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There can be nothing that rivals the devastation of losing hope.

: :

A girl snorted, her tea almost spilling as she barked out a violent laugh. Her hand settled the cup harshly on the table, pinning the man sitting before her with a strong gaze.

"I have never heard of such reckless words."

"Indeed?" The man, unfazed as he seemed, took a sip from his own cup calmly. "Those reckless words you referred to were those of a wise man."

She resisted the urge to spit out a skeptical retort, and instead chose to smile, although a small sliver of mock was there. "Oh, I would not doubt his shrewdness," and if the man hadn't known better, he would have taken her smile as a gesture of awe. "But he must surely be careless enough to believe in hope."

The man raised an eyebrow. "And do you not?"

She smiled lopsidedly, standing up from her seat and tightening her cloak. She jerked her head slightly to politely bid him farewell, green eyes shimmering with something the man could not seem to figure out.

"Not at all."

: :

"Go! Bring the child with you, and flee!"

"Father!"

"My Lord, I cannot possibly—"

"I said leave!"

She swatted the memory away as one would do to an aggravating fly.

"Huh," she mused. "I must be growing soft. Never have I ever let the past bother me as much as it does now."

She swung herself onto the back of her horse, gently pulling on the leather reins. "Come on, Featherglider," she whispered at the black beauty. "Let us go."

With grace that could rival even the greatest of horse-masters, she rode along, cloak and pastel pink hair flowing freely by the force of wind as Featherglider galloped. The horse did live up to his name, as no other creature possessed even half his elegance and speed. It was as though he was as light as a feather, effortlessly passing through land and water. Each and every movement of his legs were free yet beautiful, in sync with a rhythm only he and his mistress knew of.

They traveled all day, only stopping for a break at dusk, and hastily leaving at the crack of dawn.

The girl was good to her only companion. She knew he was of a special breed; his ancestors were the best war horses that could withstand days of travel with the littlest amount of rest, food, and water. Yet she chose to give him the few hours of peace he deserved, not only because she too felt tired, but also out of consideration for the creature.

They moved through rivers and meadows swiftly, and she enjoyed every second of the breeze hitting her in the face. The journey lasted no longer than three days, and by the evening of the final day, they finally arrived at their destination. The girl lightly pulled at the reins, and Featherglider slowed his pace.

Before them was the capital city of Féllain, the Eastern kingdom of Étherion. Féllain was a kingdom which prided itself in having the greatest warriors and swordsmen. The capital city, Bérradin, was where most of them were born.

The girl got off her horse with practiced ease, going over to where one of the two guards on duty stood. The man, clad in the usual Féllaineth attire, glanced at her once and nodded, allowing her to pass. The other stared at her and her peculiar self, eyes twinkling with mischief. He was bored, and wanted to see some fun.

"Nere ichtir zuch azhene." You've come here again. He smirked. He was speaking in Ancient Étherish, a language many didn't know of. He'd seen the girl with ridiculous pink hair come by a few times, and this time, he expected her to have a look of perplex enough for him to have a good laugh. "Oh i'm sorry, I thought you spoke it—"

"Dere ichtir sa' mecht rasir, sire," he, however, did not expect her to reply to him with fluency that even beat his. He didn't even expect her to know what he was saying. His jaw went agape. There is someone I've come to meet.

The man shook his head, still slightly shocked, and chuckled. "I did not think you would understand me. Many of those from your generation are not even aware of its existence. What a pleasant surprise." He took a pause before smiling. "You speak the forgotten language too well."

She returned the gesture. "It is the language of my homeland," she inquired softly. "It is only right that I know it as well as you do."

He gave a nod, and yet another hint of surprise crossed his features as he observed the calm creature behind her. "You've put reins on him."

"A careless man thought he was a wild stallion and tried to force him away," she explained. "I only attached the leather to him so he would not be mistaken as an unclaimed horse. Not that I own him, he's a precious friend of mine."

"You put reins on him so he would not be taken away."

"No," she grinned. "The man who tried to do so ended up with three broken ribs and a severe concussion. It would be a hassle if my dear friend injures another."

And with that, she walked past the gates, leaving Featherglider outside the city to enjoy the grassy meadow on his own.

The city was full of people bustling around noisily, making deals or exchanging greetings. She smiled at the atmosphere before pulling her gray cloak over her head, walking on the streets of Bérradin. The buildings there were made of wood and stones. Further into the city lies the great Féllir Zinith, the castle where the King and his sons reside in.

