He threw himself on his bed, and stared at the ceiling, the window hung open right beside.

It was cold... the wind was blowing... he was almost on the verge of tears... But he really didn't know why. He'd succeeded in forgetting the rain that'd just passed a day ago.

That's no surprise for how hard he had tried. Afton had worked his feelings away. Morning, to deliver milk to the numerous houses... no breakfast, straight to the mail shop next... the delivery shop took up his afternoon all the way to right before evening. He had a couple of buns from the restaurant before he worked the rest of the night until midnight there.

There was no time to think about nurturing emotions... no time to think about those he'd lost. He'd live that way for the next few years. That was the way to survive... to forget.

What am I doing with my life? Why am I crying? I'm just tired... everything will go with my sleep... But... why? Why does my heart feel this way?

The fatigue dulled his senses... or was it the feeling one has when one hasn't eaten for so long, yet doesn't feel starved in any way... the feeling one has when one feels no meaning to life.

It's cold... somewhere hurts somehow... for reasons I've tried so hard to forget. Why... what... my heart remembers, doesn't want to let go either. The torture! But I'll get through this.

The wind bit harshly at the tear-rimmed eyelids and he shut them reflexively. Together with the effects of tears, it was the formula for sleep. Yet even then... he wasn't in peace.

Faceless figures, the innocent laughter of a child, and a forever running person made up most of his nightmares. From what... for what... he didn't know.

****

There's something I'm looking for that I can't find.... There's something I'm waiting for that never comes... There's something drawing me...but who? Where? Why did I want to forget? I feel like something is missing... There's a smile I'm looking for among all the faces. There's a presence... or rather, a vacancy in my life... Who?

Colvile's thoughts came to an abrupt end at the emittance of a high-pitched scream nearby. He grit his teeth and forced his eyes to stay open as his vision blurred from the noise. His right hand went to his forehead as a powerful ache suddenly took over.

Ouch...

His hands reflexively flew up to his chest... but it was only another 'something' missing.

It had happened in only a few seconds, but it felt more like minutes to Colvile, who shook everything out of his head before heading toward the direction from whence the sound had come.

It had been four months since he'd settled in Proel, the north-eastern suburbs of Isumton. But it seems every day he passed there, another three hundred memories faded... There was just something missing. Every hour, another part of him broke off and he felt a terrible internal ache. He'd gotten used to it by now, but it didn't make his condition any better. The only after-effect of the memory loss was that he couldn't stand screaming or crying of any sort.

He came upon a dark alley where a group of three idiots were dragging a girl off.

She was begging with tears in her eyes, but they didn't care. She was, after all, just a helpless girl.

But it soon came to an end with a lazy, “Hey,” from Colvile.

“Get off and mind your own business, stick legs, before we crush you.”

A few snickers echoed after the threat, but it didn't scare him as much as a scream would.

“It's a little ungentlemanly-like, don't you think?” he continued in the same lazy tone.

“You should really just go and mind your own business, boy,” one of the men growled.

Colvile, who had been hiding the top half of his face under his dark brown fringe, looked up with a smirk. A little light of the waning moon lit up the spark in his eyes. For, although his whole demeanor seemed lazy and nonchalant, his eyes betrayed and reflected the existence of life and emotion in his inner thoughts, and all three were slightly taken aback.

“What's with that glare?” the foremost adversary growled. He walked slowly toward Colvile with an intimidating swagger, yet, he wouldn't move.

Whether it was the impudence or fear of Colvile, it came to the same result. He got bashed in the face and more than once, too.

Colvile, bloodied and bruised just laughed. It seemed to arouse ever more fury in his assailant as he, together with his two comrades, left the girl and in a passion, flew upon our Colvile, throwing punch and laying kicks upon the boy.

This continued for tens of minutes until the antagonists, either relieved of their anger or energy, stopped to catch their breaths.

“The girl's gone... shouldn't have left her,” one of the guys hissed.

In their folly, they'd made the terrible mistake of turning their backs upon Colvile.

He got to his feet and took out his dagger. The first two fell to the infamous triple-death and the last one was addressed.

“Unfortunately for you, some stick legs are hardier than others,” Colvile said, smiling amidst the blood stream from a little gash above his left eye.

“You... you were half-dead! How...?!”

“Ah... it seems you've hurt my shadow?” Colvile tilted his head cockily. He advanced a few paces, dagger in hand, the blood of the dead streaming down the

“Mercy! Mercy!” And that was the last he said. He let out a shriek that would have frozen Colvile were it not for the defensive instincts of his that seemed to have a conscience of its own.

He fell into a pool of a red sticky substance, his blood adding to the growing amount that had flowed from his comrades' bodies.

Looking around to make sure he hadn't been noticed, Colvile felt the after-effects of the whole affair come crashing down upon his already wounded frame. The cuts he'd received were suddenly set ablaze and his head spun.

I hate screams.... and I thought he was a man...

He, too, fell to the ground, straight into the luke-warm corpses, face first at that!

