That night—after an evening of cream pasta, carrots, potatoes and conversation—was relentlessly cold and windy throughout the island; bending grass and trees, whipping past windows while the heart was close to falling asleep. Cloud after cloud crept past the moon that would soon rise to its peak, but Iolani Tori had yet to put the creature in his cage to rest.

He adjusted the thick, heavy quilt around himself, fluffing the sides and pulling it all the way up to his chin before sinking further into his pillow. It smelled of rain, his pillow did. Reason being, it wasn't exactly his pillow—it was Luka's. Luka's pillow that was never used by the owner but by his tiny sparrow friend.

At present, the pair were supposedly soundly asleep in the eagle's room, on the eagle's bed, under the eagle's covers. A single glance over his shoulder over to the other side of the bed confirmed Io's suspicions of Luka having fallen fast asleep, covers rising and falling steadily over at his side. He inched a little closer for warmth.

Io was, unfortunately, wide awake unlike the other. The restless creature in his chest paced about, searching for answers to questions he knew not the source of. He could hear himself think about the prospect of an end, that it was not only applicable to the old and the ill and the weak and those who wished for an end to their suffering but to everyone. The young, the innocent, the healthy, the ones who are loved and have loved.

Having heard the news of yet another death—of a stranger, nonetheless—rattled the bars of his cage and kept what was inside wide awake. Wary.

Sinking further under the covers did nothing to sooth rampant thoughts. Io was lying still on his side, faced away from Luka and staring into the darkness where he could make out the shapes of outlines of the furniture in his room. Remaining still, here on the bed, would do little to bring about any decent change. Awake, he might as well be doing something else.

He decided, at that very thought, to slip quietly into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of milk, thinking that action would perhaps satisfy his very absence of it, making up for the endless circles that he was running inside.

But the moment he propped himself up on his elbows—all part of getting up and out of Luka's abnormally soft and sinkable bed—his eagle friend stirred awake, eyes open and gold under the absence of light.

"Io?"

His voice was low and sleepy, quiet but oddly attractive. He rose slightly, leaning against the headrest before turning towards the other with half-lidded eyes.

"Luka?" Caught red-handed in his act, Io had stopped everything he was doing to face his friend. "Sorry, did I wake you? I really didn't mean to." The eagle shook his head, watching his companion closely.

"You didn't. It's fine," Luka leaned closer, vision poor in the absence of a light source. "Can't sleep?"

The moon phoenix nodded slowly. "Just...a little. But it's okay—I'll get a glass of milk from the kitchen and it'll be fine. I'll be right back," he reassured the eagle proving his point by displaying a double thumbs-up and urging the other to go back to sleep.

"Was it one of those dreams again?"

Io shook his head insistently, placing his hands on Luka's shoulders and doing his best to push the other back underneath the covers. "No it wasn't. It's really fine—it was nothing. I'm still not quite used to being both diurnal and nocturnal at the same time, that's all."

"Hm," was what he received in return, a unique way of conveying unspoken words that implied suspicion, the identification of a lie and the acceptance of it regardless. "Call if you need me, then."

"I will."

His companion hopped out of bed, slipping into his very own pair of warm, fuzzy bedroom slippers (again, courtesy of Luka Sullivan) before quietly tottering out of the room and into the living. It had been some since he noticed a silver glow lining every shadow cast by the night, making it easier for him to navigate the darkness and that which was uncertain. He'd attributed this ability to recent advancements between Luna and himself, a deep, tragic understanding he'd come to terms with.

He retrieved a glass from the cabinet above the sink (with the help of a trusty stool that Luka had so kindly provided) and poured himself half a glass of chilled milk, taking gradual sips before downing the rest at a go. He noticed no particular change in his disposition.

And here I was hoping you'd share some, said a sleepy voice from the balcony, to which Io immediately identified as Lyra's. He tipped an additional drop of milk into his glass before returning the jug and made his way to the balcony where Lyra slept.