The girl kept taking long strides deeper into the city, and finally stopping after she caught sight of the pub she had been looking for. She pulled open the door, being immediately greeted by the loud noises of people laughing and speaking. Some inaudible shouts could be heard in the slightly chaotic place.

She took brave steps inside, eyes sweeping over the whole room. A waiter was giving out drinks, men were gambling, an old fellow was making jokes to entertain those around him, and - ah. It seems that she had found the person she was looking for.

Slipping through the people, she made her way to a figure sitting alone quietly in the corner sipping from a glass and sat in front of him. The man—whose body was somehow a shade of blue—immediately stiffened.

"Who are you?" He asked suspiciously. Eyes sharp and calculating.

"I am the one you were waiting for."

"Show yourself," he demanded. She pulled the cloth that covered her face and he gasped.

"You're the Lone Rover?" His eyes scanned her from head to toe, starting from her bizarre hair color and bright green eyes. When he heard that the infamous Lone Rover was one of his clients, he had predicted them to be a little bit strange and mysterious. He guessed that the Lone Rover's identity would be a tall and burly man with extreme talent at wielding weapons, but he was certainly not prepared for a small girl with odd features who stood a good two feet shorter than he did. She couldn't have been older than sixteen. It was highly unbelievable, and he wasn't a man to believe things so easily. His eyes traveled over her features once more, and gave a grunt.

"Ha, ha, ha. Very funny. Get out."

He noticed her face drop. "What?"

"You clearly are a madwoman to speak such irrational words. Did you know that committing an act of fraud could get you killed?" He snarled. "Dishonesty isn't taken lightly around here. Try to deceive someone again, and you'll find yourself short of a head."

Her face was blank for a second or two, but she smiled calmly. "I thought you were sensible enough not to make assumptions based on how one looks."

"Now look here, young lady—"

But he didn't get to finish the rest of his sentence, because the girl in front of him lifted her hand, and he saw it.

Fitting perfectly, it circled her finger, and it glistened even in the dim lights of the pub.

The ring of Orahin.

It was made of pure silver, strange marks adorning the exquisite jewelry. The design was elegant, it was a woman with her arms cupping a single pearl. It was a ring that was only known to the people as a myth, until recently a rumor spread around about it being in the possession of someone who went by the name Lone Rover. It was only seen in books, and most didn't believe its existence, but the man knew better.

The ring had an ethereal glow to it, and the man found himself entranced by its beauty. He unconsciously stood up from his seat and had his arm outstretched to touch it, making the girl quickly withdraw hers as a reflex.

That seemed to snap him out of it, however, and he looked like he was thinking for a few seconds before pinning her her with a scrutinizing glare.

"Swear it."

She gave him a look. "What?"

"Swear that you are telling the truth."

"Is the ring not proof enough for you?" But then she sighed. "If that is what you wish for, then I shall swear it on my life."

He nodded, albeit still suspicious, and went back on his seat.

"So, what do you want?"

"I did not take you as a hasty man, sire," she quipped cheerfully, though her joy did not quite reach her eyes. "I have yet to order a drink after a long journey. I must have been mistaken about you."

"Indeed you have," he snapped, but realized his tone and cleared his throat. "I am a busy person. Now, tell me why you sent me a letter asking to meet."

He twitched when she merely turned to a waiter who passed by. "May I have a glass of beer, please?" She smiled when the waiter nodded, leaving him to scoff in disbelief.

"Look, I don't have time for this." He got up, straightened his clothes, ready to leave. He took a step away.

A strong gust of wind passed him and a dagger embedded itself on the wall beside his face. And suddenly, realization hit him. Had he taken another step, the blade would've struck his head. He slowly turned to meet her eyes, and this time, her mocking smile reached them. Knowing the obvious thing to do in order to stay alive and keep his body parts complete, he pulled the chair and sat back down.

Silence took over the table, and none of them made an attempt to break it. The people around were oblivious to the series of events that happened in the corner. After a couple of minutes, the girl opened her mouth.

"You feared me." He looked over in astonishment. "You feared the Lone Rover, because you have heard about their gift in swordsmanship and the dark rumors that blossomed from the fact."

He had no words to reply with, and she went on. "I know you were scared to meet me. But you also feared for your life, and decided to comply with my request."

The waiter came and gave the girl a large glass, and she thanked him. "But when you saw me today," she took a sip. "Your fear changed to something else."

