A/N: Brief warning before we begin, this chapter is not suited for those who are weak to graphic depictions of blood, depending on your imagination and my writing capability. If you are fazed by gore and/or knives and blades, you can refrain from reading this chapter and read the next chapter (an explanation of this one) instead :) Nevertheless, I have no faith in my writing abilities so maybe it won't be so bad after all :> hehe.

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There was a blade in the darkness.

More often than so, Luka Sullivan was accompanied by the light of his very own moon-one that was not afraid to be different in the face of an abyss so complete and undisturbed. At present however, all he could make out was a shape, a shadow, for the night was dark and any diurnal would have encountered complications of the same nature.

All he could rely on was the remaining senses that were, as of now, severely muted by exhaustion. The eagle and his Avian were confronted by the form, suddenly shapeless and dark, breathing only wisps of smoke that coiled and wrapped around his being.

Luka slashed his blade in a careless fashion-with the intention to wound-but it was within an instance that the shadow morphed, disappearing into the darkness that surrounded him entirely.

There was nothingness for a moment, save the beat of his heart and the shortness of his breath.

Then, it was behind him.

He felt the driving of a dagger that was aimed, almost certainly, at his neck. It was on instinct that he swerved, causing the tip of the sharpened blade to pierce, instead, the area above his heart. A hand reached up to stem the blood, pain clouding rational thoughts of identifying whether an artery was severed and if that was the case, which artery it was. Victoria fell from her perch, headfirst into the earth. Her wings flapped twice, fell. A muscle was torn. Luka stumbled, stepping away-other arm raised on guard.

When the difference between having his eyes closed and them, opened, was not so much distinguishable to the eagle, even a fool would have known the extent of trouble he was in.

He couldn't have seen the blow to his head that would disorient his senses and cause his vision to black out for a second long enough for the attacker to make a second attempt at murder, the glint of a blade under the light-how? When there was none?-before it came plunging, again, at his neck but the remaining arm had to be the sacrifice for he couldn't, not now, he couldn't, he couldn't die.

His instincts had led to conclusions regarding the attacker; who he was and what he was after. If this was Slayne's murderer, then a well-practiced cut of precision at his neck would be his very end.

At once, Luka had his left arm wrapped around it, anticipating the slash that would have otherwise killed him in an instant. It began to click.

"-the hell do you want?"

The hiss was low and pained, reigning in the urge to fall and clutch his entire arm that was bleeding. Blood spewed, coating his skin and dribbling onto the forest floor, crimson.

A thing on the floor convulsed as it flapped-like a butterfly with wings that were torn and tattered-towards the shape and lunged at flesh, a calve. Luka's Avian drew a chunk of it in her teeth, tearing through skin and muscle before a scream was heard and her wings were crushed under the attacker's feet.

There was a struggle; as there always had been with the living. Shielding his wounded arm and the gash on his chest, Luka rammed his side into the darkness, shoving it aside. It fell to the earth, unable to balance on a single leg now that a calve was torn but something tore at the back of Luka's shirt, claws sinking into flesh. It didn't want him to run.

The pain was more than unbearable, and Luka found that half of his body was numb from it. Victoria, shrivelling in the undergrowth, made a dive for the horned owl on Luka's back, ramming into its chin with her skull, clawing at its body. We have to run-

Her Winged limped into a start, towards the clearing that he'd come from so that he could, at the very least, see where he was going under the light of the moon. Victoria struggled to follow, wings unable to hold her weight but Luka turned, reaching down to gather her in his arms before breaking into a dead sprint towards the light.

When he was a good distance into the clearing-blood all over Victoria and her wings, creating a trail of his own over the forest floor-away from his attacker whom he now understood as a Nocturne, he turned

only to see the head of Reux Yvone

staring at him from the edge of the clearing,

just beyond the darkness,

turned at the uncanny angle Nocturnes had the habit of doing

and watching him go.

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What was that? Victoria's voice was faint and marred as they stopped by a creek for water. She sounded far. That owl, was it his?