I didn't know sparrows drank milk.

Not wild ones, no. I, however, being the social creature I am, have developed otherwise. Just a little would do. A drop—yes, she put her entire beak into the glass and waited for her Winged to tip it. Moonlight filtered past the clouds and beams of it, in wisps and whispers, glided over shadows and darkness.

"Where's Luna?" Io asked aloud, voice lowered so as to not draw unnecessary attention from his friend who was sleeping in the bedroom. He had hoped to speak to his Avians about absentminded worries and human thoughts, which at least provided a semblance of emptying his mind to a listening ear.

It took a bare second for the beams of moonlight to grow into the moon itself, filling his entire field of vision with, for all intents and purposes, himself. Luna folded her wings in a swift and mellow motion, settling onto the open grounds down below and lowering her head to level her eyes with her Winged's.

Good evening to all.

"Hi Luna," waved Io from the balcony, wide awake but listlessly so. "Any remedies for a sleepless moon? Bedtime stories? Milk? Cookies?"

But Io, voiced Luna, seemingly astounded by his request. There is no remedy for things that were meant to be the case! The moon simply does not sleep.

"So without a problem, there would be nothing to solve," his shoulders drooped with a sigh, having expected the answer. Regardless, absentminded worries of his own had stemmed from this very concept: the absence of a solution for things that were meant to be the case or...that had never appeared to others as a problem in the first place.

His problem was not a problem and that was it for the boy.

He sat, cross-legged on the balcony and breathing the midnight air. He began, in an absentminded impulse, to describe the pins and needles within; of the strange occurrences, of his cowardice and death; of his fear, his fear of losing not just the ones he loved to the ultimate end but his fear of losing them to the Wind—swept away by the forces of the world and perhaps, even, their very own minds.

Above all, it seemed most obvious to Io himself that the most overbearing fear tainting each and every thought of his was the fear of losing everyone to the abyss. But what, ultimately, pervaded everything else would have therefore led him to the conclusion that he was really just afraid of being alone in the sky but he was. Already, he was. He was alone and that was the case, what it was meant to be, and so he would have to live his life with fear.

Always afraid.

"I can't sleep, Luna," he told her again after some time, stowing Lyra away in his breast pocket. "Tell me what to do. Tell me what the moon does."

"What does it mean to be the moon phoenix?" Io arrived, yet again at a chest in his cage unnamed and key he did not hold. "I have no such power, nothing close to what Jing can wield...is there anything apart from the title? The prestige that it holds? Being crowned and uncrowned—is there no difference at all? I don't see it. I don't see a difference."

He raised his gaze, watching his Avian muse a smile in her eyes. There are times when an Avian is perfectly apart from their Winged and where their minds and completely separate. But Io, I am—in every sense of the word—a manifestation of you. Inside.

Hence, I...unfortunately, I cannot provide you with an answer.

The idea itself was not at all difficult for Io to comprehend and yet, it was his desire to believe otherwise, of there being another him in the world, existing alongside him, that hindered his understanding of Luna's words. He couldn't sleep.

"I need to...I need to do something," said the boy, restless and tired at the same time.

Why not drop by the infirmary to see the boy they were talking about over dinner? His Avian offered. He never really left the back of your head. And of all people, she would know best.

Io did not correct her; merely turned away in consideration, eyes drifting (perhaps far too conspicuously) toward the bedroom. "Well...I guess it wouldn't hurt as long as I come back in an hour."

"I do want to see the boy," he admitted. "Being picked on by the headmaster, huh. I guess we have something in common." They laughed quietly.

"Ah but the walk..." was the primary hindrance of it all. The infirmary was all the way in the west wing and it provided yet another disincentive for him to leave Luka's room. Well...it could be a flight.

Io raised his gaze to meet his Avian's, curious. He hadn't been the best at shifting into her form just yet, so the suggestion of hers was clearly beyond his reach. To his surprise, however,

she'd turned around and lowered her head, inching her snout closer to the balcony. Don't human beings dream of being dragon riders?

