He woke to the smell of dry earth, mold, and dust. So much of the latter than as he inhaled it tickled his throat. Expelling it with a quiet cough, he sat up, swinging his bare feet off the little bed upon which he lay. It couldn't be any later than a few hours before dusk. Something had woken him early. His eyes burned, and not just from the filthy chamber.

Blinking, his eyes adjusted to the dark chamber. It was no wider than he was tall in either direction, the bed no larger. If one could call it a bed. When the structure above collapsed, the chambers beneath crumbled. The three stone walls of this cell bore the scars; cracks that ran deep and deadly. Honestly, he was surprised this one cell had remained upright. The iron bars that made the final wall hadn't been so lucky. The metal was bent and mutilated under the crushing weight of the city above. The thing upon which he slept was little more than a chunk of mostly in tact wood with a blanket. The only one he could locate within the city that resembled a bed, and that he could reach.
Sitting on the bed as he was, now, he could lean forward and brush his brow against the metal bars. It called to him. As if to tauntingly say 'I'm so close to puncturing your flesh.' He stared at it, unseeing, wondering why he was awake at this unholy hour.

His answer came shortly.

He felt it again. The subtle twinge in the nape of his neck as the ruins were disturbed. He reached up and brushed his hand across the back of his neck, swiping away the wheat-blond hair that stuck to his skin. Cold sweat. Hint of nausea. Someone is here. Inhaling deeply, he craned his head back, as if he could catch the scent of the intruder from so far underground. Someone, or something, had crossed the border. Into the ruins of his city. Something with magic, otherwise they would not have triggered the wards and alarms. He bared his teeth and rose, grabbing his keffiyeh, bow, and quiver before he vanished in the blink of an eye.

Within minutes, he was crouched on the edge of what remained of the chapel. The once sunbleached terracotta of the holy building was now stained with soot and blood as high as the fires and the terrified people had been able to reach. It had remained unscathed, compared to the rest of the once crowded city, as a statement.

The Goddess of the Sun had abandoned them all, and left them to the mercy of the nightmares of the dark.
Only they had no mercy.

With an arrow nocked against the bowstring, his pale blue eyes scanned the lengthening shadows that covered the still-blood-stained streets. Rain never came here to wash it away. The desert streets were dark so much of it that flies, vultures, and coyotes had become the only things able to survive. Only creatures ably to withstand the overwhelming stench of carrion death. The bodies had been taken out of view. Not all of them, but most. Dragged into whatever dens the scavengers made in the remnants of the homes and alleys. Pieces of the Ziadin were scattered. A skull that was cracked and shattered, its fractures bright white from the relentless sun. A hand, the bits of muscle unable to be picked off dried to an inedible material. Clothing so stained and shredded it was hard to determined what they ever were, or to whom they belonged.
So very few had survived the Ransacking of Ziad. Nobles, vendors, elders, children.
None of them had expected the attack. So many had been unable to fight back.

Gritting his teeth, the figure on the chapel shifted his weight, finding a more comfortable position from which to survey. He was swathed in dark fabrics, soft greys, muted browns, deep blues. The only portions of his daark skin that were visible were his bare hands and feet. And the slit between the folds of his keffiyeh that allowed him to see. Clothing that, ideally, would make him harder to see in the darkness that covered Ziad once the sun finally settled beneath the distant mountains across the desert. Now, in the space between sunset and dusk, when the light was less cooperative, he wasn't sure it would work.

He spotted the intruder long before it spotted him. Unmoving, his eyes watched, observing, calculating. It wasn't one of them. He could tell that. Too short. Too small. Too ... feminine. Female, then. His nostrils flared beneath his face cover. He took a slow breath, keeping his heart rate slow and steady. Armoured. He couldn't tell who it was. Couldn't see if this intruder was familiar. See if it was her once more, returning to bask in the destruction she'd brought to his city with a smile and a soulless laugh.

She moved slow. Observing. Calculating. Much in the same way that he observed her. Wary of danger. Looking for answers. This was not a woman come to relive favoured acts of violence. This was a woman who had come into the wrong city. The wrong ruins.

"You're not welcome here."