He observed her warily. What was this girl, a mind-reader?

"The man of your nightmares turned out to be a seemingly harmless young girl with obnoxious pink hair and sparkling green eyes. Your fear was replaced."

He took a sharp intake of breath.

"When you met me, it finally dawned upon you that those dark rumors of the Lone Rover might just be rumors, after all. You took me as nothing more than a child, a mere jest."

Her words were precise. That was exactly how he felt when he first saw her appearance. But hearing it come out of her mouth in such bluntness and her cool demeanor was making him uncomfortable. Other people he met would be angered if they were taken lightly, but she was calm as a deer. She even had the gall to raise her beer and grin at him before downing the glass in one go. How cheeky.

He sighed, running a hand through his navy blue hair. He didn't really know what to do. Leave? Although the blade she threw before was stuck behind him, he had seen the hilt of another. No, he wouldn't take the risk of having the dagger embed itself on him this time. Speak? What would he tell her? That she had been right and he had seen her as nothing but a waste of time?

But as if she read his mind yet again, her lips twitched upwards. "Do not fret, if I was here to threaten you for nearly rejecting me, I would have skipped the formalities and at least draw blood to show you how serious I am." He had to hold back a shiver. How reassuring. "But I am here for another reason today."

She got up, walked around the table, and grabbed the blade. With little effort, she pulled it out of the wood. Now playing it as though it was a harmless toy, she went back to her place.

"I did not think a mere dagger would scare you enough to make you stay, to be honest," she laughed merrily. Her gaze wasn't helpful either. "You are a man who handles weapons. Who would have guessed that you would be so jumpy around a simple one?"

He huffed. "A simple one could also kill you. But don't think I didn't notice. It isn't an ordinary dagger." He eyed the handle critically, noticing the intricate symbols. He'd seen the exact same design in a book before, and knew of its values.

"So you saw it?" Her eyes glinted with amusement. "Your eyes are indeed as sharp as I have heard. I have an offer for you. Make a blade similar to this one, but I want it to be a sword. It has to be half as long as a wizard's staff, and sharp enough to cut off a head in one strike. Give it to me in three months, and I shall reward you with ten sacks of gold."

His jaw went agape. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. Do as I say, and you'll earn a great amount of money."

"B-but that is impossible!" He stared at her incredulously. "You know what that dagger was made of, you do! The hilt itself was made of rare jewels! How can you expect me to—"

"Indeed," she said casually. "A blade forged by the most gifted of dwarves thousands of years ago. It was made of a material you could only obtain in the Mines of Norgath."

"There you go! You said it yourself. How could I possibly possess such a rare—"

"Oh, but you do," she mused. He became a shade of pale blue.

"What?"

"You do," she repeated, not taking her eyes off his. "You have it. Deep inside your home. Just the right amount to make a sword."

"I don't know what you are talking about-"

"The broken sword of Haldir," she cut him off for the third time. "The pieces of it. The sword was made of steel from the Mines of Norgath."

It took him seconds, and comprehension crossed his face. "You want me to reforge it from the shards."

"Yes, but to a different sword, with a different name," her lips curved up again, and stood. "I assume you accept this small request of mine?"

He gave a look of contemplation, and finally gave a gruff yes. Her smile grew to a grin, eyes gleaming with something he couldn't decipher. "I shall leave it to you, then. Three months, and meet me here once more to exchange our deal. I chose you for a reason, Kisame Hoshigaki. I have heard of your gift, and you are one of the best swordsmiths in Étherion. I expect you to live up to your name."

Without waiting for him to reply, she walked away, not before she put a handful of gold coins on the table. "That should cover up for our drinks."

Her steps were quick yet light, and before Kisame realized what he was saying, he called out.

"Wait!"

She halted.

"Can't I at least know my client's true identity?"

She didn't turn around, but her head moved ever so slightly so she could meet his eyes.

He never truly realized how mysterious her eyes were, but now he did.

: :

"Move, ya' damn slugs!"

Féllain was a free kingdom.

Or at least that's what they claim themselves to be.

But what she saw said the opposite. Lowborn people were dragged across the streets, forced to do someone else's work. The girl grit her teeth, cloak now back in place to cover her head. This was ridiculous. Slavery was everywhere. From the dirtiest and most deserted alleys, to the open markets and places crowded with people. Yet no one did a thing. Men, women, children, even, were whipped and abused in public when they were simply too slow, or made a mistake. Patrolling guards turned a blind eye towards the injustice that happened right in front of their noses. It was utterly unacceptable.