At this, he laughed. "But you're a phoenix."

First of your kind, then. A Phoenix rider. Her eyes gleamed in the darkness, very much like the moon. He confirmed it then. That Luna was exactly like himself but the form of something else—a manifestation of what he was, inside, in the world that existed independently of his mind.

Io reached for the bannister. "We know that I have a fear of heights." Luna nuzzled the side of his face.

And we know that it is alright to fear.

_________________________

The first thing the Chinese girl had seen when she stepped out into the front porch of the predator's house was a floating Io soaring across the night sky on the most majestic ride she'd ever seen.

As absurd as it may have seemed to Jing who was, at this deadly hour of the night, dull-minded and drained of energy to exist, she could not help but envision herself in Io's place—riding on Sol's back between his wings or perhaps higher up near the base of his neck, burning from head to toe. Surely, there was no need for consideration. She would be burnt (by someone none other than herself) to crisps, black and charred, ashes carried by the wind and raining down on the earth far below.

Still, her curiosity remained. Io roaming the skies without an eagle by his side was a rather rare and odd sight to witness. Jing found herself preferring the opposite, or every other typical occasion where they were together. Just where could the moon be headed for? (And in his cornfield, carrot-printed pyjamas?)

On instinct, the voice in her head had called for the one on the other end of the sky, on the other side of the world, other time of the day, and he'd heard her all the way up high.

Iolani Tori turned to face the stretch down below, waving as he recognized the human speck who had her head raised and was watching him fly. Calling for Luna to make a short stop, he decided to double up as an express ride: the moon bus.

*

"What are you doing up so late at night?" Io had posed without a pause, slipping precariously from Luna's back and dropping onto the grass below. Thankfully, nothing was broken.

The phoenix watched as her companion crossed the open space and closed the distance between them, waving quietly as she did so. It was the printed carrots on his pyjamas that made this so amusing to watch, removing every pin and needle of exhaustion from her cage.

"Sleep wouldn't come," she admitted as soon as Io was within earshot. "You?"

"Are you asking the moon why it rises at night?" He teased, noticing a strange apparatus—a cross between a bottle and what looked to him like a rod of steel—in her hands. "I couldn't sleep either. What's that?"

Jing followed his gaze. "It's tea."

"I didn't know tea was made of steel," said Io very curiously, and his companion could not help but laugh, shaking her head.

"The tea is inside the vacuum flask," she explained. "It's chamomile. Supposedly helps with falling asleep."

Io could not believe he had lived his life without knowing of something that could rid the pacing of the creature within his cage, back and forth, back and forth. After all, the primary reason for him being awake at present was, really, the inability to silence the voices in his head and the thinking. The thinking.

"Would you like some?" She'd caught him staring at the flask for a good minute without saying a word, which any other human being would have observed as well. "I wasn't planning on finishing it."

He was about to decline out of courtesy, certain that humans in general were not fond of sharing food, let alone a beverage as valued as chamomile tea. If it was valued at all. Either way, he soon decided against it, opting for an idea far better than the one he had had in mind.

"Sure! And in exchange, I'll get Luna to take you to wherever you were headed for," he smiled, lunar, gesturing towards the otherworldly creature behind him who was currently occupied with tossing Lyra into the air while she laid on her snout. "Where are you going, anyway?"

She paused, not quite knowing what to say.

"I didn't have a place in mind." Jing unscrewed the cap of her flask, which doubled as a cup. "Just thought I'd...take a walk." She poured a good measure of tea into the cap before handing it to Io, who remained fascinated by the apparatus.

"You?"

"I thought I might get a glimpse of the boy you talked about today. The one at the infirmary," he laid out bluntly, eyes sheepish. "Are you um, going to stop me? I mean you're the student head of the council, so."