His voice shattered the near-silence of the twilight around them. Her presence had silenced most of the scavengers, his deep voice chased off the braver ones. He watched her pause in her tracks and turn, her covered head pointing toward the source of his voice. Whether or not she'd spotted him yet, he didn't know. He shifted his grip on his bow, but didn't raise it yet, not quite ready to give away his position with movement.
"Go back the way you came. There is nothing here."

She had not used the portal to travel to another world in a long time. Months. It was as nauseating as she had remembered, but by now she had hardened herself to the inconveniences of using the Ring. Six months in exile, of running from her enemies, protecting her family, and hunting monsters, had left their mark on her, body and soul. Sapphire-blue eyes peered around the desert ruin, one eye duller than the other, a scar running down from her left brow to her cheek. The Ring had been able to restore some vision to it, but she had acquired the injury during those hellish days when she seemed to have done nothing but fight to stay alive day in and day out. There was only so much its healing power could do, and Kire found it unnecessary to waste magical energy just to make scars completely disappear. And so the three huge dragon scars on her back were joined by others. Mark of an arrow wound on her left shoulder. Faint traces of gashes on her arms. Her golden hair cropped short now, never letting it grow past her nape. For as long as her body functioned the way it should, Kire hadn’t bothered to find a way to get rid of these marks.

Now she was here on unfinished business. Her armor, as roughed-up as it looked, had layers of magical protection beaten into it over the past half-year. Her helmet, obscuring most of her face, still bore the Wyvern insignia upon it, though she now debated whether she should have appeared in more inconspicuous garb. But some part of her needed to don the dragon-armor, besides the obvious need for protection. This was her quarry, the one she had let slip between her fingers, who had led her on a merry chase that had augured the dark days that followed. In the wild days when survival had been paramount, she had almost completely forgotten her duty as Paladin, but when the Seer came to her, reminding her of her failed mission, Kire knew she needed to redeem herself before she could redeem the crown. She would make the bastards pay: first Ikegai, then Gael, and she would make things right, as she had been trying to do all this time.

This place had known death. The stink of his magic—and others. If there was one thing these months of hell had done well for her, it was to sharpen her senses when it came to magic. Granted, she was still no sorcerer, and her own magic is limited to her ties to the Ring and her blood, what skills she needed to defend and hunt, but it had given her a sort of cunning, like a sixth sense A taste in the air, a certain smell, a sensation in her fingertips: these were how magical traces manifested to her. She had a small satchel of supplies, a hunting knife at her hip, and in her right hand, drawn from its scabbard and gleaming white, a longsword, forged from, and bound to, her sharp Will. He’s been here, but he’s long gone. Still, she could perhaps find some lead to his whereabouts around here, or at least find out what had happened to this godsforsaken place.

A voice shattered her quiet pondering. She had assessed earlier that those shadows flitting about—survivors, scavengers, beggars, thieves—weren’t much of a threat, but this new voice was a different matter. She turned towards the sound, found she couldn’t spot the man who threatened her. No doubt he had the higher ground here and was making sure he was hidden well. Not some amateur, then. A whiff of something different—magic? But she couldn’t tell if it was this man or something else. It was confusing to sort out amid the strong traces of death tied to Ikegai’s blood magic, but it was there, all around her, sunk into the ground. Being in a different world, the magic here had a different feel from Amrian spellwork. She didn’t know how dangerous it would be yet, but she wasn’t leaving.

“I will not be here long,” she called back, keeping her eyes in the direction of the voice, waiting to see if he would give his position away. “I am hunting my quarry. Once I’ve picked up his trail, I will leave.” She stayed still, her voice clear and steady, but she didn’t drop her sword or sheath it. “I’d like to know what happened to this place, and who had been responsible.”

He considered her answer. Not so much her words, but the way she spoke them. Something was familiar about that voice. Narrowing his eyes, he tried to spot anything, any indication of who she was, but nothing. No loose strand of jet black hair, no glimpse of the unnaturally beautiful eyes. The sound of her voice, though, he could feel his skin crawl at the sound of it. Familiar. Too familiar.

Without shifting his position, he pulled the drawstring of his bow. He wasn't sure if he wanted to challenge her. Alone, there would be no one to fall into the cross hairs. But last time he'd challenged her, if she was indeed her, he had barely survived. Ziad hadn't survived.
She and the allies she'd made had torn through here and destroyed everything so effortlessly they may as well have been giants, and the Ziadi little more than helpless newborns. He had stood and fought. He and his brother, and the little army his brother had commanded. Too many of them, as well, had fled, terrified. The city stood no chance.
Ziad was gone. Everyone he had once cared for gone. It was no longer something worth dying for. Fighting now would be a pointless effort.

