George could see a far-off, brooding look on Zander’s face… he was remembering something but had not said anything about it. Knowing that there are private memories that he did not want to share, George didn’t ask. But even after listening to his story, George still did not know where he was or how he arrived there. He wanted to ask Zander but he doubted that the old man would be able to tell him. He gave a sigh and turned back to look at the flames.

Everyone back home should be worried about him by now. But he had no way of letting them know that he was fine. Home… that was such a simple word but the meaning it carried was like a vast ocean. It meant warmth and safety. It meant friendship and bearing burdens together. It meant the end of his nightmares and the beginning of sweet hope. He wanted to say dreams with a certain person but he had promised that he would not. Innocent blue eyes that looked at him and made him think of not so innocent things. He had never thought of anywhere as his home until now. Now, anywhere those blue eyes were would always be his home. Without realizing, his face had softened and his fingers were tracing the silver ‘S’ on his lapel again.

“Who are you missing?” Zander’s words pierced through his thoughts.

George looked up. “A person who gave this wanderer a home.”

“Your anchor then.”

“My home.”

Short, simple but to the point. Zander understood and did not say anything else. Instead, he nodded his head towards the ‘S’ that George had caressed again and again. “Is that their initial?”

“It stands for Sanctuary, where I work.”

“You help the needy?”

“It’s more of a place where those who can enter can find respite.”

“A strange place for one as powerful as you to serve in.”

“I just watch the borders. Like your son and the knights.”

“Then it’s a noble duty.”

“Yes.”

They lapsed into silence again. Zander did not feel awkward at all. It was a familiar feeling, as if he had done it before, with another taciturn person… that’s right, it was his eldest son… a wave of sadness hit him again. What wouldn’t he give to remember his son’s name again...

On the other side of the fire, George didn’t feel uncomfortable with the silence either. Centuries of being alone coupled with working together with normally reserved people meant that George was never much of a talker either. He sat, staring into nothing, his right elbow on his knee while he cradled his cheek. Maybe it was because of the fire or the warmth of his hand, he wasn’t sure. But his scar was slowly getting warm until it actually felt burning, breaking George out of his trance. His scar was throbbing. Enemy attack? He jumped to his feet and started staring around, shocking Zander from his own contemplation.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m just wondering if there’s an enemy nearby.”

“No, the barrier keeps the Schied away. No shadow creature for at least a mile.”

If there was no enemy nearby then why was his scar throbbing? He stilled, afraid to think of that possibility.

“Something the matter?”

George gave himself a pinch on the wrist, hoping it was a dream. It hurt; just like his right cheek. No! No, no, no, no! He picked up the sword that he had placed beside him and ran to the entrance of the barrier.

“George! What’s the matter?” Zander was running to keep up.

“I sense something and I need to check it out.” Please, no. He stepped out of the barrier and all at once the pain he felt intensified. Without stopping, without looking, as if by instinct, he ran in a certain direction. There was no need for magic or tools to show him the way. His master was here and in need of him. He didn’t need any external guide; not when he had an internal compass set to ‘Ciel’ at all times.

Zander could see the look on George’s face and he felt an ache he hadn’t felt in a long time. There was fear, desperation, determination and just a touch of madness. It was like looking into a mirror and reminded Zander of when he had awoken alone in this silent, lonely, broken world that was all new to him. From the time he had seen him fighting the horned wolves, Zander had felt that he resonated with the young, scarred man. This was why he had decided to risk it and leave the map for him to find. If he had not been sure that his son was dark haired like him, he would have wondered if fate was playing a cruel game and letting him see his son without recognizing him. Whatever had spurred him into action now was important to him; this much he could tell.

They ran, George, the stranger in this land, leading the way. Out of the woods, past the castle, towards the ravine on the other side. The scar still burning, the pain inching towards his limit. George gritted his teeth and kept running, sweat running down his forehead and soaking his back. He wasn’t sure if it was from his exertion, the pain or from his fear of what he might find. He saw again and again, in his mind, his other nightmare: Ciel pale and bloody, eyes closed, looking limp and lifeless. He didn’t want to see that again, not in his dreams and especially not in real life. There was a sudden howl of wolves and George had to pull his mind out of the worst and focus on the bad in front of him.

