There was a feverish buzz that filled Io's homeroom on the morning of the winter solstice. He found it rather exceptional—how everyone was talking about the same thing and not quite losing their attention regardless. He wasn't able to do that.

He was pleased however, with the shortened schooling hours just for today. V had made clear that a special occasion deserved special treatment before declaring that on the day of the winter solstice, class would be limited to the first two periods of their timetable—which technically meant that the sparrow was free as early as ten o' clock.

Nash (being the salty person he was) had made an off-handed remark about the nature of such a luxury; though he—having received no invitation and thus having an entire afternoon free to do whatever he wanted—benefited the most out of it. Vijay however, was happy to oblige. He too, had been pleased with the announcement.

This had left Io quite troubled indeed, for it was only a matter of time before he would be left alone to fend for himself in the darkness of light.

He sighed.

The thought had left him with questions that found no answer. He was craving for someone to talk to, and it was in this very instance that Pipa surfaced in his mind.

Maybe I'll drop by later. Yes, I'll do that. Mrs. Goldfinch will know how she's doing. I hope there's news of her recovery.

These scattered thoughts, well-intentioned, seemed to be gutted by something else upon the dismissal of homeroom.

The sparrow had just emerged out of class along the corridor when he felt as if he was being watched.

He glanced up fearfully, searching the floor above.

Nothing.

Or was it?

He felt as if he had missed something; something he was looking at but wasn't seeing.

Was it a figment, a shadow of his mind that he felt?

He didn't know.

All he felt

Were eyes.

_____________________________

The sparrow lingered outside the ballroom in his freshly ironed uniform and neatly pressed blazer—questions, still, flitting about in his head.

In the end, he had decided against dropping by the infirmary for fear that someone had been watching him after all. Leading them directly to Pipa wasn't the best idea, and perhaps it also provided more time for Io to carefully prepare his uniform and run through the silly dance once more.

Not that anyone would invite him to one, really.

In the present moment however—the excitement was heightened to a new. It scared him, really.

The social mood was surely aesthetic and pleasing to the eye—but to be surrounded by so many people and yet feel as if he was quite alone; that was highly discomforting indeed. It left the caged heart rather unsettled. Displaced, even.

"Hi," Came a sharp voice from behind. Io turned unsuspectingly, having absolutely no clue just whom the voice belonged to. "Aren't you the sparrow I met the other time? We players have it hard huh."

It was only at the mention of the games (or the underlying suggestion of it) that led Io to fish the correct bottle of memories from his sea.

"Yes," The sparrow smiled, slightly comforted. "Are you the blue jay? We met at the briefing before the start of Season."

"Yes I am aware of that," She replied stiffly, as if Io had pointed out the obvious. "Were you invited by the council? Or did someone actually ask you out?"

Io didn't quite understand what the girl meant by 'asking him out' but it was apparent by inference that she was referring to being invited to the ball. By a predator.

"Well the council dropped by when I was in the infirmary. They told me that all participants were invited."

"Oh right," She blinked, eyes wide all of a sudden. "There was a rumor going on that you actually died."

She rolled her eyes promptly. "Yeah but I know now that it's obviously no fact because then you wouldn't be standing before my eyes but—" She paused, gaze resting on him in a strange manner.

Because both prey were standing right outside the great hall, several students passing through the entrance began to stare. It made Io and the girl rather uncomfortable.

"Uh, should we go in...? Maybe?" The sparrow asked tentatively, smile sheepish.

She cast her gaze skywards. "Fine. Are we supposed to report somewhere?"

"I don't think so. It's not stated anywhere on the invitation."

"Right."

"Where's your partner?"

"I don't have one you idiot."

Io nodded simply, presenting his invitation to a pelican standing guard beside the open double doors. It glanced at the formal card briefly before giving an acknowledging squawk.

"Don't worry, I'm sure someone will ask you to dance."

"Hah, sure," The blue jay squared her shoulders, making an off-handed remark about how everyone else (predators, to be exact) was dressed in extravagant gowns whereas she and he were clad in mundane uniforms. "I'll look like a graceful chicken in this."

The boy laughed good-naturedly. "Then I believe I'll look like a duck. I hope no one asks me."

"How'd you know? Predators make the choice. Not you. Your job—and mine—is just to stand at the side and look pretty. In your case, harmless."