The phoenix laughed shortly, quiet and careful. "I am, yes. But I've always wanted to lay off my duties, even if it was for a minute or two. Now I have an excuse."

Io could not resist the urge to grin as he sipped the tea, warm enough to sooth the heart but not enough to burn. "Does the sun ever rest?"

"Does the moon?"

For some, there was never the space or time for rest and recharge in the working of their soul. There was never a pause in their journey or the luxury of choice, of taking the long-trodden path that others would take. The road less—or perhaps least—taken had been thrust upon her and for him, the choice of a mind he did not choose.

"Are you coming with me, then?" Io asked after taking his final sip from the cup and handing it back to its owner. She turned towards his Avian, who met her gaze with a blink and she could look no longer.

"The ride you offered. I suppose I'll take you up on that."

*

Io felt as though he'd earned the title of a dragon rider—although Luna was no dragon and he was no actual rider, which was theoretically impossible since he was, for all intents and purposes, the very thing he was riding on—having soared the skies on Luna's back, the wind in his face and the stinging chill creeping across the surface of his skin and the wetness of his lips.

The world down below was small and out of reach, miniscule reproductions of the vision he'd seen on ground and his fear of it becoming so with every foot they'd rise, every altitude and every burst of speed. Too small; too seemingly insignificant and too much to see.

He noticed how Luna seemed to know the way without his guidance, and the way in which Jing herself appeared fascinated by the view of the island cloaked in darkness—a sight she'd never before seen from the point of vantage only Eyes could see.

While she had assumed Luna to possess stardusted feathers of a moonlight glow, judging from the ethereal nature of her wings and the seemingly allusive cloud of moonlight she appeared to be while soaring, the girl had come to grasp that unlike Sol, Luna had scales. In many ways, it had reminded her of Lord Falrir's, luminous and undeniably smooth. Yet, there was something about the moon that set her apart from the word used to describe the skin of cold-blooded animals and it was the pillowy attribute of every curve and the way it seemed to turn into mist among the stars of the night sky.

To cruise amidst the clouds in the heart of the night was something Jing would never have thought of doing, let alone enjoy. She found herself, however, bracing the wind against her face so pleasantly painful and every dangerous turn something so strangely addictive.

Over the highest tower of the island and under the arch of the bridge between the west wing and the main building, the moon bus neared the infirmary within less than a minute and began to see the problems they'd face going for a humanly-safe landing.

There was no balcony for Luna to drop them off at and the open space between the edge of the bridge across did not look safe to approach. Her only option was to land on the grounds before the main building, which unfortunately meant more walking for Io in his carrot-printed pyjamas and Jing who had cold feet.

The latter tapped him on the shoulder, pointing to something in the distance. "Window."

Io followed her gaze to see a single window of the infirmary left ajar, the warmth of a lamp casting an inviting glow on the neglected pane.

I could fly a little closer, offered Luna. But are you really going to climb through the window? Lyra would not approve of this. A knowing chirp came from his breast pocket, the primary reason for his purchase of the bizarre carrot pyjama set. Not the carrot prints, or so he would have liked to think.

"But you would?" Io laughed as his Avian brought them a little closer to the open window, following the warmth of the light. Jing had to admit that she, too, hadn't expected herself to be riding phoenixes and climbing through windows so soon. At least not in the middle of the night when she'd intended to be out for a mere walk.

But as soon as they neared the tower and the window that was left ajar, voices began to drift from the inside and out into the open, pausing Luna mid-air as she turned to look over at the pair. Someone is talking to the boy.

Io glanced over his shoulder. There was no particularly distinct expression written on the face of his companion but the boy had, at some point in time, become so skilled at reading expressionless faces from practice that he could at once tell that she was reluctant.

"It's not very nice to interrupt them, is it. Maybe he has a friend over," Io observed, saying his thoughts aloud so that Jing was aware of his understanding. Just as he was about to offer that they come another time—perhaps the very next morning—the pair had so distinctly heard a part of the conversation from inside.

