The guard stared at his rectangle, just like he had been doing for at least three sun shifts. It was mind boggling. How could one stare at a shape for that long? Fralith had stood watch a few times and even with birds, bugs, some pretty interesting plants to stare at, and someone to talk to, he had gotten bored. The rectangle didn't have any of those things and people just kept staring at them! Constantly!

Once, when he was still free and eating SillyBirds, he'd spied on a food area from above. Some of the people there had rectangles he could see the surfaces of. It wasn't much to look at; just light, squiggles, and sometimes color. The people had messed with the surface a lot, swiping and tapping and even talking at it like it was alive.

The people here were very weird.

Fralith huffed and wiggled his feet. At least they had rectangles to stare at. All he could do was stare at the guard staring at his rectangle or look out the window. The latter option was only slightly more interesting. Buildings, running MetalEaters, the occasional bird, clouds, and some very far away trees. That was all there was to look at.

Beep. beep. Beep.

He shot the BeepCorner a glare. And that. It never stopped. Just beep, beep, beep all the time, no break. If only he had his knife with him, then he would have long since sliced the BeepCorner into smithereens.

Knife. Oh, his noren knife. If only he had it. If only the silly RedShirts hadn't taken it. RedShirts. How long would the RedShirts keep him here with the BeepCornere? What did they want him for? Was it something he did? Fralith frowned, reaching back in his memory for something incriminating. The man with the object...was he someone important? He'd stabbed him. Injured him quite badly.

His lip twitched as the man's and the girl's screams echoed back to him, filling his ears and hitting his soul. He closed his eyes, phantom feelings pressing at his fingers and scenes blooming behind his eyelids.

His knife in his hand arching through the air. The parting of flesh at its tip. The slight resistance as it sliced through bone. Warmth splattering on his arms, his chest.

A memory, this one intact, followed the scraps into the front of his mind.

Calloused hands closed over his own and deep cerulean eyes held his gaze. "I have taught you how to wield knives. I have taught you how to defend and how to injure. This world is a broken one, Fralith. As much as I wish it were not so, there will be one day when you find yourself in a fight that you cannot escape peacefully. Use the skills I have taught you to survive. Do not hesitate to hurt or to injure. Every moment counts. They will heal, if that is what Jesu wills. You will too, but do not place your life on that."

Fralith took a deep breath. Drao, his mentor, was right. There had been no other way. If he hadn't injured the man, then he would've been shot by the object. He could have died that way. The girl could have died. The boy... he dropped his eyes to his hands. There's a chance he's still alive, he told himself. You didn't see him die. But he hadn't seen the boy show signs of life, either. He hadn't seen the boy at all after he'd been shot.

He sighed and fingered the scar on his cheek. He didn't like hurting people. He didn't like having to injure the man. But it had been necessary and he had done it. There was no going back.

With a click the door swung open. He straightened, fingers tightening on the blanket over his legs. The guard — finally — looked up from his rectangle and said a few words to the two people walking in. One was FlameHair and the other a woman with brown hair and something sitting on her nose. She held a book of some sort wrapped in a black leaf.

"Hello, Brave Bud," FlameHair greeted as he came around the side where the chairs were. "This is Dr. Margret, this floor's child psychologist. She's here to just watch, don't worry."

The woman smiled at him as she sat down in the chair farthest from him.
"Hello," she said, her voice soft.

Fralith eyed the woman, shifting away slightly. The way her eyes flicked over him like she was reading his thoughts made him squirm on the inside. Did she know how to read BodyTalk? A shiver ran through him and he quickly adjusted his posture to show no hint or clue to what he was thinking. Where had she learned? As far as he'd seen, no one had been able to understand his body language like SecondHomers did. He furrowed his eyebrows over his eyes and looked away.

Movement caught his eye and he turned, swinging his gaze on FlameHair who pulled out another bar from his pocket. "Would you like another chocolate, Brave Bud?" He tore the skin away and offered it to him.

Fralith blinked at the bar. What had FlameHair called it? Something that sounded like "chock-let." Or was it the words at the end, the two that FlameHair kept using; the "br-ave bud"? He shook his shoulders a little and reached out, pausing just before he touched the bar to glance at FlameHair's and the woman's face.

