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THE rusted shackles tore into his wrists. Whenever he shifted in his seat to better glimpse the door at the far end of his cell, they constricted, the metal digging deeper. Thin rivulets of black blood stained the ruffle cuffs of his sleeves.

Axion winced. With all the enemies he had accrued over the ages, he knew the absolute pain it was removing blood stains from finery. He'd have to have his garment hand-washed a dozen times before the stains even budged, and then afterward, a bit of magickal polish would need to be worked into every soiled thread to achieve the clean he demanded of his wardrobe. Someone like him, needed to look his best. Anything less, and what was the point? Even the greatest stars needed help shining their brightest, and he was no different.

Having had enough bleeding over his favorite blouse, and being fed up with the abomination of wood and screw and faulty engineering biting into his back and thighs, he decided it was time. Margo wanted a confession; he'd confess. Be the black-hearted rogue they all took him for. It mattered little. Dead magicks, like dead realms, could not be revived.

Raising a hand in the air, and ignoring the sharp sting as the manacle bit into his wrist, he called out, "Oh Mouse-wizardess, your prisoner is ready to spill his soul, should you desire it."

No response.

He watched the door. A piece of wood, no bigger than his palm peeled back. Margo's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

He grinned.

"You haven't wanted to talk for weeks," she said.

Axion swallowed the urge, what came so naturally to his person, to remind Miss Mouse-Wizardess, that he was very well aware of the many insufferable, silent weeks he'd spent rotting away in Darkmoore's dungeon. He'd counted his hours in drops of blood. He'd watch the stars on his flesh advance and retreat on his skin, an army both conquered, and conquering. A galaxy had bloomed on his right hand, only to now be nothing more than a darkened scar - the price of extinguished life, tempered emotions, betrayal and emptiness.

He would tell Margo none of this. She would not listen to him besides.

"I've changed my mind, Mouse-Wizardess." His stars momentarily darkened. "So much time to think and re-think."

Margo's eyes had already been plenty narrow, but somehow, for him, they'd managed to narrow further. Far beyond what Axion thought humans and human-similars could manage. Magick, maybe it was. He'd never learned the limitations. But despite her eyes being no more than brown slats, they burned with that familiar aggravation.

The kind he'd savored when it filled his brother's expressions, after Axion had spilled that evening's wine, foiling one of their clumsy attempts to assassinate him. The same aggravation had pitted the many faces of tavern owners, all who had amassed towers of Axion's debt, and had come to realize it only too late that he had no intention of paying it back. It was with the same aggravation, those same tavern owners,  swindled out of their due, had hired thugs to chase Axion from their bars and into back alleys, where repayment was forcibly taken - in flesh, blood and coin.

Now too the mouse-wizardess had grown weary of him.

"Why?" was all she asked.

"Why?" He lifted both hands. The fabric of his sleeves had grown stiff with his blood, and the pastel blue had turned a muddy brown. "Because I'm done bleeding out on my finery. Why look at this mess! It will take a delicate, masterful touch to address all these stains. And the cost, I'm sure, will be exorbitant. Certainly, more than the pittance you make doing her royal brightness's dirty work."

"Axion." She growled.

He dropped his hands, slouching in his so-called 'chair.' "You want answers," he said coolly, "I aim to give them. Now, and only now."

The little Mouse-wizardess flashed him teeth. They weren't nearly as menacing as an Aelurians - but he could imagine her tearing into him as she would a slice of her beloved cheese none-the-less.

"Refuse and I'll happily continue bleeding out until all that I am has stained this place black. It will reek of me, and all the castle maids combined won't be able to wash away the stink. I will fester here."

Margo's whiskers twitched. "And here I thought the blood loss would make you less annoying."

A smile glided onto Axion's face. "You and a dozen others. Afraid I am who I am, tortured or otherwise."

He saw Margo disappear, heard metal slide against metal. The door creaked when it was pulled open and light, glorious light from the torches hung on the wall found its way in. It flickered against the walls and floor. Overhead. And it cast shadows.

"Well–" Margo said, arms crossed as she took a single step into the cell. Her shadow trailed behind her, far, much too far for Axion to reach. But if she came a bit further inside...

He picked at a fleck of rust on his cuff, inspecting it between his fingers, before flinging it onto the ground.