"Well that's a point," Io didn't want to argue.

She shrugged. "You don't even get to choose which role you're dancing. Who the hell's got the mind to remember two?"

Well apparently every other Mark in the room but that wasn't exactly the point here.

Somewhere along the way, Lyra and the girl's blue jay had disappeared to the gallery above—where a variety of bread and seeds were offered for the very first time. Io could practically hear his Avian singing.

The ballroom was finely lit by Victorian chandeliers and carefully drawn veils that filtered the perfect form of afternoon light—forming the most soothing of combinations that cast an orange glow on marble floors. The first dance had yet to begin but the live orchestra had already started on their introductory piece; setting the mood for a refined afternoon.

It put Io in a curious mind indeed.

He was sure that much awaited for him to discover for the rest of the day, and this being only the beginning made him pleasantly fearful and awfully excited.

"Oh look," The blue jay pointed out with a non-committal laugh. "It's the peacock."

Gretchen was right. There was a predator interested in her—he stood tall with broad shoulders by her side, full of unknown pride and stifling glory. He almost mistook him for the human form of Gretchen's peacock.

Io found himself thinking that they were perfectly well-matched.

"Do you know her?" Io asked the girl curiously.

She let out a good-natured snort. "Of course. She's what we call popular, isn't she? Everyone knows that she is Jalaal's unofficial prey or some sort. Not to mention, he's known to be picky."

"Naturally, the news spread like a cloud blocking the sun," The blue jay folded her arms with an irritated twitch of her right eye. Io made the quick inference that she wasn't very fond of the peacock at all.

He also wondered how she had come to gather so much information about other people—and most importantly; whether they were true.

Io could vouch for the attention-seeking dress. It caught the eyes of more than half the floor, and though Gretchen herself hadn't much of a demanding presence, her layered gown did her more than justice. "Her predator—or, I mean, the one who invited her—must like her a whole lot to give her the permission to wear that gown."

It was one thing for a prey to be allowed not to wear their uniform; but it was yet another for them to be allowed such an extravagant dress. The satin layers fell in a perfect shape, sensual purple fading into a cobalt blue before ending in dark emerald. Everything from her floral headpiece to her champagne leather heels that peeked out under her gown screamed for well-deserved attention.

But perhaps that was exactly what Gretchen liked.

"Ridiculously expensive. Well it's probable that Jalaal bought it for her. He's some kind of prince in...in—I don't know. I've heard things."

Io found it rather amusing that the blue jay had heard so many things about other people. He wondered if he would ever have the fortune (or misfortune, for the matter) of doing so. After all, just how far would he have liked to understand another human?

Were they not perfect to be left unknown—mysterious?

And even if he were to understand another completely—wouldn't they be an entirely different person from who he thought they were?

It was during this process of further questioning that allowed the blue jay to separate herself from the quiet other. She slipped away; as if she had found no valuable gossip to be offered by the sparrow and decided to search for the juicy fruit somewhere else.

The boy watched as her back receded in the direction of the tea table, and his mind started awake. He had begun to follow her (not knowing that she had, in fact, found him rather boring in her terms) when there seemed to be something else that prevented him from doing so.

Io didn't quite know what it was, exactly, that made his head turn. Perhaps it was the wave of murmurs that swept the very room like the wind that carried a whisper; or perhaps it was the air that seemed to soften like a pleasant cloud after a heavy shower. Either way, the sparrow was inclined to admit that a certain change in the ballroom had made his head turn—and he wasn't the only one.

He allowed his gaze to search briefly, finally stopping curiously at the gathered crowd near the entrance of the great hall. Io noted that it wasn't there before.

His feet brought him closer without hesitation. Since, as he unfortunately knew, he had no companion to accompany or look out for. The boy was a free spirit—wandering the floors of the ballroom as and so he liked.

"How pleasant!"

"I wonder where he got that outfit though. Do you think a mere prey like him could have afforded such an elaborate design?"

"Elaborate or not, he looks absolutely precious."

"Hm. The owl's lucky to have such an outstanding prey."

"You mean the prey's lucky to have a predator that pampers him to bits don't you?"

"...well I guess I stand corrected."