"Go back out the way you came." He called again. "Head north-west, toward the mountains. Once you reach them, follow them northward, and you'll reach the port city."
He shifted at last, pointing his arrow at her, aiming, ready. "Anyone who could took off in that direction. Its the nearest city. Now. I say again. Get. Out."

“Hm.” Kire pondered his words. No doubt she would be able to find leads in the port city he had been talking about, or maybe he was just a wary survivor who would rather send her on her way, as far away from this place as possible. But most likely he was telling the truth; this didn’t look like any hiding place for Ikegai or whoever it was he had been able to dupe into helping him wreak this destruction, because of course he couldn’t have been able to do this alone, not even with the blood magic at his disposal. And his dolls… The memory made her shudder—but a glint of light brought her back to the present. There. The movement was subtle, too subtle to be significant, but she was sure now that he had an arrow pointed at her. The retreating sun had for that brief moment reflected off the arrowhead, there, on what seemed like a ruined temple. “I’ll leave, after I get more information. Maybe we should have a proper conversation,” she called out, deliberately looking in another direction, before disappearing in a blue flash.

She knew not to expend most of her energy on portals, so she needed to act swift. Subdue him, ask her questions, knock him out if he was uncooperative. Which he just might be. Kire emerged just behind the archer, She slashed as his bow, ridding him of his most dangerous asset, ready to pin him down. Easy. Except—what is that smell? Kire recoiled, despite herself, the sensation like a buzzing warning sign at the back of her neck, the scent of his magic filling her nostrils. There was a strong aura about him, but she didn’t know what exactly he was capable of. Like the sharp sweet aroma of cinnamon. Dammit. “Are you a mage?” she asked, sword trained at him, keeping her distance. “Does the name ‘Ikegai’ mean anything to you?”

She fucking vanished.

He inhaled sharply, lowering his bow to raise his head, his eyes searching for any sign of movement. Where the fuck did she go? She hadn't been able to do that. This wasn't the same woman. Wasn't the same nemisis. This was something else. Something powerful.

The subtle vibrations in the air alerted him to the swing of the sword from behind him. Ducking his head, he felt the blade sever the wood of his bow. No difference, he had always been a lousy shot, anyway.
Dropping the now-useless pieces of wood and string, he twisted, still crouched, in time to see her recoil away from him. She pointed the blade at him, his blue eyes wandering the undeniably sharp edge mere inches away from him. I'm so close to puncturing your flesh. Why was everything such a goddamn threat?

He took a moment to study her. Or, at least her armour, seeing as it was all that was visibly. It was dented, scratched, marred. This woman had seen battle, fought for her survival. And won her life, at least. Not sure if he could say the same for what she was fighting for. She wouldn't have set foot here if all was going according to plan. She carried herself well, her body held in a way that reminded him of his brother, who had always had the better form of the two of them.
But the way she'd triggered the alarms around the city. The way she'd vanished and reappeared behind him. The way she could sense his magic, and knew to keep away from him.
She was a trained fighter and a magic wielder.

Breathing slow, controlling his temper, he leered up at her along the edge of her blade. "No." He snarled at her offering no more answer than that. "And you? What sort of unfortunate half-breed are you to be able to move like that?"

Kire held back a snarl. Was it too much to expect of the gods not to throw hostility her way, not even an hour from first setting foot on a completely different place? At least she knew he was telling the truth, but that wasn’t the end of the story here. “What I am isn’t your concern at the moment,” she said icily. The sword never wavered. “My quarry is a dangerous mage, dealing in blood magic. He would have arrived around this country half a year ago, maybe a little more. This place is brimming with traces of him. For all I know, he could have destroyed this city.”

She gestured vaguely around them. “What do you need? Gold? Do you have gold here? Supplies? Tell me what happened here, give me time to stay in the city for a little while, and then I’ll be out of your hair, you’ll never see me again. If you do try to steal from me, you will be struck down.” Granted, pointing a weapon at her witness wasn’t the most ideal situation, but Kire had to improvise. If this man had been a resident here during the ransacking, he could have valuable information. And if he was as cunning and potentially dangerous as he seemed to her right now, all the better to keep a close watch on him.

