"No," Calina stood her ground. "You just tried to kill yourself. You can't have anything important to do right now. So instead, we're going to go somewhere we can sit down and you can tell me exactly what the heck is going on here!"

She spoke so loudly that an old man passing by gave them a dirty look. What a pair they must have looked--Nickolai sopping wet and Calina bruised and furious.

Nickolai frowned. Who did she think she was, demanding so much from him? The only ones who had been able to give him orders before were the members of the Council, and even they had gone too far, needed to be punished. He wasn't about to let this girl mock his misery and pick his brain out of sheer curiosity.

When Nickolai didn't move, Calina grabbed his wrist. "Come on." She tugged, but he wouldn't budge.

"You're going to help me," he said most definitely. She was too curious already, he knew. There was no need to appease her. Only to...toy with her resolve a little bit.

"Not until you answer some of my questions." Her jaw was set and her eyes flashed dangerously. "Don't think that just because I'm ignorant I'll follow you blindly." For a brief moment, her gaze flickered down to the river below. "What was that? What was that--thing? It hurt me. Did you tell it to hurt me?"

"Of course not." Nickolai rolled his eyes. What a fool she was--she knew nothing of the darkness that dwelled within the city. "Perhaps," he mused aloud, "...perhaps you can't help me after all. I'll have to find someone who's a little less..." He pretended to search for a word. "...Cowardly." And with that, he brushed her off his arm and began to walk away, grinning to himself. He knew that she would follow.

"Cowardly?" She sounded indignant, and Nickolai was sure that if he turned around he would find her standing exactly where he had left her, hands on her hips and eyes wide. "What makes you think I'm a coward?" she shouted as he continued along the bridge.

As he had predicted, it didn't take long for a pair of hurried footsteps to catch up with him. Breathless, Calina asked her question again. "What makes me a coward?"

Nickolai shrugged nonchalantly. "I need someone who isn't going to have a panic attack every time anything out of the ordinary happens. If you hadn't gathered--" Here he threw her a calculating glance "--mine isn't an ordinary life."

He could almost see the curious hunger in her eyes. "I'm not a coward," she asserted boldly. "I just had a--I sometimes--" She broke off, her voice wavering. "It wasn't my fault. I'm not a coward."

"Oh?"

His apparent disbelief was having the desired effect. Calina was fidgeting as she walked; she could not--or would not--meet his eyes.

"If you want to know anything about what just happened, you're going to have to prove to me that you're able. I can't let you in on any of my secrets if you aren't strong enough to handle them--or if you aren't brave enough to keep them."

She stomped her foot. "Let me prove it to you," she pleaded.

Nickolai was laughing inside. "Come with me."

The world was burning. The air rippled, thick with secrets and rank with hatred. In a ferocious parody of autumn, the trees blazed--flames licked the dusty skies and taunted the world in their dry, crackling whispers. Crumbling, crumbling... The world was built on ash foundations, crashing to the ground in a spectacular display of fluid motion. A flood of fire, swallowing the earth, the trees, the sky...

Isn't it beautiful?

It was the fire that spoke, the fire that reached out and wrapped itself around his heart, burning, burning--

"Max."

And the flames in his chest receded, nothing now but a dull throb.

"Maximillian."

He opened his eyes, tearing himself away from the nightmare. For a moment, the flames still danced before his eyes, imprinted on his retinas.

This is what you will help me to do, my flesh and blood. Look at the beauty that we can create together. Love it--embrace it. It is stronger than the world which it will soon consume. And it is ours. Yours, mine, your brother's...

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the deep growling echo.

"Max, it's me." A cool hand on his forehead brought him back to the present moment. Everything was cold--everything was cold and white and he was shivering. Blinking the spots out of his vision, he was relieved to see a familiar pair of hazel eyes. He hadn't seen those eyes for so long...

Maximillian tried to speak, but his throat was dry and his tongue felt like sandpaper. What came out of his mouth sounded more like a death rattle than a word. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Lydia."

"Hush." Smiling, she stroked his cheek. At first, Max allowed himself to be comforted. But then he saw the tiredness in her eyes, the slight waver to the edge of her smile. Her hair was unkempt, and she wore a dark coat--not hers. And on the side of her face was a bruise--it wouldn't have been so noticeable, but the light here was so cold, so stark. What had she gone through to get here? And yet she still sat with poise, her back straight and her chin held high. They had not beaten her yet.

It was more than he could say for himself.

"I can't stay long, Max. They'll find me." There was a catch in her voice. "I just--had to see you. I've been so worried. What have they done to you?"

He tried to sit up, but immediately his vision blurred around the edges, bathing the sterile white room in a sea of grey. Hands pressed his shoulders back into the feather-soft pillows behind him, and he did not resist. Struggling to breathe, he shivered again. Blankets were tucked beneath his chin. Still, his mind raced with nightmares of fire and ash, and the white room was momentarily replaced by a forest of flames--

"What's beautiful?"

Lydia's cool voice quenched the flames in his mind. Gasping, he greedily gulped the cool air, taking solace in the stale white room. He couldn't even sit up; he had been reduced to nothing here. This was no place for a man.

"You were muttering something, Max. What's so beautiful?"

He grinned wryly, his lips cracking in the attempt. "You are," he wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come. The frizzes in her hair shone like a halo in front of the fluorescent ceiling lights. So instead, he lifted a shaky hand and played for a moment with a wisp of her hair. Her eyes were wet, but at least now she was smiling again. Still, he hated the pity in her eyes. He was supposed to be strong for her, supposed to protect her. What must she think of him? Ashamed, he closed his eyes, trying to regain the composure that he wished he could possess.

There was a noise from somewhere outside--a rattling noise, accompanied by a brisk set of footsteps. Before Max even realized what had happened, his beautiful Lydia was gone, replaced by a pair of freezing cold hands and needles and businesslike voices speaking very quickly, stripping him of his dignity and what little clothing he had been wearing. Max could only catch a few words here and there--

"...stupid bureaucracy..."

"...take a blood sample..."

"...Council hasn't given word..."

"...continue with the treatment..."

More needles. Fire made its way through his veins and into his heart.

Once more, he began to sink into...