This conversation—eavesdropped, but no matter—though disturbing, left a promising clue that led Io to a hopeful assumption. The assumption that his friend had finally arrived.

Jiro had not expected the warm receive of his arrival in the least. In fact, just moments before he was preparing for the afternoon ball, Slayne's Avian had dropped by his window (oh dear, the curtains weren't drawn and he would have to explain this to his possessive predator later) to call the nightingale to his quarters.

Jiro had to check that he wasn't dreaming upon arriving at his predator's room.

The mundane set of uniform he had intended to wear to the ball was replaced, somewhat, by the most stunning formal kimono—navy, with nightingales and floral patterns carefully embroidered in golden thread—he thought impossible to be his.

It was not until Slayne himself had pointed, rather indifferently, at the traditional wear and told him to wear it to the ball that the Japanese boy positively flushed with joy and gratitude.

He had thanked his predator thrice (every time he did, of course, a bow was necessary), before complimenting his choice of kimono and then asking him how he got it. The owl had given him a pat on the head. "It doesn't matter. Do you like it?"

Jiro had, naturally, looked at him with doe eyes full of mirth. "Yes!" Before bowing once more.

It was—and would be—his most treasured clothing; even though it was, ultimately, a woman's kimono.

The boy felt all the more pleased.

Partly because he did think that women's kimonos had much more appealing designs; and partly because it was these sort of silly mistakes Slayne made that made him very...very human.

At the present moment, Jiro was awfully conscious of the number of prying stares he had been receiving for the past few minutes. Ever since he entered the ballroom, Slayne's mood seemed to be—perpetually—on the dark side. He stood between his nightingale and the open gazes of other prey and predators in the room, purposefully blocking their view and allowing Jiro to take refuge behind his back.

"Jiro?" The familiarity of the curious voice made his head turn.

His roommate was making his way towards them; and though Jiro very much liked to talk to Io and tell him about the kimono that his predator had bought for him, the latter seemed absolutely reluctant to let anyone—anyone at all—get close to his prey.

He produced a pen and a palm-sized notebook from his matching Kinchaku bag (it came with the kimono in the same color and design) and began to write. Tugging gently on Slayne's sleeve to catch his attention, he handed him the folded note.

Master, I think everyone likes the kimono you chose ^^

Will you let me tell Io about it?

He seems to be very curious too.

The owl turned to his prey with a sigh. He knew that it had nothing to do with the design of the kimono—Jiro looked beautiful in everything.

Slayne had wanted to forbid the nightingale from leaving his side. "I'll be watching from here."

Jiro was alright with that.

Thank you Master, he drew a heart, I'll be back before the first dance.

He bowed happily before turning in Io's direction.

The prey approached each other—Io in awe and Jiro in embarrassment.

"You look like someone from Japan!" The sparrow had said in attempt to loosen the latter's tensed shoulders. It worked.

Jiro laughed, poking Io's cheek.

If not Japan, then where? Mars? =w=

"Venus maybe," His roommate teased, and the nightingale pouted. He wrote that Slayne had given him the formal kimono just moments before he was preparing for the ball.

From there, Io asked various questions and Jiro answered well.

It was a delightful start to a fine afternoon, and they had wandered to the tea table on behalf of the permanently curious sparrow who had never had tea biscuits or chocolate éclairs in his whole entire life. He found them fascinatingly pleasing; especially when the biscuits came in four different flavors. There was—of course—a variety of fruit salads, cupcakes, cucumber sandwiches, tea cakes, and blueberry pie.

It satisfied the majority to no end, and Io had to admit that this was a tad too comforting for a Mark who had spent the past few weeks scraping off meager portions of dry lettuce, mushed peas and cold potatoes. He felt as if this was his last supper—just that it was in the afternoon and not the evening.

However mixed his feelings were, the sparrow hadn't prepared himself in the least when things were about to go downhill.

Not when Jiro apologized quite suddenly before hurrying back to his predator; and definitely not when someone (Io had no idea who) called for all the participants of the Season games to gather in the middle of the ballroom.

_______________________________

[Io]

Skies, you just had to interrupt me while I was having the most brilliant tea of my miserable life, Lyra sighed exasperatedly as she landed on my shoulder. W-What a petty child. There's absolutely nothing to be afraid of.