Luka glanced over his shoulder, watching his back. I don't know. Never heard of anyone else with a dual avian apart from Io. He crouched by the water, feeling the muscles on his back burn from the open wound as he did so.

The eagle removed his shirt and stuffed part of it between his teeth, pulling it apart with the other hand that was uninjured. He wrapped and tightened a strip of cloth around his upper arm to stem the flow of blood. Just how much he'd lost already, Luka did not know. All he knew was the weakening of his heartbeat and the shortening of his stride; the imminence of his close.

I can't fly like this, Victoria was reluctant to admit, bowing her head for a drink. That cut on your upper arm is deep. I don't know how many muscles that blade of his tore through but I can't lift my right wing at all.

He understood the point his Avian tried to bring across the moment she raised the inability to fly, but being Luka Sullivan meant that he could brush it aside. I don't know what you're talking about.

For fuck's sake, she breathed a laugh, shallow and irregular. Even in times like these, Victoria could afford some dry humour. You're not going to add a load of fourteen pounds to your arm that's quite about done-for. The chances of you surviving would be higher if you left me behind.

Luka examined the cut above his heart, noting that it wasn't as deep as the one on upper his arm. Yet, the flow of blood refused to be stemmed; the healing capabilities of a diurnal Winged were muted during the night.

As much as he did not like to admit, Reux had chosen the perfect time to strike.

Ignoring your Avian now, are we? Victoria scoffed, increasingly anxious. Fine by me. I'll just stay here and catch fish by the creak for the rest of my life.

The eagle knelt by the creek and cupped his hands, bringing a sliver of water to his lips. He glanced at his Avian as he did so, laughing shortly. Victoria was surprised.

It was a sad sort of laugh-the kind that implied some form of an end.

*

However pleasant, the moment was short-lived. The sound of water lapping against rock and sediment was muted by approaching footsteps, accompanied by an uncanny humming of a forgotten tune.

Crack.

Luka had not the choice but to run. In an instant, Victoria was in his arms and he was sprinting away from the sound, the options of shifting and staying to fight left completely in the dust. The former would not ease his predicament in any manner; flying with a broken wing was akin to running without a leg and the latter-a fight that was bound for defeat.

The eagle was no match for a Nocturne. Not with an arm's disadvantage and a vision that could level that of a blind man's.

Tired and wounded; senses dull, he would fall in an instant.

You're as stubborn as ever, there was emotion in her voice and it was odd. Disbelief, gratitude and grief saturated Victoria's words and there was no explanation for what she felt, staring up at her Winged who she'd always watched from above only. He's going to catch up to you at this rate.

He didn't respond.

You know, she forced a desperate laugh. You'd live on even if I die.

Luka didn't spare her a glance.

I know.

Her inability to dissuade him from his decision amounted to panic, forcing her to pull the rug beneath his feet with a final card she'd yet to play.

No! No you don't Luka. Put me down-it'll be over once he's caught up! And when she'd received no response, threatened to sink her talons into his remaining arm. You're being foolish, Luka. Getting all sentimental now? That's not like you.

And the final card: you made a promise.

There was a cloud of hesitation that shrouded his eyes-eyes that were once clear with purpose and aim. Luka was reminded of his ultimatum; the final demand in which he'd made for himself. Thought was the very crack in his resolution and consideration severed its head entirely.

Victoria bolted out of his arms the second she caught wind of a change in his gaze, landing on a shrub where she could remain quiet and hidden.

She trusted him enough to go on, and he did. Never turning back.

I will not thank you for this.

His Avian laughed weakly. Consider that done.

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It had, merely, been fifteen minutes since Luka was alone. He'd almost forgotten how it was like; to be alone-lost in the abyss, terrified of the unknown. Emptiness had been a familiar friend for the longest time-in fact his only one in his childhood days-until a golden eagle had come swooping down from the skies to bring him a letter of his own. It could talk.

Unlike himself, Victoria was always talking. Expressing her opinions aloud (or more accurately, in his mind) was likely to be her favourite pastime and it filled the emptiness with a sound.