"Mauri?"

It was a single word; likely a name, or so Io had identified it to be. In fact, it had been someone from inside the infirmary who'd said the word a little louder than the rest of their conversation, sounding fairly shocked by whatever it was they were talking about.

Luna had inched closer in the process of thought, bringing them right underneath the window that was ajar. The voices were now louder.

"Mauri's dead?" This—the voice of the one who had been surprised—was strangely familiar to Io.

"...saw it. I'm sure..." This one wasn't at all. "You know him?"

"...really. My colleague had...passing." Oh. It sounded to Io like Callaghan but then again, he couldn't be perfectly sure. They were outside, under a window that was a quarter open. The people inside would have to be, at the very least, talking right beside it for him to catch several words.

"It was a predator all along?"

Io snapped towards Jing upon hearing this, eyes wide. Mauri. Mauri. Mauri—the barn owl? The one he'd met during his first time in the Box?

While the living identity or status of the person in passing altered not his value, Io was quick to see that it added to the general whole of things. An observation that brought his thoughts a little closer to the shadows; a piece of the puzzle whose end he was beginning to see.

His turn towards the girl was unwarranted enough to see her face, scrunched up and looking quite as though she was about to sneeze.

At once, he called for Luna to turn tail and bring them as far away from the window as she could but it was already too late. His companion's sneeze escaped in the form of what resembled an explosive thundering that bounced across the entire west wing and the empty grounds below, echoing.

Luna bolted for cover in the shadows, where it was safe for the humans to hide since she herself, particularly, needed no such thing. Perhaps being unseen to the naked eye provided several privileges after all.

Diving for the bushes down below and feeling their hearts rise to the vertex of their throats, the pair braced themselves for a landing worthy of the moon (quite literally), head lowered and hanging onto Luna for dear life. Inches away from the ground, his Avian disappeared and with the carried momentum, they were dropped and rolled across the grass before crashing into the rectangular-groomed bushes. With thorns.

"Ah," said Io plainly, discovering an abrasion on his forearm, just below his elbow after entangling himself from the mess of branches and leaves. Jing was already looking upwards, remaining still as she waited for any sign of unwanted attention. There was none.

"Sorry about that," she said afterwards, confirming the coast clear and retrieving her flask of tea a couple of feet away. "It was cold and there was dust near the window."

Io laughed quietly, shaking his head. "No one can control a sneeze. It's not your fault—although I hadn't expected it to be earth-trembling." They laughed under the cover of darkness.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm okay," the boy declared, then make the unfortunate glance at his elbow and thus giving away what he meant to keep as a secret. Jing frowned. "Um...it's just a scrape. It's nothing."

"Let me see it," she said at once, searching for the wound. Io held out his arm and twisted it so that the back of his elbow could be seen, just slightly. "Does it hurt?"

He shook his head, about to reassure that he was fine and that it was, really, merely a scrape when Jing hovered her hand over the wound and a light the shade of a flame began to glow from the heart of her palm.

It felt to him warm and oddly soothing, tickling the surface of his skin but gently caressing it at the same time, lasting for less than the time one would need to breathe in and out. When he glanced down to look at it again, the abrasion was gone.

"I kinda forgot you could do that," he admitted, sheepish. Laughing quietly. "You did it for Slayne back then too."

"Yes," was all she said in response, slightly stiff.

"It's amazing."

It had never really occurred to her that it was. The phoenix had always wondered what it meant to heal; to repair; to fix. The words would always swim before her eyes and end up sinking to the bottom of the ocean that was her mind and how ironic would it be for her flame to, permanently, be beneath the surface of the water? She could not feel the warmth of her flame, the heat of the sun which was herself. The one wish; the sole power she longed to possess, to heal the wounds that were unseen and those that would never, never be able to return to what it was, before—

"If only it could bring back the dead too."