The law forbade it.

But alas, the people who approved of the law were the same people who forced the poor into slavery.

Why did the witnesses of such unjust actions stay put? Why would people stay still although the law enforced onto them was being pushed aside? Because the ones who did were men of power. Ministers, justice officers, relatives of the King and his wife.

And it made her sick.

Power was everything in this world. Money and riches, those aspects are what makes you respected. A good heart is of no value if all you have is a humble house. Acts of kindness were seen as nothing but a waste of effort if that is the only thing you have. Good will can only add up to your reputation only if you were someone of nobility.

"I wish for a world without all these," her lips moved on their own, unconsciously whispering to herself. "I wish there was a world where we all are equal."

And so, she turned away from the crowded streets, and walked to an alley she knew the man taking the slaves would pass through. She waited, and waited. No one passed. A minute. Two. Three. Four.

And then, the sounds of a whip. She closed her eyes. Just a bit more.

Another crack. Her fists curled. The sound was getting nearer. The pained shouts, the screams of agony, the children crying. Her hand clutched the hilt of her dagger, green eyes glimmering angrily beneath the cloak. She hid in the shadows.

"Come on, I don't have all day! We have to arrive by midnight, you slow animals!"

They passed her.

The moon shone brightly, allowing her to quickly assess the situation. A family of four. A mother and her three children. The oldest had not even reached his teen, the youngest one could not have been older than four. They were all covered in dirt and wounds littered their bodies. They didn't seem to have energy left to walk, and they were crawling behind a man, bound by tight ropes. There were bruises, blue and purple and black, dried blood, and her breath had stopped.

And the next second, the only uninjured man was lying on the ground. Blood pooled around his neck, where a clean cut was made. She heard a surprised scream behind her.

The mother protectively took his sons in her arms, despite her wrecked and weakened state. She looked worse than her children, with blackened eyes and her hair disarrayed. She noticed grimly that where two of her fingers should be was replaced instead by short bloodied stumps, and she found herself not wanting to know what had happened to them. Something inside her broke at the tragic sight, and she sheathed her blade, showing that she meant no harm, pulling her cloak off in the process.

"You have to get out of here," she said as softly as she could. "Can you walk?"

None of them answered her. The youngest child was looking up to her with a finger in his mouth, not understanding a word she said. The rest were looking at her with fear evident in their eyes, and she tried to cover the corpse. Pity surged through her body, and she crouched down to make herself seem less intimidating.

She took small steps towards them, gratefully noting that none tried to back away from her, but froze in their places instead. She wasn't really good at comforting people, but she could give it a try.

"It's alright now," she muttered carefully. "I am here for you. He's not here anymore. He will never harm you again."

And at that, the mother broke down into muffled and heartbroken sobs. Tears escaped her, and the younger female felt sympathy for her. She knew the only reason why the mother hadn't cried at all before was because she was trying to be strong for her children. Because they needed her. And that only made her feel worse.

She stood up and whistled loudly, being unable to witness the scene. The children were trying to comfort their mother to the best of their abilities, and it seemed to work, as she smiled through her tears to reassure her children that she was fine now.

Soon, a neigh answered her whistle, and Featherglider came to her.

"Unfortunately, I have to visit some place, so I am unable escort you," she said. She grabbed a pouch and a bundle of cloth attached to the horse, and handed them over to the other woman. "Take these. It should contain enough money for you to find something to eat and the cloth is for you to cover up."

She took off his reins and got on him. The woman was staring at her with her jaw agape. "What—but why—"

"After you do so, go to the western part of the city and find a man by the name of Sasori. Tell him his student wishes to ask for a favor. He will know what to do, considering the state you are in. He should give you a place to rest for a while, until you are ready to get back on your feet and find a worthy job."

She whispered to her horse, and he turned around, slowly walking away. But for the second time that day, she was stopped.

"Who are you?"

The woman's voice was no longer broken, it had a new light to it, as if she had found hope.

The girl smiled, still with her back facing the woman.

"Wait!"

She halted.

"Can't I at least know my client's true identity?"

She didn't turn around, but her head moved ever so slightly so she could meet his eyes.

He never truly realized how mysterious her eyes were, but now he did.

"My name is Sakura."

"I am the Lone Rover."

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