But when was it that he'd began to forget how it was like to be alone? His constant state of 'sole-ness' had crept out of its cage only recently and it did not take much searching before the answer was found.

Somehow, every question of his had the ability to find its way back to a name that could answer all; leading him to the exact same destination, again and again.

Luka was out of breath. The night was cold against the tips of his fingers that were, already, numb from the loss of blood and feeling. Every step was a disaster, sending his head into a wall that was the Wind in his face.

He did not plan to stop but he did, collapsing on the earth-chest heaving, coughing once. The taste of iron on his tongue was disturbing and unpleasant, so he spat. It was crimson.

There was not a sound in the forest, as though everything had died along with his bated breath. Feelings that slipped through his fingers like fog. Grasping onto nothing.

His hearing was muted by his heart in his ears, loud and pained. He had to get up. He had to go on.

Yet, as this rooted will of his fuelled the creature within and fixed his gaze on the ground beneath his hands and knees, he was able to register that he had been staring at the shell of a sunflower seed for the past ten seconds or so.

Was this new? He couldn't tell. That, or Luka realized that he'd made a round and was back to Io's trail from before.

His mind darted, precariously, towards a thought. It was a desperate, dangerous thought.

Very much like the seed of an idea, sowed by the hands of inspiration or coincidence, watered by the desire for change and a twist in the story near its end, Luka could not rid his mind of the thought that had rooted itself in his cage.

He was, all of a sudden, the writer of a story he never really acknowledged. The close was near and Luka yearned for more. He did not want it to end.

Crack

The sound was far but approaching. This was to be expected by the eagle; after all, he was up against a Nocturne of fair standing-the great horned owl. He recalled its aggressive nature, then brushed it aside for it was chilling and dark.

Luka crawled to his feet and raised his gaze to the canopies above. They appeared to him, mere trees. Victoria would have been able to differentiate them, except that she wasn't by his side.

He held no compass; no direction. No front no back, no North. There was no 'going forth' for the eagle, not until the light of the moon emerged from the clouds and filtered through the trees that were dense and cluttered.

Not thinking twice, he followed the moon.

*

It led him to the body. Almost a day old, it was. Come morning light, it would be a day. Luka was no expert that could identify the exact time of his death, but when he returned to the body, it looked to him new.

He swallowed, approaching it.

Crack

It took him some time to finally understand what, exactly, the sound was-the neck that turned in search of a victim. The feeling was odd and foreign; being hunted was. Predators never understood what it meant to be hunted. The strangling darkness that drew closer with every step and incited a fear so cold and immense.

He knelt by the frame that once contained a soul with only a minute to decide but as projected, the seed was sown and the poisonous thought that would increase the chances of his survival at the cost of his humanity was long rooted.

A minute was all he had: forty seconds for the cut that had to be clean, ten for feeding, ten for his body to react.

And all throughout, a minute to apologize-

a minute to sin.

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The muscle was wet against his teeth; blood black under the absence of light, dribbling over his hands and the sides of his lips all the way to his chin before falling onto the forest floor like rain. He would have thought there was no more of it to shed.

Yet, the shedding of tears was due but not unforeseen, leaving his face drenched and a hint of salt on his tongue, besides the taste of iron that masked everything else.

For once, he'd felt emotion greater than the force of a truck. It was a plane, crashing into his human frame that he now understood as fragile and weak, susceptible to temptation and desperate measures.

The promise.

He was not so gallant as to see the keeping of it a noble deed. All that clouded his mind was an exchange. Reality was not kind to human beings, and this he knew perfectly well.

The urge to throw up was stronger than ever-his body unable to digest the fact that a once beating heart of a human very much like himself was now between his teeth and sliding down his throat. It tasted of fear and desperation, perhaps serving to reflect what plagued his cage at present, more than what the heart of Slayne Castor contained.

Meat and flesh, cooked or raw, would never be the same to him ever again.

At the first swallow, he shuddered-repressing the urge to remove the muscle and render everything he'd done to keep the promise futile and lost. The next bite was the same. Then the next, and the next the next the next, until the very last bit of muscle left his bloodied fingers and he was done.