He continued to leer at her. She seemed just as willing to converse and offer information as he was. Until she dealt him the details of the man she hunted. Half a year ago. Blood magic. Traces of him everywhere. He stilled for a few seconds, connecting pieces. It had been almost six months since they'd swept into the city, destroying everything they'd touched. The plague of violence and bloodshed, their life-long enemy, lead by a beautiful woman with raven black hair, with skin that smelled faintly of plums and fire-ash.

Someone else, this man sought by this stranger, had to be involved. The woman had barely left the city in the time she was here. And yet, somehow she'd managed an alliance with them, organizing the day that had ended everything.

When the woman gestured, he blinked, shoving aside his thoughts as she tried to bribe him into allowing her to stay. His eyes crinkled as he grinned wickedly beneath his cover. "You have nothing I want or need, intruder." He said darkly. "There is nothing here for you or your kind. There is nothing here for anyone. But, seeing as you're going to trespass and threaten me, I think I'd like to see what I'm up against."

In a quick movement, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, never leaving his crouch, and vanished.

Turning her trick against her, he reappeared behind her, his bare feet silent on the chapel roof as he sunk into position, still crouching. She'd barely moved, registering what he'd done, and he launched from his crouch before she had time to guess he'd done exactly as she had. Forcefully, he threw his hands against the back of her cuirass and shoved her toward the edge of the roof.

Of course. Of course. The moment he disappeared, Kire cursed, already about to turn, but she was a fraction too late. She felt the almighty shove on her back and lost balance, tumbling off the roof. Halfway down, she disappeared in a blue flash, reappearing on the ground, panting from the surprise and having to summon the portal at will. It winded her a little, and she’d rather not use it too often in a fight. But he can summon portals too. Is it a portal? She was back in a fighting stance, observing him while weighing her options. He could so easily kill her, with a power like that. Shoving her off the roof seemed like a rather weak attempt. She could Jump to some other spot in the city, out of his sight, and see what she could sniff out until she was found again. But then again, how did he find me here, in this exact spot in the city, so soon after I had just appeared? It had to be more than just his ability to reappear anywhere. And what did he mean by, ‘my kind’?

So, time for a different tactic. “I think I might have something you want,” she called out, lowering her sword but with her other hand touching the hilt of the hunting knife. The way he said ‘intruder’, the way he spoke, proved he had lived here, that he wasn’t just some scavenger who had sought refuge in the ruins after the fact. He had been a citizen here. “Do you want to kill those bastards who did this to the city?” A hint of a smirk tugged at her lips. “I know I would, if I had lived here and seen what had happened. I’d wish death upon them every day. If you don’t take coin, or goods, how about a little revenge?” Already she was weighing her options for whether or not he would say yes. In her pouch was a small gem, seemed to be stained with rust. She had retrieved it in one of Ikegai’s caverns, half-buried in one of his—experiments. Of course that had been ages ago, and it would be harder to get a trace or lead out of it now, but if she could find another like it somewhere within this city, it would lead her to a fresher trail. All I need is time.

He took two steps, craning his neck to peer over the edge long enough to see that shimmer of blue light again, and the woman disappear. Clever. He quickly moved, running sideways along the edge of the building in case she reappeared behind him again. As unwise as it would be to try, he wouldn't hold it against her.
When she reappeared on the ground, he slowed, turning to look down at her from atop of the chapel.

She was panting. He considered what that meant with a soft tilt of his head. Either it had frightened her enough, the fall from the roof, that she was struggling to breathe. But she hardly seemed the type to be bothered by heights. Or, whatever the blue light was, the magic she used, drained her.
Good. That will make this so much more fun. Even though she sunk back into a fighting stance, waiting for another attack, he knew better than to attack right away. She was waiting for it. Swathed in baggy desert clothing, he didn't move, didn't tense, letting her catch no hint to his next move.
Not that he had one. She'd destroyed his weapon, and she had a sword. Safer to stand clear of this bitch for now.

