Albel just stared back, emotionless.

Then, Krysta tossed something up to the boy, which landed in his hair. After that, she disappeared into the crowd.

Young Albel gingerly picked it out of his hair and looked down to see that it was a flower—a Maiden of Irisa to be exact. He looked over it and rubbed its petals with the fingers of his good hand, then looked back up to see if he could spot the girl who threw it to him.

But she was already gone.

Another flash forward, this time to a forest. Albel figured he was in Duggus Forest as the air seemed charge with magical energy that no human could create. Confused as why he was here, Albel trudged on through the memory, looking every which way for Krysta.

Soon, he came across an old shack. Curious, Albel phased through the door and entered—

—only to gasp at what he saw before him.

Krysta was locked up in a large cage. She looked older this time, and her raggedy clothes were in pretty bad shape, but the most prominent feature was the cuts and welts littering her body.

All up and down her arms and legs were cuts of various sizes and lengths, black and blue bruises, and welts.

The culprit? A curled up whip next to the cage on the floor. Albel knew it had to be that whip as he had seen the damage they could do.

…so that meant Krysta had lied to him. She had told him that those scars on her arms were from practicing how to use a glaive, but it was actually from torture.

Albel was visibly shaking with anger, and forgetting that he was in a memory, tried to rush forward and pry the lock from the cage—

—but his hand phased right through it.

And at the same time, something jumped into the room through the window.

A Menodix, and a young boy, too.

Albel didn’t care much for the Menodix race. They were sneaky, like the raccoons they shared genes with. He remembered having to deal with that bratty Roger back when Albel joined up with Fayt and the others to ‘enlist’ Crosell to join in the fight against the celestial ships. He always hated that kid, but it seemed that Cliff was having a harder time with him, as if Roger would go out of his way just to annoy the—what was he? Oh, Klausian—and Cliff would always take the bait and retaliate. Albel merely had to gesture to his blade and glare at the kid to drive him away, but the fighting between Roger and Cliff was just as annoying. He was actually glad when that Aquarian scum—Nel—stopped them from going at each other’s throats, although he wouldn’t have minded watching that….

This Menodix looked older than Roger, though, and didn’t wear a helmet. He wore a peasant shirt that seemed one size too large for him, the sleeves covering his hands, and brown baggy pants that had to be rolled up. His dark brown hair was a mess—it was as if he had just rolled out of bed—and his ears and tail were covered in black fur.

“Hey,” the boy whispered to Krysta through the bars of the cage.

Krysta—who was sitting back, her head resting on her chest and eyes closed—looked up and opened her eyes, focusing them on the boy.

“Dart? That you?” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

“The one and only,” Dart answered, smiling. “I came to get you out.”

Krysta’s eyes widened. “What? No! What if they see you?” she hissed, crawling forward.

The Menodix chuckled. “No worries! If we hurry up, we can get out of here in no time flat.”

Krysta didn’t respond, even as Dart fiddled with the cage’s lock.

Snick.

The locked snapped open and Dart pulled the cage’s door open.

“Come on,” he instructed, heading for the window.

Dart jumped out, Krysta following behind.

And then the memories started to flash forward yet again, only at a faster rate of speed that made it hard for Albel to keep up.

Flash!

Krysta training with a few Menodix in the forest on how to use a staff.

Flash!

Krysta helping to cook food over a campfire with a few Menodix friends, including Dart.

Flash!

Krysta bent over the body of a Menodix—Dart—crying and muttering “no” over and over again.

Flash!

Krysta, even older now, was making her way through a cave, glaive in hand.

Flash!

Krysta was fighting with a large dragon, her battered body bleeding yet her spirit not broken. She lunged to deliver the final blow.

Flash!

Krysta arriving in Peterny, a leather bag in hand stained with blood.

Flash!

The day Albel had confronted the young bounty hunter.

Flash!

The sparring between Albel and Krysta where she had defeated him.

Flash!

The night when they had argued and he had left those marks upon her neck.

Flash!

The time he cried in front of her.