I was about to tell her that she, too, was obviously frightened by the prospect of having the rest of the entire ballroom stare at us—the participants—while we performed some random antic for the rest of the world to see, when they finally announced to us the purpose of gathering.

"The Hunt," It was the headmistress. She stood at the entrance of the ballroom, head held high with her avian on her arm, "shall end with the first dance."

There was someone behind her; and it took me a few seconds to realize that it was professor Callaghan. Was it just a trick of the light? He appeared to be rather intimidated.

Then again, that itself wasn't much of a surprise.

The headmistress' gaze turned sharply upon us—the players of her game—and hearts were killed upon her wry smile.

I felt the tension in the room pull taut and found myself backing away in attempt to create some distance.

"The Vienna Blood Waltz dear, I do love that," V said without much of a glance at the orchestra. I halted—noticing how everyone seemed to understand her unspoken cue, drifting to their places like pawns across her chessboard.

I saw Jiro's predator coming my way with him in tow, and immediately I felt relieved to have answers.

A single glance at the orchestra was enough to tell me that the dance would begin in any moment; and urgency seized something in my chest, shaking it awake.

"Find a partner," The owl who had helped me during the games instructed under his breath, and my eyes searched the room. "Since you made it through with your Mark, you won't be hunted. But you must find a predator. Your first dance has to be among the players."

This served as little to no comfort for my shriveling heart.

Jiro shared a wavering gaze that confirmed his worry as he, too, searched for a predator who did not have a partner.

It seemed ironic to Lyra and I, however—because it didn't necessarily mean that a vacant predator would accept me for their partner in the first dance either.

Simply put; it wasn't my choice. It would be theirs.

Jiro's predator didn't seem to be satisfied by the attention his prey was giving to someone else (well, me), and—deeming that the information he had provided was more than sufficient and overly-kind—he proceeded to turn my roommate away from me and lead him to a clear space on the floor.

At this point of desperation, I was ready to turn tail and run. However, this was clearly impossible and out of option; since I was, obviously, surrounded by a hundred witnesses.

It was chaos within—searching for someone who would come to mind.

Clearly, fear prevailed.

My first thought went to him.

Where was he?

Eyes darted; but everything was still. They had found their places, and the dance was about to start.

Everyone must be staring.

Wasn't it supposed to be something to be proud of? To have crossed the finish without getting your Mark taken?

Then why...why do I feel so humiliated right now?

I felt a gaze on my back.

Please, anyone but him.

I turned.

Our eyes met and I felt light.

Luka!

"Lu—"

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He broke eye contact.

It was a female predator. A really pretty female predator. She said something to him with an alluring smile that catalyzed the heart; I saw Luka hesitate.

She must be asking if he had a partner.

Oh but weren't we supposed to—

But of course they could choose, Lyra's voice sounded almost grudgingly. They...they could choose everything.

And us?

The first waltz began with a light note and I felt my heart grow heavier by the second. It was starting.

I saw, in panic, the Marks around me bow in a synchronized manner—like puppets on a string.

"Take my hand."

Someone familiar came into view; blocking the eyes that I saw beyond the lit floor. It was the predator who had come to see me in the infirmary; from the council—

"Take my hand, sparrow. And bow. Quickly," She instructed under her breath. Realizing that she was trying to save me from the abyss of embarrassment, I did as told without question.

Touching a predator proved itself to be more nerve-wrecking than I thought.

"Kiss my hand."

"Wha—o-okay," I swallowed any protest, doing so rather fleetingly. Thank goodness. Unlike the rest of the room, I simply had no clue what I was doing—and to have someone who had the patience to guide was rather comforting.

Of course, that was all good.

Still, she had her eyes on me and my hand in hers. My knees were stiff as cold wood and there was no sign of improvement in my feet.

"Which, uh, which part do I—"

"The male," She replied forwardly, expression apathetic.

It was a little too late to realize this, but; even if I had a partner, I was only going to be of a greater embarrassment.

"I. Well, I'm not much of a good dancer," That was, really, an understatement.

"You don't have much of a choice here either," She pointed out indifferently. "We're beginning. Left foot first—forward."

It became apparent to me that whatever dance classes I had had in the past few weeks had gone down the drain. Feeling very much like a helpless student in the middle of an examination, racking his brains of whatever that remained of its ruins—I left myself to the hands of intuition and the predator in front of me, counting the beat silently.