"Why'd you hide the Dusk Stag?"

"You know," he began, brushing his hands over his thighs, a coy smile playing on his lips, "I've changed my mind."

Margo's radiance flashed blood-red. She snarled and took another step toward him. "Axion you said you'd–"

"You've already convicted me. The noose is all but tied around my elegant neck. All your Queen has to do is give the command and you'll pull the ground out from under me." He leaned back, despite the splinters cutting into his shoulder blades, and crossed his legs. "Why should I confess when you've determined me guilty already?"

"Axion, we're not–"

Margo shot around at the intruder. Abby stood in the doorway, rubbing her hands together, eyes darting between him and Margo.

Axion grinned.

"Abby," the mouse-woman made to shoo Abby away, placing her hands on her shoulders and gently guiding her out of the cell. But Abby resisted, and instead, stepped further inside. She even had the audacity to turn her back on Axion, her shadow laying so dangerously near to Axion's feet. He strained against the shackles around his ankles, but to no avail. The shadow remained out of reach.

"We're not killing him." She whipped her head around and stared at him. "I know you have a reason. Please, tell them the truth."

He leaned forward. "And what is this truth you desire me to speak? That I was coerced, oh wait," he raised a finger, his lips curling, "better yet, that I was forced to hide the Dusk Stag from you?"

Abby's eyes widened. "Did something like that happen?"

A bark of laughter poured out of him. "While my father could be quite persuasive," Axion recalled the cold, the bruises, the bloody knife and the cackling crowd as his father looked down at him from on high, in his throne, and commanded him to slit his mother's throat, "he played no role in this, I assure you. I lied because I wanted to."

She shook her head. "No. You wouldn't just–"

"You condemned the realms to die," said Margo barging forward and pushing Abby, and her shadow, further away. Axion felt his stars arrange themselves over his eyes in surprise. "You brought about the destruction and devastation to hundreds of thousands." He shrugged. "And you lied about it because," Margo's hands shook at her sides, her radiance lashing out at her back, "because you wanted to?"

Axion glared at Margo, ready, eager even, to strike her with his words. "And what about you, little Liesse?"

Margo stared, her radiance flashing a washed out beige.

"Where you there, when the sun fell and all your people died? When the wizards and wizardesses had finally sapped your realm of all its magick, and the cities crumbled and the seas boiled, and the sky rained down fire? Did you hear all the little children scream?"

She stumbled back, mouth agape.

He fluffed his pocket square, and sat upright. His eyes flicked to the ground, and the shadow inches from the toe of his shoe, before glancing back at the mouse-wizardess. His words had frozen her, but soon they'd propel her forward, giving him exactly what he desired. Sweat gathered beneath his collar and around his hairline. Whether intentional or not, Margo was pulling the realm's magick to her.

"I don't think you were there. Or if you were, well," a mirthless chuckle fell from his lips, "think of the irony. A Cloudian using magick, the very thing that destroyed their realm. Surely, you're not so dumb." His stars blinked and the whole of him was as dark as his eyes. "I was there that day and remember it well. The Hollows was flooded with so many dead Cloudians my father vacated his throne to oversee their arrivals in person."

A low growl hit Axion's ears. Margo's hands had fisted, her knuckles white, her radiance a dark cloud at her back. The air hummed with magick.

"It's funny, they all said the same thing when they arrived. I imagine they say it still, for their eternities. 'Magick destroyed us.'" His eyes floated between Margo and Abby. "Magick," he said loud enough for his voice to echo, "destroyed us. They never admitted their own folly. Denial until the end. Your kind as pathetic as it has always been. The realms needn't suffer idiots like that, wouldn't you agree?"

"You bastard," Margo screamed. At the same time, flames erupted on her skin. She stormed toward him. "I'll kill you."

Gripping his collar, Margo yanked him off his chair, the cuffs straining and cutting into his wrists further. Black blood seeped into his shirt anew. "You don't know anything about the Cloude." She huffed, raised a hand, and the flames along her arms grew stronger, burned hotter. Axion's jacket began to smoke.

"Margo!" Abby grabbed Margo's arm, despite the flames dancing upon her skin. "Stop this please."

Margo snarled and twisted away from her. "He's going to die anyway. Why shouldn't I kill him after what he said?"