Her taunt piqued his interest enough to hold of on any formation of a plan. Until she spoke her offer. He craned his neck back in a dramatic eyeroll and tucked a hand into the folds of his clothing. "You've just given away your hand." He taunted in return, withdrawing his right hand. He shuffled his fingers, the soft sound of rock on rock resonating across the empty city. He picked one out of his handful with his free hand. "You have no idea what attacked this place. Because if you did, you would know revenge is very much easier said than done." Because he had considered it. Even knowing he wouldn't survive the fight, he'd considered it.

With a flick of an arm, he hurled a small stone down at her. He usually kept them in his pockets to toss at the vultures or coyotes, but maybe if he hit her it would make a pretty little sound. Dent that armour a little more. Teach her not to wake people up and annoy them.

"You have nothing, intruder." He picked another up with his left hand and tossed it. Then a third.

Should’ve known he’s a left-hander. Kire listened, reluctantly admiring the fact that he wasn’t some unthinking brute or lowlife. He was far too clever to just take what she had said at face value. More importantly, however, his words were those of someone who had thought about vengeance before. She flinched, dodging the first stone he hurled at her, expecting some sort of magical attack, but it seemed to be nothing more than that. And surely he didn’t expect her to be hurt by this petty little throw. He threw again, and Kire didn’t bother dodging this time. Ah. He’s just being an insufferable prick. If he wanted a dance, she’d give him a dance.

“If things were easy I wouldn’t be here, bargaining with you. I don’t know what you’ve gone through, you don’t know what I’ve gone through. You don’t know what it is I have or don’t have.” The third pebble bounced off her helmet, and she growled softly. While she could understand his gruffness at some stranger barging into his home, it didn’t make him any less annoying. She sheathed her sword, stood for a moment to appraise him, then broke into a run towards the chapel wall. The Ring shone sapphire, a rush of dragon-strength filling her veins, rushing into her muscles as she raised a fist and drove it into the wall, throwing her whole weight into the blow.

Kire stepped a few paces back, shaking her fist a little, as the wall collapsed, taking some of the roof with it. The punch had scuffed her skin some, but the sting didn’t bother her by now. "You have all the rocks you can throw now," she called out, smirking a bit.

He didn't bother with an answer. He could easily tell she'd been through hell and back plenty of times. No soldier whose armour was that unattractive had just sat on the sidelines sipping ale. Plus, that attitude of hers came straight out of someone who had taken plenty of shit in their life. Which was why it was so rewarding to hear her growl at him.

When she sheathed her sword, he paused, arm poised to throw another rock. What was she up to, now, he wondered. Again, his answer came swiftly as she bolted forward and threw her fist against the chapel. His mistake was assuming it was nothing but a show for intimidation. He hadn't expected the fucking wall to crumble against her fist.
Almost too late, as the roof fell from beneath his feet, he vanished again.

Out of view, he appeared, bracing his back against what was left of a wall of a nearby structure. Long ago, he thought it might have been a shop that sold carved stone figurines for children. He turned his head, peering around the ruin at the armoured figure.

"So I can add 'Desecrater of Holy Structures' to your list of attributes, then?" He called back, finally walking around the wall to face her. Some fifty yards of blood-stained ground separated them. "You intrude. You insult. You vandalize. You're just the perfect guest, aren't you?"

As expected, he used his magic to keep from falling into the rubble, but Kire didn’t pay him mind for now. She stepped into the chapel, its gods and symbols unfamiliar to her, but it was clear that it had been a place of worship. While she hadn’t yet gotten much of a look at the rest of the city, it was apparent that anything left standing was an aberration. She didn’t hold out much hope that it was a significant clue, but the anomaly was enough for her to investigate. She heard him speak to her, but her back was still turned to him, scanning the inside of the temple instead.

She proceeded as if he had already given her express permission. What did they do in here? “Well, ungracious hosts deserve ungracious guests,” she called back, poking her head back out the wall she had knocked down. This place has seen blood. Despite her words, she did feel a little sorry for the display earlier, even if she knew knocking down one more building didn’t matter a whit at this point. “And come now. The gods have abandoned you to your fate. Do you still believe in praying to them? With that attitude?” She knew that last was a tad spiteful, but she couldn’t help herself. She had asked that question of herself too, several times, over the past six months.

