At the moment, there was no action Kreig could commit that would raise Gerald’s opinion of him. Gerald seemed mostly liked by the other prisoners in the empire group and they generally sympathized with his plights. He was not treated unwell, and thus Kreig could not intervene to help or save him.

Then… a gift?

Kreig knew many skills that could bless his comrades, but most of them were impermanent, and the two permanent ones he had were extremely flashy, meaning that others would know he did it.

...Ah. Of course.

He could paint a picture of him.

Kreig nodded to himself and rose from where he’d been sitting, watching as the other soldiers from the empire played a ball-game Kreig had never seen before. They were out on the courtyard Kreig had first arrived on, and until now, Kreig had not attempted to join their game, and he had not been invited to join either.

See, Kreig wasn’t a very approachable man, and to most, when he did something, he seemed to do it with such deliberate intent that nobody could believe he wasn’t doing what he fully wanted. Thus, nobody invited him, since they expected his absence to be out of his own intent, not out of a lack of asking.

And now, Kreig decided to join the game.

“H-, huh? War? What are you-, um,” Gerald muttered as Kreig stepped closer. Apparently, going by how he was the first one to notice Kreig approaching, he must have been keeping an eye on him at all times. Although Kreig had hardly come close to the young boy, Gerald still took a few steps back. He looked Kreig up and down, unwillingly meeting Kreig’s eyes. “I… Do you, uh, want to join? The game?...”

Kreig nodded.

Gerald gulped, shooting pleading gazes at the other players, who had now quieted down. “That’s… Um, if you just, check the rules over there… Can-, can you read?” Gerald was pointing at a sign labelled ‘Basketball’ in several different languages, with the rules and explanations being written in just as many languages, none of them being English.

Kreig almost considered just reading it himself. But then… he recognized something in what Gerald said. An offer to help.

Shaking his head, Kreig tried his best to give Gerald a somewhat pleading look, though going by the way Gerald flinched and grew a shade paler, it was probably more of a glare than anything.

“Is-, is that so? That’s… um…” Gerald said, clearly hesitating on going through with his own offer.

He’d need some sort of push.

A push in the form of Kreig turning towards the sign and walking over. Gerald stared at his retreating back for a moment before following in a slight half-job. Kreig never failed in making people follow him. It was scarily effective, really, and the second they both arrived at the sign, Kreig turned to Gerald with an expectant look on his face that even Gerald could understand as such.

“Um… so, uh, th-, the game is called Basketball, and the way you play it is...” Reluctantly, Gerald started explaining the rules and everything. Kreig listened with the same degree of interest as Gerald explained it. The whole explanation only took two or three minutes, and by the end of it, Gerald no longer twitched at seeing Kreig’s face. Sure, he still seemed about three shades whiter when close to Kreig than any other prisoner, but that could change.

Seeing Gerald up close was the best way for Kreig to understand the contours of his face since he couldn’t very well ask him to model. If that happened, it wouldn’t be a surprise gift anymore.

Unlike what Gerald had thought, Kreig did not, in fact, join the game. He merely sat by at a closer distance, his gaze seemingly never leaving Gerald’s face. To Gerald, this was Hell. To Kreig, it was an excellent way to see the boy in motion.

Two hours or so later and it was time for lunch. To the other prisoners, Kreig disappeared without a trace. To Kreig, he was led back down to his cell. Apparently, he would (for the moment) only be allowed on the Upper Level between 7 and 11. For the rest of the day, he would eat lunch alone in his cell, and in the afternoons he spent a few hours with the Lower Level prisoners, and then he was alone again.

It was this evening that Kreig took to painting. He thought he knew what Gerald looked like.

Dusty blonde hair, dark green eyes, a high forehead, curious nose and bony, skeletal jawline… In the most physical way possible, he knew what Gerald looked like. But he didn’t know what Gerald felt like. When Kreig drew and painted him, he saw a Gerald look-alike, every detail and structure technically right. He put his painting to the side and started anew. Another painting. And again, it was wrong. To an outsider, it looked just like Gerald, but Kreig understood that there was something he wasn’t getting.

Some aspect of Gerald that he didn’t understand well enough to draw.

His goal evolved.