Flash!

Their first snowball fight.

Flash!

The time she got sick off of the meat during the banquet.

Flash!

Now the memories slowed, and Albel found himself outside the tavern—the same place he had won the drinking contest.

As he stood there, the door opened, and out came his drunken self, Krysta supporting him. She half-carried him through the streets of the city as a light snowfall fell from the sky. Present-day Albel followed, and listened in on the conversation. However, he was shocked at what he was hearing.

He had confessed his feelings to Krysta that night.

And as Albel watched, he saw his drunken self kiss her.

I told you I wasn’t lying, Albel’s katana spoke up.

So… she had lied to him? But why? Why didn’t Krysta tell him what really happened that night!

The memory faded away, leaving Albel in darkness. And suddenly, Krysta’s voice spoke up in his mind.

What are you doing! Get out of my head! she demanded, obviously furious.

And then, Albel jerked and opened his eyes, the top of the tent greeting them. He looked over to where Krysta had been sitting earlier, but she wasn’t there, and the gently moving tent flap meant she had left.

“Krysta?” he called.

No answer.

Wasting no time, he crawled out of the tent and looked about, completely forgetting his sword and gauntlet.

The sun was just beginning to rise, the chill in the air permeating, and Albel shivered. Reaching back in to grab his cloak out of the tent, he notice fresh boot tracks in the snow and hurried off to follow them.

After a moment of running, Albel slowed down to catch his breath, the high altitude of the mountains straining his lungs. When he finally did catch his breath, he could hear faint sobbing, so he quietly continued on until he found the girl.

Krysta was sitting upon a large boulder, her knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around them, and was sobbing. He also noticed that she was not injured in anyway, and he sighed in relief.

“Krysta, what’s wrong?” Albel asked as he approached.

“Go away!” she snapped, turning her back to him.

Albel climbed the boulder and kneeled down next to her.

“I’m not going away until you tell me what’s wrong,” he said matter-of-factly.

Krysta looked up at him with a glare, her eyes bloodshot from crying.

“What’s wrong! You just entered my head and saw my personal memories!”

Albel narrowed his eyes and became defensive.

“And how the hell is that my fault? It wasn’t my intention to see all of that! But now that I have,” he started, crossing his arms, “maybe you can explain to me why you lied!”

“Lied! About what?”

“This!” he hissed, grabbing her arm and pulling off her gauntlet, exposing her scars. “You said you got those from practicing with a glaive, yet I saw what they really came from! And I bet you’re covered in them, too!”

Krysta jerked her arm back, grabbing the gauntlet from his hand and forcing it back on.

“So? Like I was really going to tell you I was tortured? Why would you need to know anyway?”

“I told you about my past!”

“Well, that’s your past, not mine!” Krysta retorted. “I don’t have to tell you every little thing that has happened to me in my entire life!”

“Fine!” he huffed. “But what about lying about the time I got drunk?”

“Lying! About what!”

“You said that all that happened was I got drunk, threw up, and then passed out!” he cried, standing as the anger within him was making it to where he could sit still. “You forget to mention that I, oh I don’t know, kissed you.”

An awkward silence blanketed the landscape as Krysta just stared up at the swordsman, anger and surprise evident on her face.

She turned her head away and stared off into the snow-covered trees.

“…you were drunk,” she finally said.

“Yeah, I know that!” Albel replied, still fuming. “But you could have at least said something and not withheld the truth from me!”

Now Krysta was starting to finally lose her patience. She stood and glared at Albel, not intimidated by his height or the glare he was giving her.

“So what? Drunk people do stupid stuff all the time! I figured that if you didn’t remember, why bother telling you since you have no recollection of it anyway! And why are getting so mad about it? Unless that night meant something more to you!”

“I’m mad because you lied to me! I haven’t kept any secrets from you, and I surely have not lied to you, either! And what exactly are you inferring when you say, ‘unless that night meant something more?’”