“If you’re going to give me more lip, we can do it in here. I have questions.” Not that she expected him to be civil, but she was eager to move on. Kire sighed and went back in, heading to what looked like the altar. As self-important as her prey was, she imagined Ikegai would have liked the view from there, watching whatever desecration he had orchestrated play out in the pews. More blood. Was it all indiscriminate killing? He was a blood mage, after all, and he learned and twisted the art from her family’s sworn enemies, too. She closed her eyes for a moment and touched the bloodstained altar, her lip curling as strong, sharp sensations made her fingertips itch. Ritual. Was he making more dolls? Or taking raw material?

"A bit more warning, next time, darling, and maybe I'd have cleaned up. Put on a pretty smile." He bit back sarcastically, watching her face reappear. His expression darkened noticeably at the comment about the gods. Despite himself, he followed, strolling toward the hole in the wall, though he didn't take a step inside. Instead, he watched her from the otherside of the pile of rubble.

"Their Gods are not mine." He said quietly, his eyes wandering not the bloody alter, but the glass mosaic in the wall behind it that made the large wall resemble a bright sun in the steady sky; the blues, whites, and golds glittered beautifully in the sunlight. When there was sunlight.
He wasn't sure why it bothered him so much that she'd broken into the chapel. Why it set his nerves on edge that she wandered through the long-ago desecrated room, touched the blood-soaked altar. It had been ruined long before she came here, but, for reasons he didn't understand, he blamed her. This wretched woman who walked in like she owned it.

"Get. Out." He said darkly, breathing more heavily than he meant to. He hated that she was touching the altar. Hated that she was stepping on the stains of all the lives lost. Not his Goddess, not anymore, not for decades, but these people had been his. And he'd failed them.

Kire glanced at him sidelong; he was still hostile, but he did follow her in, and he wasn’t chucking rocks at her. He was looking at something else. She turned, her gaze following his, and only then did she pay attention to the beautiful stained glass window. She felt a pang then; it reminded her of her home, the Palace, the stained-glass windows that adorned the throne room. Her little cousins would play in there and admire the way the light danced, casting rainbow colors on the stone floor. He cared for this place. Its people. When he barked at her, she lifted her hands and stepped back, walking away and out towards the open wall. Her back still to him, she murmured something under her breath, a common Amrian prayer. She didn’t believe in its power, not anymore, but it felt like the least she could do to fulfill the requisite rituals of a place like this.

She turned to him, and though her look hadn’t softened, she didn’t draw her sword again. “My condolences,” she said honestly, as hollow as the words may be to him now. She gestured at the chapel. “Do you know why this was spared? I felt the familiar presence of blood magic in here.”

Thank the Gods, she finally listened. His eyes followed her as she held up her hands and left the altar, finding her way back out again. He didn't take his eyes off of her, not trusting that she wouldn't attack the moment she was near enough to do so. With or without that brute strength.

She muttered something in a language he didn't understand, and he blinked. It sounded like a prayer. An odd show of humanity.

"It doesn't matter." He growled. "It's just like everything else, now, isn't it?" His gaze finally left her, looking back inside to the altar that reeked, even from here. The doors hadn't been opened, air hadn't gotten in or out. The whole chapel smelled thickly of rot, blood, and fear.
Whatever she could sense, he wasn't surprised.

"Whatever you're looking for, it's long gone. I am the only thing left here, and I have no desire to help you chase your ex lover across the desert. Clearly, he has moved on. You should try it."

The smells of death wafted towards them; it was too familiar. Kire couldn’t afford to be sentimental, not now. She knew how it was to be trapped in the memories and stay there, paralyzed by tragedy. She did consider leaving then, or perhaps coming back here when her leads have dried up. It wasn’t like this place was going anywhere, and she might even catch him in a better mood. The thought didn’t last.

At his parting shot, her fist darted out, taking advantage of his lapse in attention. “That was the wrong thing to say, little man,” she muttered, searching around for something to bind him with. Not long later, she had tied him up, careful to avoid touching him too much, and sat him upright against the temple wall. She had considered taking off the fabric that hid his face, but the part of her that felt guilty and angry at herself for being unable to control her emotions earlier decided to let him have his anonymity, at least for now. Now what. Do I leave him here? Kire huffed, then turned away, going back into the temple.