"It's a turn here."

"Wha—"

She turned before I could register anything, making do with my frozen state. I lost my balance somehow, and stumbled once—into the pair beside.

Oh dear.

It was the headmistress and professor Callaghan.

I bowed apologetically, eyes on the ground and not daring to wander anywhere near. But knowing that this was a waltz, I had to move on quickly without too much of a heed and it proved very hard to do so.

"Look here," My partner reminded, and my mind struggled to fit everything together. The music; the dance; that mistake; and just how I deep I was in this hole of embarrassment.

"O-Okay."

I stumbled over my words, as if my lips were my feet and my feet—all over.

Trying my best to concentrate on the situation at hand whilst Lyra continued to nag at the back of my head, I hadn't stopped to consider the nice predator's name. She was very nice after all, compared to the others.

It'd be nice if we were friends—

I caught myself. That was not something I should be considering. It was no easy feat (or allowed, for the matter) to be friends with a predator. But then again; who decided what was allowed and what wasn't?

"You know Luka?"

I blinked, turning my attention to the predator who had spoken out of the blue. Her black dress brushed against my leg as she led in the waltz with a certain familiarity.

"Um, well...kind of. We met in the games—i-it's a long story," I paused, avoiding her gaze. "How did you know?"

"You were looking at him. With...this..." She spoke carefully, "strange thing in your eyes."

Yet again, I proved to be an utter embarrassment. "Was I? Uh, please forget you ever saw that."

"Hold my waist. Lift in three, two..." Either she didn't hear me, or simply ignored my insignificant words, but I figured that messing up the dance was the more severe matter.

If I wasn't before, I found myself begging for the music to end this suffering. The pressure was hostile; without mercy—the eyes of the spectators drilling into every glance they stole.

"It's ending soon," The predator said. Still, listless without expression.

I saw her gaze flit over my shoulder and back at me. I lowered mine without hesitation.

"He's looking at you."

Glancing up—mildly bewildered—my heart began to thunder in its cage. "Who?"

Her eyes were still and dark, reflecting distinctly the warm light from the chandeliers above. She appeared to be perfectly calm; independent of the world in front of her eyes.

"Luka."

I jumped at the name, feeling nervous all of a sudden. Surely, my shoulders were tensed; posture stiff and sloppy; feet uncertain—flawed, as usual, but it killed not my curiosity.

Could it be him?

The one who wrote the letter. And the thing on the board—

"Take my hand and bow. When the music ends, that will be your cue."

I focused quickly, anticipating the final count—it was only then when I felt slightly disappointed. As if there was an itch in my heart that couldn't be satisfied with a scratch.

This was, perhaps, the point in time where I began to realize that all things had their ends. It wasn't the matter of realizing that made me feel oddly dissatisfied, but rather the disappointment that I had to be reminded so.

But reminding one's self that all things would come to an end when the thing itself had yet come to an end—was that not cynical?

The cue had come, and I took the predator's hand whilst lowering my back into a bow. There was a moment of polite applause, followed by the wait for the headmistress to take her seat at the high table—dark feather shrug brushing my shoulder as she walked by.

"You may rise," Came the cue for us to do so. It seemed to be coming from the deputy headmaster, who had an awful scowl on his face.

But was it wrong to be? Cynical?

Was it wrong to face reality even if reality wasn't looking at us?

The floor was beginning to disperse, preparing for the next dance.

We stood our feet.

Does turning to reality necessarily mean that we have to turn away from fantasy?

Part wondering that and part wondering if it would be too much to ask for my partner's name or at least the name of her Avian—

"He's looking at you too."

My thoughts halted in place, turning towards her. Her gaze was alleviated, as if she was looking at something—or someone—on the second floor.

Curious, I followed.

Eyes searched; surveyed; squinted—

But there was nothing there.

"Who?" I turned to ask.

She was gone.

_______________________________

A/N: L-Lukaa DD: nuuuu! You'll dance with him in the evening one. Right—right???? D:

*flails around nervously*

-Cuppiecake.

P.S Timmy is gone!!! I can't find him anywhere ;___; *cries for eternity* Timmy come back ;o; I miss you