****

In these four months, Mr. Preston had gotten Cypress back to her safe-haven as well as begun the first stage to find Afton.

It turns out from a letter from Chrision that they were equally infuriated at the boy's very name. It was thus how they came to a sort of consensus. Because, even though they were rulers, they were still humans with emotions.

They agreed to hold a truce until the traitor, Afton, was found. However, both countries soon received letters from the neighboring country, Tearigch...

****

“How long was I unconscious?”

A girl nearby started at his voice. She quickly recovered herself and smoothed down her dress before turning to Colvile. “You're awake.”

He didn't answer, but, in a couple of strides, had stepped over to her.

No doubt, her heart had quickened it's pace as he looked lazily down at her and muttered a soft 'Thank you', for she caught his wrist as he passed.

Colvile tensed at her touch though he turned slowly with the same emotionless demeanor to her.

“Colvile,” she said quietly, “could you spare a few minutes?”

“If it's about what I think it is... no, thank you,” Colvile replied stoically.

“But...” she tried to say.

“No. I don't need love in my life, Isolde,” Colvile cut her off coldly.

“So... you knew it was me,” she whispered slowly.

“I would've done it for anyone,” Colvile said, “don't get me wrong.”

“But that's why I love you,” Isolde flew into an outburst of passion. The words poured out of her mouth before she'd grasped what she'd just said. Her cheeks turned a rosy pink and she cast her eyes downward.

In the little light of the early morning, her beauty was enhanced. The black straight hair, the pretty blinking eyes, cheeks, lips, everything... she could've rivaled the queen of Chrision herself in looks alone.

Colvile looked out the only window, a meagre source of light in that dark small room, and muttered something about having to work before walking toward the door.

The woman wouldn't be thrown off easily and she called after him, “Who has your heart? Who broke it? Tell me, Afton! No, even if you don't, just give me a chance! I'll definitely love you, keep you dear like no one else ever could!”

By then, Afton had made it half-way through the corridor, but he'd heard everything, whether he liked it or not.

And that was how -slacking off at the mail shop, ten in the morning- he pondered over a tormenting question...

What is love? It seems as if to some, it's the white in the snow, the spring in one's step, the warmth of a fire, the cause for life. Yet to others it's a faraway dream. Isn't love whatever one believes it to be? Then... to me, love is a terrifying fate that only by the sharpest of wits can be escaped. Love is the sharpest, most damaging weapon. Love... is another fate in disguise. So... I will guard my heart.

Later on, after delivering a dozen packages, he was called over by his superior.

“Colvile Hunter?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You think I could trust you with delivering something important?” he grunted, looking Colvile up and down.

“Upon my life, sir, I will do as you ask.”

“Heh,” he grunted, “you might not know how close you are to the truth.”

Colvile let his words sink in... Upon his life.... close to the truth?

“Could you deliver this package to Chrision?” the guy asked gruffly,

Colvile took it, but the guy laid a hand on it, as if unwilling to let it go. “You won't let it into anyone else's hands, would you?”

“No, sir,” Colvile answered, lifting his eyes to the light. The fire in them seemed to have reassured the superior, for he let go and with a pat on Colvile back, sent him off.

“A week, my boy, be back in a week!”

****

“These Falconers? What are those creatures?” the king mused to himself from the privacy of his room. He'd just finished reading a letter three times over and still, he couldn't help thinking it rather unbelievable. “What if they're just instruments of fear? Chrision... could very well be playing a game. Nevertheless, it's a dangerous one. Why would they call for me to come if they had nothing to profit off it?”

The attendant was called, preparations made, a fine horse drawing a magnificent carriage decked in jewels arrived. Yes, the king would go fearlessly into the enemy's land.

“Send a letter to the governor of Tearigch. Tell him to show his face at our meeting.”

The scribe quickly wrote down what was to be conveyed to the neighboring country...

****

“What's this? They've come to my island? Then... what they'd all reported is true?” the queen asked, clutching at the arms of her chair in horror.

The chubby attendant by her side cleared her throat before saying, “My queen, you must get ready for the arrival of the king of Isumton.”

“Mercy upon me,” she cried, “They're really here!”

The attendant looked around, and, perceiving nothing out of that which was ordinary, she thought the queen insane. “Oh... queen, do hurry, let the... the matter rest.”

“But they will kill me! They will. I've taken their own child! They will punish me!”

“Don't worry, your highness,” the loyal little attendant said, “I will gladly give up mine own... no, thousands will gladly give up their own lives for thine!”

“But a thousand lives will not quench their inexhaustible thirst for blood!”

“Queen,” cried the attendant harshly, for she did think the queen had finally lost all sense to the fatigue which inevitably came with the crown, “Do think how terrible a disposition you would make before the king of Isumton!”

The queen, wide-eyed with fright, turned to the attendant, “Do as you will! We should need all the help that is to be found!”

And thus, the preparations for the meetings between the rulers were made...