“What I mean,” Krysta started to explain, “is that you were drunk and there is no way you’d feel like that about me because you said so yourself that we are like brother and sister! And you and I both know that people who are drunk say the stupidest and craziest things because they have no idea what they are saying!”

Albel felt like he had been kicked in the gut. It took him a moment to speak again, only this time the anger was completely drained from his being.

“…how do you know I don’t feel that way?”

This time it was Krysta who felt like she couldn’t breathe. She just stood there and stared at him, agape.

“No way…” she breathed, shaking her head slightly. “You can’t be serious.” She took a step back. “You’re just messing with my head now.”

Albel shook his head. “No, I’m not.”

Krysta just kept staring at him, and Albel felt a tight feeling in his chest. Did she not feel the same way? By saying what he just did, did he now jeopardize their friendship?

Krysta took another step back, obviously not wanting to believe him, when she started to lose her balance and began to teeter over the edge of the boulder, apparently forgetting that wasn’t standing upon the ground. She pin wheeled her arms to get her balance, but it didn’t help and she began to fall.

Seeing this, Albel reacted and grabbed her outstretched arm to pull her back up, but he forgot about her increased strength, and instead she pulled him along over the edge of the boulder. However, before the two of them hit the snow-covered ground, he grabbed her and flipped around, taking the impact of the ground on his back, Krysta atop of him.

“Ouch,” she muttered, trying to lift her head from his chest. “Sorry….”

She then looked down at him and realized that she was on top of him and tried to quickly get up, but slipped in the snow and fell back on him.

“Hey!” he cried, wincing in pain—she was heavier than she looked. “I’m not something to jump on!”

“Oh? Could have fooled me,” Krysta said with a smirk.

Albel just looked at her, and for some unknown reason, he began to laugh, and she joined in along with him. The two of them just laughed until it was hard to breath and tears were in their eyes.

When they finally stopped to catch their breath, Krysta started to try to get off the swordsman, but he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back down.

“Going somewhere?” he asked, smirking.

“Hey? What are you doing?” Krysta questioned, a little frightened.

“You can believe what you want… but I meant what I said,” he said wryly. “And this time…” he started, pulling her closer to him, their faces inches apart, “I’m not drunk.”

Krysta didn’t even have time to react before Albel’s lips were upon hers. Through half-open eyes, Albel saw her eyes widen in shock, but this time she didn’t pull away. On the contrary, she then closed her eyes and leaned into the kiss.

A long moment passed before they parted, and Krysta’s face was scarlet.

“Albel, I…” she started to say, but was quieted when he put a finger to her lips to quiet her.

“I already know,” he said, and kissed her again, this time slightly fiercer.

And then the ice that had once coated his heart finally melted. He felt like himself again, back before that horrendous incident nine years ago. He no longer cared what people though of him now, nor what they said behind his back. All that mattered was the girl in his arms and living his life free of the nightmares that had once plagued him.

When the two pulled apart again, both noticed how cold it was getting—and lying in the snow wasn’t helping, either.

“I think we should press on to find the Snow Stag,” Krysta suggested.

“…you’re right.”

Both stood, shaking snow off of themselves and headed back to camp to pack up and continue along the way. The difference this time, though, was that they each had an arm around the other as they walked through the snowy landscape, the sun rising lazily into the sky.

And as Albel walked, he thought to himself, she did what I and no one else could do…. She found my heart and freed me from my inner demons….

And what Albel couldn’t believe the most was that he had seen this same girl before, back when he was injured and she had thrown him that flower.

It seemed that destiny deemed them to be together after all….

Wow, long chapter filled with lots of stuff. O.O Sorry again for the lack of updates, but life has been demanding lately. xX;

Anyway, I hope this chapter was good. And ya’ll know the drill—review! And if there are any mistakes in spelling, grammar, etc. then let me know! Thanks a bunch! 3

Oh, and just a heads up: this story is almost done! Just a few more chapters to go! Yeah, I know, we’re almost done already…. (teary eyed) Oh well, everything must come to an end sooner or later….

Well, please be sure to review! (points to the shiny button at the bottom of the screen)