The woman didn't give any hint to what he should do but FlameHair smiled and nodded. "Go ahead, it's yours."

Hesitantly, he took the bar. Why did FlameHair give him another one? Why was the woman here? What did she want from him? Was the bar his? Was it some sort of trick? Was it drugged? Why would they want to drug him? For the same reason they have tubes in you, a part of his mind answered. His stomach turned over and all the anticipation of the sweet burst soured.

He stared at the bar in his hand. It looked exactly like the first one he'd eaten, and that one hadn't been drugged. Was this one safe? Jatmap said that all drugged food tasted off — unless the one who'd put it there masked it with a strong taste. He said, because of that, if the food he had been given tasted overly strong of something that shouldn't be there, then he shouldn't eat it.

The bar had been sweet. Really, really sweet. Overly sweet. Did that mean it was drugged? But he'd felt fine after he'd eaten the first one. SugarSlop — that was overly sweet, too, and safe to eat, so the first bar probably wasn't drugged. Could this one be drugged?

Frowning, Fralith eyed the two adults sitting in front of him. Would FlameHair, who'd given him food — un-drugged food — give him a drugged bar? He...didn't think so. If the woman — who was still staring — had given it to him, he could see it being drugged. She was...calculating. Apart. Like a RedShirt. But FlameHair? He was nice. Talkative. Definitely not RedShirt.

A frustrated whimper escaped him. Was it drugged or not? He couldn't tell. If he was being smart, he shouldn't eat it. But...it tasted good. Yes, it had been too sweet, but the aftertaste...the earthy one...that had been good. Definitely better than SillyBirds. And he wanted to eat it! It was food! Good food! What did it matter if it was drugged? There were already tubes in him and they hadn't done anything to him besides hurt and be annoying. Eating the bar shouldn't hurt.

Unless it was drugged.

I don't care, he grumbled at the bar. It's food and I want to eat it. They have me already and I can't stop them from doing anything. With a final huff, he put the bar in his mouth. Hinchillas. Hundreds of Hinchillas with headbutting sweetness. He closed his eyes and reveled in the taste. It was too sweet, yes, but it was good. Good enough to be worth the risk? Maybe not, but there was no one to yell at him about it. He could do what he wanted without reprimand.

When the last drop of sweetness slid down his throat, Fralith sighed and opened his eyes, fingers flicking and gaze darting to the woman. She gazed at him, an almost thoughtful expression on her face. The book she carried laid open in her lap and she held a weird looking quill, as if she'd just been taking notes.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. What had she learned from that? What things did she glean about his soul? His weaknesses? A pile of snow slammed into his ribs, sending cold chills all over him. The bar wasn't drugged; it was used to make him lower his guard. It had been a trick!

Beep, be-eep! Beep, beep, beeeep!

His heart started up its frantic flip-flopping. He pressed a hand to his chest, shrinking back from the woman and taking huge gulps of air. He shouldn't have taken the bar! He knew the woman was bad and crafty. He should have guessed it was all a ploy! It was exactly like one of his father's political schemes; sneaky and terribly obvious once the trap had been sprung.

Ice washed over him, constricting his chest and making his breath snag in his throat. I should've known! I should've known! The world blurred as the thumping of his heart stuttered and fumbled. He gasped, falling back on the bed beast, strength buzzing around in his limbs with such frantic intensity it made them useless and shaky. The beeps grew in volume and speed, drowning out all other sound besides the blood pounding in his ears.

Hands landed on him, rolling him onto his back. No, no, NO! Fralith thrashed, mouth open in a soundless scream as he flung his useless limbs at the hands. Don't take me away! Don't! No, no, no!

The hands came back, grasping his shoulders and holding him down. He fought harder, barely even able to breathe or see through tears. They couldn't take him away to— somewhere bad. They couldn't! He had to get away. He had to— he had to— a wave of fizzles and sparks cascaded into his head, sucking any remaining strength.

They swirled and danced, flashing in and out rapidly, filling the darkness of his mind. With each flash, they dimmed until it was darkness with spots of light. Darkness with glimmers of light. Darkness with a spot of light. Darkness with afterglows of light. Then, just darkness.