But the moment he was, the bars of his cage shook and something foreign stirred within-as though it no longer housed one but two. Luka heaved, deep and breathless, falling to his side before darkness consumed his world. The ritual had begun.

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There was a voice inside the darkness that was foreign and unknown. It sounded far, but he felt as though he was looking at it in the distance.

You're Sullivan.

Yes, he was. Luka could hear her in the abyss that was his consciousness, dark and lost. He waited for her to continue, wondering if he might face some resistance; a trial for playing God, forcibly imbuing another Avian in himself.

Is Slayne dead?

He could only say yes. The answer was not for him to hide, nor was it any good to lie. He told her the truth-that he'd fed on his heart.

I've always known you were the kind to give up on your humanity for that sparrow, she laughed bitterly.

You're just like Slayne.

He did not find it in himself to disagree with what she said. An apology slipped, to which she declined to accept.

He would have ignored you. In fact, he would have ignored the world-save one person.

Have you ever wondered why humans eat the hearts of animals but never their own?

I could never figure that out.

He admitted, having experienced: they taste the same. She thanked him for his honesty and pointed out that she had not meant it literally.

Humans,

Always consuming the hearts of others

Trampling on emotions, tearing it apart

Feeding on it to grow

Maybe one day, they will come to realize that they are the greatest cannibals of all time.

At this, he was given the impression that Avian and Winged were far apart in mind. He could not imagine Slayne speaking in such a manner, or having such thoughts of the world and that which existed beyond his window.

Slayne does his best to ignore me as well, she laughed. After all, he only listens to one.

Either way, looks like I'll be in your care from now on.

My name is Papercrane.

It was an odd name. He considered asking if it was real-after all, Victoria had introduced herself as Mary Poppins just so that she could hear the stoic boy say it once in his lifetime.

Slayne gave it to me.

Probably because Jiro likes them. Paper cranes.

They say a thousand of them can grant a wish, she chuckled low. Perhaps it was an attempt of his own to make a difference, for Jiro to be one number closer to his dream.

It must have been love. He would have known, wouldn't he? He knew what it was like to be in love. Yet, it never crossed his mind that had already been narrowed on the thing he so adored; emotions were not something he could understand in a minute or an hour. A day or a year. Luka Sullivan did not understand himself at all.

Will you do us a favour? She spoke of Slayne and herself for a final time, a hint of emotion in her words. Don't tell him what it was.

Why not? Was it not the nightingale's right to know what his Master thought of him? What he felt towards-

It would only break him further.

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Only a second had passed when he came to, although the snowy owl had no knowledge of this or the exact time of the night. All he felt was a strange nostalgia, as though he was back at the treehouse with the companion he so treasured and listening to his questions, watching as his eyes reflected the light of the moon.

He straightened up, every cell in his body strangely aware of the night and its breath. The darkness was no longer a rope around his neck and it was this that made him so sure of his change. Being on equal ground with his hunter removed the very word of its meaning and replaced it.

No longer hunted, the darkness empowered him; now, he could keep his promise.

What first?

Luka was not startled by the seeming resurrection of Slayne's Avian, who now perched on the lowest branch of a nearby tree, feathers unruly and clumped from the dried blood of her previous master. Victoria.

They took off in sync, senses heightened and destination clear. Luka felt as though he had been brought back to life-the world appeared to him different and discoloured, despite having a clear view of his surroundings and what lay beyond.

Every movement of the forest; every breath of the night, he caught.

Head straight up till the clearing, then it's a left. Keep west if you want to stay away from that filthy son of a bitch, his Avian advised. He's still on your trail.

Luka did not think twice about Avians using human curses; and without the company of Victoria for a mere thirty minutes or so, found that he quite liked it very much. You don't mind me not going for Reux first?

I very much wish to claw out his insides and hang him from a tree while collecting his blood in a bucket underneath but, you know, admitted Paper crane, Jiro wouldn't like that.

He didn't have it in him to agree.

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