She spent the time airing out the chapel, clearing out the rubble, and burying whatever remains she could bury. She had gotten too used to burying the dead. She wished she had brought ale with her, but all she had with her was a waterskin. Now and then she paused to look about for any signs of other desert dwellers, or of Ikegai or whoever had caused this destruction. Nothing. Only the traces of blood magic, that other magic that seemed endemic to this place, and the aura emanating from her ‘prisoner’. Sighing, she returned to where she had left him, started a campfire, and sat with a huff. She unclasped her helmet and slipped it off, wiping the sweat from her brow and ruffling her short, blonde hair that had clung irritatingly against her skin.

He enjoyed the rest. It was the best sleep he'd had in months. Until he stirred. The reek of blood and decay in the air was mingled with something else. Something that, long ago, had been a scent he had enjoyed. That took him back to an underground life filled with laughter, small feet, and purpose.
Hearthfire.
That's what it was. He remembered the meals cooked over it over so many decades, and his stomach growled. She had always been a fantastic cook, the short, explosive immigrant mother. Her dark brown skin, wild hair, and deep black-brown eyes.

Everything else roared back as soon as he remembered her face; the screaming, the fires, the bloodshed, the agony, the giant silhouettes with the gleaming red eyes, and her laughter echoing through the night─

He opened his eyes with a snap and sat upright with a start, eyes wide. Night had fallen in earnest, the city completely black beneath a blanket of loud, glinting stars. It should have been the only light, those jewels in the sky, but she'd made fire. Fire. Holy Gods.

"What are you doing!" He snarled, moving to get up and finding his wrists and ankles bound together. Rope. Where the fuck did she get rope? Growling, he twisted, pointing his feet toward the fire, kicking and dragging his feet against the dry earth to cover the flames. Too slow. In a very undignified hops, he scoot close enough to throw his feet down on the flames, crushing the small embers. searing the bottoms of his bare feet in the process. "Put it out!"

Kire had expected anger or hostility, but not that. She jumped to her feet an grabbed him by the back of his clothes, dragging him back before kicking at the last of the embers, finishing the job. Then again, if he had been so worried about her presence there, the caution was understandable. “You said there was nothing left here,” she said, turning to him, eyes narrowed, her scarred eye almost squinting shut. “Are you afraid whoever they were that attacked your home would come back? Who were they? And why would they? They’ve had their fill here, clearly. And with that magic of yours, you could flee, anyway.” Why would you stay here, though?

She paused to looked around and feel for any disturbances. Nothing yet. Still, she kept her hand on her hilt while bending to pick up her helmet, ready to strap it back on at the first sign of danger, then turned to face him again. “The man I’m looking for, he’s dangerous and greedy. I need to find him before he destroys anything else.”

He rolled back as she pulled him, his legs flexing in vain to keep smothering the fire, only to have her finish the job. He went slack for a moment, breathing, before he lurched himself upright, bending to work at the ropes around his ankles with his hands. "There is nothing left." He snapped angrily. "And yes, I am afraid they'll come back, because they h─"

He froze, having turned his head to leer at her, his eyes landing not on the scarred helmet but a scarred face. Her face. Or at least it once was. This one was no where near as flawless, but beneath the scars and the wear, there she was. Nothing she said met his ears, her voice muffled and garbled as if they were underwater. He swallowed thickly, afraid, his chest aching fiercely.
He could remember the way her lips felt against his own, the ashy smell of her hair, the way her fingers were always cold against his skin, even in the desert heat.

He wasn't sure how long he stared before he shook his head, forgetting everything else, the sound of her laughter echoing in his head, drowning out the screams. "Stay away from me." He said viciously, going back to work at the ropes around his feet. "I don't care what you do or where you go, but stay away from me."

Kire frowned. Something was wrong. Well, more wrong than usual. Something had changed in him the moment his eyes met hers, as if he had seen a living nightmare. “What d’you—look, if you keep doing that, you’ll only hurt yourself.” She was about to consider just cutting him loose and letting him run when the realization sunk in. He was afraid of my face.

“Hey!" She raised her voice to get him to pay attention, her sword drawn for good measure. “Hey. Why are you afraid of me? Just now—why are you afraid of my face?” She bent a little towards him. “Have you seen this face before?”

There was one possibility, and she didn’t like it, not one bit. Dolls. The first time she had seen Ikegai’s dolls, they were misshapen, mangled, poor copies. She pitied these twisted forms. His obsession. Her face. That had to be it. This was her lead, and she wasn’t leaving him alone until she was sure of it.