↶⬝◂⚘▸⬝↷

Little orbs of light fade in and out, casting a dim glow on the bridge before him. He's smaller than normal, maybe around four years. He looks around, but all he can see is the bridge and the lights. Clutching a fist to his heart, he reaches for his knife, only for his fingers to close over air. Not there. "Davith?" he calls, voice wavering. He's done something bad. Something very, very bad, but he can't remember what. All that he has is a yawning sense of guilt, impending doom, and a yearning need for his brother.

"Davith?" he calls again, but he is alone. Unease slithers under his ribs and he steps forwards, peering into the distance. The bridge stretches onwards, its end hidden by a vale of darkness. "Davith? Where are you?" No answer. No sound but for his breathing and thudding of heart. "Can you come? I— I've done something wrong."

The orbs flicker then abruptly snuff out, leaving him in complete darkness. He freezes, fingers tightening into a ball. He swallows. "Davith?" Warm fingers touch his shoulders and he yelps, whirling around.

Davith lifts his hands, worried gaze looking him over. "Fralith? Why are you calling? You know I have the dawn watch."

He throws himself into his brother's arms, burying his face in his shirt. "Davith! I thought I lost you!" He cries, holding his brother tightly.

Davith wraps his arms around him, rubbing his back. "Why'd you think that? I'm right here, like I promised."

He squeezes his eyes closed, taking a deep breath. "I— did something wrong."

"What sort of thing?" Davith's voice is low and cold, almost dangerous.

Stilling, he looks up at his brother. He isn't there. He starts, heart kicking at his ribs. Where did he—

"Something very, very wrong," a voice snarls.

He whirls around, stumbling. Davith stands in front of him, torch raised and face contorted in anger. Faceless figures stand behind him, each holding up a torch. He backs away, breath catching in his throat. "Davith?"

"Don't call me that!" Davith snaps. "You lied! You betrayed us. You betrayed me! I hate you!" He flings the torch at his face. It sails towards him, hungry flames reaching for him.

He cries out, throwing his arms over his face. The world slides and shifts, forming into someplace different. A MetalEater's roar thunders in his bones and its hot breath caresses his skin just before it slams into him. A shout flies from his mouth as he's sent sprawling over rough stone.

The MetalEater roars again, great paws crunching closer. A bolt of terror strikes him and he leaps to his feet and running away. Shouts and snarls echo after him, spurring his feet to go faster. He dashes around buildings and past people who reach for him, faces twisted in rage.

Everything rushes past him in a blur; new and utterly foreign. He runs and runs and runs, but the roars and angry people never stops. Exhaustion claws at his lungs and his heart is about to burst. Tears blur the strange world, causing him to trip and tumble headlong. He curls into a ball, arms curled over his head, whimpers shaking his body. Thunder strikes the sky and—

Fralith jerked upwards with a gasp, body trembling. Darkness. No, dim. The room was swathed in night, only a little light seeping in from under the door and through the curtains.

Beep, beep, beep, bee-eep!

He looked towards the BeepCorner, pulse thundering in his ears. A dream. It had been a dream. That was all. He took in a shaky breath and drew his knees to his chest, wrapping one arm around them. The other one throbbed and groaned at the little movement.

Just a dream. Just...just a dream. He started to rock back and forth, heart aching. When he was little and woke like this, Davith would come and wrap him up in his arms and sit there the whole night 'keeping watch' while he slowly fell asleep to his brother's breathing. Davith's angry face loomed out of the darkness, mouth twisted in a snarl. He shivered and rocked harder.

The Davith before what he'd done comforted him when he woke from bad dreams. The Davith Before went without sleep just so his younger brother wouldn't be alone. The Davith Before cared about him. Protected him, like he'd promised. Loved him.

Now that Davith was gone.

He wasn't here. He couldn't be here. He would never be here because that Davith disappeared when Fralith betrayed, maybe even before that. In his place was the angry Davith. The hurting one. The one who didn't care about him. Who didn't protect him. Who hated him.

He put his head on his knees and cried.