“Not good…”

Tell him something he didn’t know. His sword was drawn and George looked at the pack of wolves that were emerging from the shadows. Not even pausing for a single second, he focussed and channelled his energy into his sword. And when he was almost upon them, he released his attack, a wave of energy cutting through the wolves in front of him, slicing them where they stood. He can’t believe it actually worked. It was his first try, after all. George kept running, jumping over the dead wolves without sparing a glance. They were unimportant. Zander felt his eyelid twitch at the callous, overpowering way the man ahead had broken out of the blockade, as if the wolves were nothing. He sped up, trying to keep up with him, lest he get left behind to the mercy of the wolves. If he could see George’s face now, he would see his one good eye had turned red and there was a glowing flame on his right cheek. But he was still a little too slow and all he saw was a golden head and grey back.

As he ran, the pain was slowly drilling into his mind, bringing back the days of dragon madness. If another dragon appeared, George felt like he would lose it entirely. But he didn’t want to keep his mind on Ciel either. He had never realized how active an imagination he had. Unfortunately, he had seen too many scenes of carnage and destruction; been the cause of most of them too. His brain was seeing an injured Ciel in all too gruesome detail and he kept fearing them to be true. They came to the edge of the ravine and George couldn’t even see where it ended. But he knew that his Ciel was at the bottom. Without even hesitating, he leapt.

“Wait!” however, Zander was too late. He stared, open mouth at the mad man he just met disappear down the edge of the cliff. What caused him to lose all rationale? Had he been possessed? If Zander had seen George’s face then, he might have believed it. Zander had no choice but to find another route down. Undying did not mean that it did not hurt when you crash into the ground from such a height. He hoped the man would be all right.

George wasn’t that crazy as to jump to serious injury. He tried to look for foot and handholds to slow his descent. It was still a mad endeavour and his teeth were clenched while he used his body and the sword to reduce the speed of his fall, gouging the side of the cliff in a long slash. He was thankful that the material was much stronger than the steel of earth and it could put up with the misuse that he was putting it through. He thanked too soon and the metal snapped, causing him to plummet the last sixty or seventy feet into the rocky ground below. George finally had to stop, as when he tried to pick himself up, he fell back to the ground. Tibia, fibula, tarsals; almost all the bones below his knee were shattered or broken. He could see the blood seeping out and staining the ground along with the white bone that pierced through his skin and trousers.

“Dammit!!” he was growing mad with worry and fear and the red in his eye was deeper than before. The stress, pain, anger and abuse he had put his body through had reached a limit and he gave a bloody cough, staining his coat and turning the silver ‘S’ there crimson. He stared at it and began to shiver. It was as if a switch had been hit because George started to glow. It wasn’t the warm golden glow of Ciel’s magic or the cold silver light of Gin’s. No, this was red with black tendrils and looked… evil. The black tendrils, like hands, started to mend George’s bones, pulling them back into place and covering them with renewed sinew, muscle and skin. The shocked internal organs were also repaired but before he was fully healed, he stood up again.

Still covered in that malevolent glow, with a red eye, glowing scar and blood trickling down the side of his lips, he moved on instinct, to where his heart was telling him to. The sounds of ‘tap’ ‘drag’, ‘tap’, ‘drag’ echoed easily in this rocky, empty valley. It wasn’t long before the dragging sounds faded as his leg was restored and the sounds of unsteady footsteps were replaced with wider, stronger strides. But his mad appearance remained and if one did not know better, they would say that he was a Schied, with how frightening he looked.

Soon, he found what he was looking for; a prone figure with white hair, looking so fragile on the rocky ground. There were glowing eyes in the surrounding gloom, all staring at the exposed body, wondering if they should attempt to have this succulent piece of meat. Before they could do anything though, a demon arrived and with slashes of red and black, all the living creatures nearby – save the pure white one that seemed the weakest and most vulnerable – were dead.

The demon stood over that person and stared at him; and slowly, the red and black glow faded, the evil red eye returned to blue and the oppressive aura that had the Schied fleeing in terror disappeared. A bloody, dirty hand reached out but stopped when it seemed to realize how filthy it was. The hand clenched and unclenched, still unsure of whether to touch and sully the clean and pure figure when Ciel gave a frown and opened his eyes. Blue met blue and he gave a small, weak smile and uttered “George…” before fading back to unconsciousness. George finally made up his mind. He gently picked up his sky and clutched him to his bosom and then placing his bloody lips on Ciel’s forehead.

“I’m home,” he whispered.