______________________

The night before felt, to Iolani Tori, akin to the longest of dreams and one in which he would not be able to differentiate between the reality of its occurrence and its seemingly allusive nature. He'd ended up back in Luka's room—on the very same bed, under the very same covers and hugging the very same pillow as though he'd fallen fast asleep amidst a severe case of insomnia.

Luka, who'd felt him stir in the wee hours of the morning, had asked if he'd managed to sleep after drinking the glass of milk that he'd said he would fetch. Io could not find it in himself to give the eagle a concrete answer, since there was never one to begin with. Did he soar the skies in the middle of the night? Did he hear those voices from the window left ajar and—was Mauri really dead?

He recalled falling from a height and earning himself the scrape below his elbow but then he remembered that it had been healed and so there was nothing he could do to confirm this. He would have to see his phoenix friend.

"Io?"

Luka was staring at him, eyes betraying a hint of worry. Io had noticed this of recent—the emotion that Luka's eyes would betray from time to time, especially in the early hours of the day where he had yet to condition the creature in his cage. It hinted at a heart that was once lively and whole, loud and perhaps a little blinding. A Luka that talked and laughed without any restraint; shouted and sobbed and cried as though he no longer had anything to lose. How strange and different it would seem and yet, or so Io had come to conclude, so oddly beautiful.

"It's your turn to make breakfast today, Luka," whispered the sparrow playfully, receiving a smile in return that was slightly hidden by pillows and the duvet. "Can I make a request?"

"Sure."

"Hashbrowns?" Said the hopeful.

Luka kicked the covers aside with yet another smile. Different this time. "I'll try."

*

After a morning of hashbrowns (slightly burnt, crisp on the edges), the pair had set off for homeroom soon after, where they were in for quite a surprise. A mere five minutes late, the eagle and the sparrow found themselves before the headmaster and Lord Alfred once again, and apparently in the middle of what felt like an announcement of utmost importance. Oops.

They each quietly took their seats.

"As I was saying," Kirill eyed the pair with disdain, particularly Iolani. "We have, again...the unfortunate news of the passing of yet another predator. And while I know this may come to all of you as quite a shock, I must emphasize the need for preparation—which in this case, would mean the advancement of plans."

"Of you lot becoming eligible Knights," Lord Alfred took over, clearing his throat. There was an additional badge with a golden crest pinned to his chest, or so Lucienne had noticed. She assumed his promotion. "And so training will start in," he scanned the open folder on the desk, "two days."

At once, a wave of murmurs swept the room that seemed all of a sudden, small.

"This is, of course, due to unforeseen circumstances and not, in any manner, related to the competency of...some of you." The headmaster did not wish for anyone to get ahead of themselves, and so issued a thoughtful warning, awfully pleasant. "And as we all know, every Knight must be bonded to another, forming a partnership."

"You have the next two days to choose a partner among yourselves."

______________________

A/N: Cuppie!! Where's the previous author's note where you state the demographics of your readers and thank them? D: Oh! I deleted it.  Apologies, I was getting far too upset looking at the number of people whom I'd never before seen commenting where they were from and getting excited over the name of their country. Of course, my writing is simply too poor to elicit a single response from people when a single, 3 second-effort of writing what I did back there could conjure sufficient excitement for people to say something. 

It's so draining. Every time I get back on track something about this book brings me down and I've been dealing with it for 3 years now, why can't I just deal with it for a little longer? 

I meant every word I said of gratitude and thanks; that I care about the people behind that screen but is there simply nothing in this book that they actually care about? They don't even have to care about me! 

I must be so terrible at writing. Goodness, I am almost destroying myself but I'm afraid that once I stop I will never come back. I do not know what to do. I'd probably rather if I hadn't looked at the comments int he previous chapter--readers who had nothing to say about 8245 words of Luka Sullivan and everything to say about where they are from which consisted of less than 5 words. 

And I had to call them out for them to say something! How stupid I must be. Good god, I am so terribly sorry. I probably need to stop writing completely.