"Death without a proper trial first?" Axion asked, enjoying the way Margo's face twisted with a renewed rage. "And what would your dawn queen and her infallible sense of justice think?"

Margo lunged. Abby, hand still on her arm, pulled her back. "You'll die." Margo bared her teeth. Abby's grip didn't relent. She focused on Margo's necklace, and the mostly clear stone at its center. "And for what? Revenge? Will it make you happy? Will it be worth it? The realms still need saving, and they need you to help save them." From within her cloud of dark radiance, Margo turned. Abby smiled. "Don't."

Margo nodded, her radiance and rage receded, and the air cooled. She turned away from Axion. "If he does it again—"

Abby shook her head, glancing at Axion over Margo's shoulder. "He won't."

"Oh?" He tilted his head, grinning. "And why wouldn't I—"

"Because you got what you wanted out of her." She stepped around Margo, facing him.

"Which was?"

"A reaction."

"Clever hemma," he spat, giving a singular clap. Dust fell off the walls. "And here we were always taught your kind were inferior," his eyes slid over to Margo, "just like the Cloudians. Rats, the both of you, infesting the Eridan."

Abby walked toward him, arms over her chest, her shadow swaying on the ground, just beyond the tip of Axion's shoe. "Stop this."

"Stop what?" Axion was careful, stretching slowly so as not to make his chains rattle and alert the mouse-wizardess to his scheme.

Abby's shadow was almost underfoot, when she said, "Doing this. Saying things you don't mean. Being so unlike yourself."

Axion withdrew his foot, and he relaxed into his chair. "You think you know me?" His tone was flat, and icy. Anger flared in his stars, as one after another, comets streaked across his face.

She took another step toward him, her shadow blanketing his feet, but he no longer watched the shadows. He was looking at her. At the stupid hemma who considered Aelurian beasts her family. Who had offered him her hand, who had given her name, who had entrusted him with a throne and a responsibility he never deserved.

"Yes, I think I do."

She was wrong. She did not know him. And she needed to stop looking at him with those damned eyes.

Laughter rioted from Axion's throat. How indignant and belligerent she was! He'd heard hemma were stupid, but this was beyond what he'd expected.

Abby tapped her foot against the floor. "I know you," she repeated, more assuredly this time.

Axion stopped laughing. The heat of a dozen suns blazed across his cheeks. He sneered. "My father had my mother killed, did you know that?"

He remembered it well. The eyes that were no longer bright, the dullness of the skin, the way her veinings turned grey. The way she had hardened in front of him, until she fractured and broke on the throne room floor. "You met my father, Abby, I come from a line of terrors. It's in my blood."

She leaned toward him. "Is it that so?" Her eyes narrowed. "I think you're lying."

"Sometimes I wish I was."

"Axion," Abby kneeled before him, hands resting on his. He could have easily taken control of her shadow and slipped free of this accursed place. He could have shadow-stepped to a little-known hemma town eating his fill of sandwiches, or drinking his fill in one of the few taverns he hadn't been run from, but, strangely enough, he wanted to stay. If only to relish in her warmth a little longer. "I believe you," her gaze dropped to their hands, "I consider you a friend. You helped me save Sebbi." She glanced up at him, and Axion felt like his chest might explode. "I don't think a person that comes from a line of terrors would do that. I don't think a person like that would have said those despicable things to Margo without a reason why. Despite the cold you radiate, I think, deep down, you're warm."

His stars blinked.

You're warm, Axion. You are my light and his shadow. But the choice is yours to decide which triumphs.

Abby squeezed his hands.

Axion's neck itched, his mother's blood rising to the surface. He had inherited her veinings, two of silver, one of gold and they were trying to remind him who he was.

"There must be a reason why you did what you did," her gaze was soft, her eyes understanding, "whatever it is, I promise to listen to all of it. You're not a villain, I know you're not."

Axion pushed Abby aside, while, at the same time ensnaring her shadow. He yanked it toward him. It expanded in a circle beneath his seat. Abby's eyes widened.

"You should never have trusted me." He shot to his feet, reached out, and grabbed her arm. She fell into his chest.

"Abby!" Margo raced toward them, flames floating above her palms. She commanded them to shoot outward, but it was too late.

"Axion?" Abby peered into his face, confused.

He said nothing as he slipped inside the shadow with her in his arms.