She loves me.

Wait, what is that?

Off in the distance from my hill, I see a light; a flame, flickering ever so gently through the grass. It doesn't seem to be burning anything, passing from patch to patch of grass, trying its best to stay alive. I leave Her side, woeful in the act, but considering the last time fire touched this place; this must be investigated. I slide down the hill on my feet, tumbling, and slamming face first into the dirt... note to self: don't do that again. I raise to my feet, and approach the flame, which lunges forth across the grass in an attempt to envelop me. I attempt to move away, but the flame finds me; spreading a warmth across my being as I begin to panic.

"Shit! Not like this!" I scream, worried that the Cleansing Flame had finally found me; but no pain came, no signals of danger, and certainly no burns to my immaterial being.

Instead... I hear something.

Crying.

I blink, the first time I've had to in a world without need; and see something when my eyes close. I saw a small figure. I close them again; holding tight, and nearly jump in shock. I see a different mind; fractured and alone, another part of the Seknium aside from my own. That small figure is back, huddled in a corner. The room appears to be a cube made of metal, perfectly designed at exact ninety degree angles. There is furnishing similar to what I saw in my old memories of the tiled place; where Damian was taken after the crash. Most notibly, in another corner of the room lays a strange metal egg, the size of a todler; it's purpose unknown.

A deep, powerful voice calls out; one I know all too well.

"Boy! Come, now!" The familiar voice of Fawks; the false jester, calls to this lad.

The boy is a mess, tears coming from his gentle blue eyes; his blonde hair in tangles. He's wearing a strange gray garb of waxy, elastic material; which covers him entirely from toes to neck. He couldn't be any older than ten years; yet he seemed rather athletic.

The boys tears stop, and he wipes his face, saying. "Yes, Lord Father."

Fawks has a son? Well, at least his **** was temporary; otherwise, this information would have broken my already tattered heart.

The boy walks from the room, and as I attempt to follow him through the door; which seemingly slides open of its own accord, I instead walk into another part of this dream. The boy has grown, now in his teenage years, and I see his father; Fawks... but, that can't be him. While the hair and eyes are unmistakably that of the man who brought me from Tomo to be killed, his age is beyond that of Fawks when I knew him as Sarmenti. His de-aging from being chosen aside, this must mean... the boy... He's the one. This must be the current Fawk's father, then. Both wear that same single, elastic garb; but the father's attire is red, instead of grey. The two are weilding thrusting swords, standing oppisite each other.

"Boy. Are you ready!" Demands his kingly father.

"Yes, Lord Father." Fawks replies; determination and admiration engrained in both his words, and eyes.

The two clash; and the proceeding flash of sparks blinds me. Damn! Learning how he fights would have been rather useful...

I open my eyes to another memory; a rainy day, in a burnt down town... but the voice of my rival comes through, clear, and real.

"Leave."

...

Suddenly, I'm **** to open my eyes in the real world, Cilla still laying on top of me, muttering to herself.

"Stupid... dolt..." She murmurs, clearly dreaming of some fool. "Blasted... Monster..."

Oh... fair enough.

I gently push her over onto her own sleeping mat, surprised that such an attentive person could be such a deep sleeper. Rising to my feet, I head out through the workings of the ship; finding that the others have left the cabin. Seeing a chance to dress myself fully, I pull clothes from my pack, and fold the trousers I was wearing before; placing them in my pack. Once dressed, I head back to wake my handler, only to find her awake; groggy, but awake.

"Good morn..." She yawns out. "I see you're dressed. Let me get my things and we'll go get breakfast."

I nod, and so she reattached her cloak and patch, raising the hood over her head. Before I can turn to leave, she takes a hold of my hand; wow, I never noticed how much smaller her hands are than mine, as she would need both of her own to fully grasp one my open hands.

"Monster... are you alright? After last night, I mean." Her eye looks to me with concern.

"Yes..." I mutter; barely a whisper, but decide quickly that such a response isn't enough. "I'm still going to find her; if only to have closure. I'll heed your words, and be ready as best as I can be for that possibility. But... I need to do this, Prissy, or I'll never be truly at rest."

Priscilla processes my words; then says. "I understand... let us hope Bounty isn't far off, then. I'm quite sick of being stuck in a giant bucket; much prefer the woods and road."

I smile gently at her words; as I finally feel some semblance of normality. I'm with a friend, talking of things that make sense. Not having the strange complexities of a world unknown told to me. It's... familiar. Far more so than last nights dreams... vision... whatever.

We make our way to the kitchens, getting ourselves some breakfast before taking seat wit the rest of our group.

"Good morning!" Ashes calls out; far too early for energy of her kind. "So... how was it?"

"How was what?" I ask, confused.

Smiling, mischief in her eyes, the Artisan says. "Well, you two slink off to the most hidden part of the ship... alone... with your sleeping mats..."

"Oh gods damn it..."

"Silence, you dolt!"

Besides that little spat, breakfast goes well, and I head off to find Darrin to resume our plans for a sparring match. He's seated outside the Captain's Cabin, bored out of his mind; blue hair waving about. Which reminds me...

But first, he calls out, excited to end the tedium. "Good morning, Monster! Want to start where we left off?"

I reply, glad he knew my plans, but wanting to know something. "Sure, but first, could you tell me why your hair is blue? I've noticed that some folk have odd colors of hair, but never understood why."

The Hoffman bursts into laughter. "You're telling me you've been traipsing about with that lovely Priestess of yours, and never knew she had Amazonian blood? I mean, come on lad, she's taller than most men!"

Ooh... That's why her hugs were so back-shattering...

Thinking back on it; the images of the Chosen and Queen of the Amazons, Alkadabuki, was the first instance of someone having strange hair I could think of. The second being the other Chosen, Citrinas...

"Is that the only possible cause of this strange hair?" I ask.

"Nah. Plenty of reasons for folk to have what's usually called 'Off-Color' hair." He runs his hand through his own hair, saying. "You could be part Amazon, like that Gabriella, or you could be part fae; those folk have nice, gentle, faded off-colors, unlike the bright hair on the Amazons. Or, most powerful of all, they could be like me...."

Darrin stands tall, puffing out his chest, pronouncing. "... and use hair dye. I mean, if you don't stand out; how will the ladies notice you?"

Wishing to ward off the second hand embarrassment from such a display, I ask. "Can we go beat the shit out of each other now."

"Gladly!"