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[Arthur]

London, UK
The pale light of morning cast watery shadows over the ever–grey buildings of London. The October wind carried a chill that bit at Arthur’s neck, even under his coat. He stubbornly stuffed his free hand into his pocket, trying to work some feeling back into his fingers. It was too early in the year to be this cold, damn it.Arthur strode on, wheeling his travel case in tow as he wound his way through the throngs of people clogging the streets. He stifled a grimace, before navigating to a backstreet with less foot traffic. He was nearly there, maybe a block or two to go until he was at the G8 conference venue.An especially vicious wind picked up, raking through his hair. Goosebumps pricked his skin. He flipped his collar higher over his neck and hugged his coat tighter over his frame. Curse this damn wind, he thought absently.Shadows deepened over the near-empty street as the sun slipped behind a cloud. Arthur was passing a row of parked cars when his eyes snagged on something in a tinted window. Two electric blue eyes met his. A shock traced down Arthur’s spine. He halted. Blinked. Did a double-take—Two familiar green eyes stared back at him. Just his ordinary reflection. Arthur glanced around. There was no one in the car and no one behind him. Yet Arthur felt the tell-tale prickle on his neck that told him he was being watched.Arthur’s brows furrowed momentarily. Trick of the light, that’s all. I’m too tired for this. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with a lazy hand. Arthur shrugged it off, continuing down the backstreet.  It wasn’t long before Arthur arrived outside the meeting venue, a towering structure of stone and brick, all weathered edges and dark wooden window frames. He threw a glance at his watch. 9:48. Still twelve minutes to spare. He had vague hopes that the rest of G8 would be on time, given that the meeting venue also served as the hotel. And yet the cynical bastard inside him was sure someone would find a way to be late.Arthur entered the main lobby. He checked in, depositing his bag before entering the hotel lift. The lift doors had almost slid shut when a leather-gloved hand jammed itself through the crack. The doors reopened with an angry beep.“Didn’t think you could avoid me that easy, did ya?” The booming voice seemed to overwhelm the space inside the tiny lift.Arthur didn’t bother suppressing his sigh. “Hello, Alfred.”Stepping into the lift with a steaming coffee–to–go, Alfred flashed his gleaming teeth. “Aww c’mon! Don’t pretend you didn’t miss me, old man.”Arthur huffed through his nose. “In your dreams.”Alfred either pretended not to hear, or was too busy slurping his coffee as loudly as possible to notice the comment. The lift pinged as the doors slid open. Arthur led the way out to the conference room, Alfred tailing him.Ludwig was already seated at the head of the table, prepping the itinerary for the two-day summit. He offered a polite nod in greeting. Beside him, Feliciano gave a warm wave before going back to doodling cats on the hotel’s tourist brochure. Alfred shot back a friendly salute. Arthur returned their greeting with an incline of his head, before taking his assigned seat. (Unfortunately, right beside Alfred).Next to arrive was Kiku, followed by Yao and Ivan. And lastly Francis (of course). He offered a wink and a conceited smirk as an apology for his tardiness.As the meeting inched on, the discussion devolved and spiralled until the sheer stupidity being shouted across the room was enough to give Arthur a throbbing headache. He slumped forward onto the table, resting his head on the heel of his hand. He willed the cacophony of voices to fade into white noise, letting his mind drift away from it all.All at once the lights flickered, dimming, before spluttering to life again. Arthur frowned. But no one else seemed to care. Francis didn’t even blink while lecturing Alfred on how his chocolate tasted like capybara vomit.The lights stuttered again, crackling in their fixtures, before resuming their fluorescent glow. “Odd,” Arthur mused to himself.“What’s odd?”Matthew had appeared right next to Arthur. (Or more accurately, he’d forgotten that Matthew was right there. Again.) “Oh, the lights. Perhaps the building has a faulty mainframe.”Matthew raised a brow. “What are you on about...?”“The lights just now?” Arthur blinked owlishly.“Arthur, I don’t know what you’re talking about?”“Nevermind. It doesn’t matter.” He waved a hand dismissively. That seemed to satisfy Matthew, at least. But it did little to assuage his own curiosity. Though he tried to put it out of his mind for now.Eventually, Ludwig set everyone back on track after a break or two (or three). Soon enough, he began drafting the discussion report for the U.N. But like clockwork, the conversation derailed, and they all gave up any semblance of productivity.“Alright, I think that’s enough for today.” Ludwig adjourned the meeting, assembling his notes. Feliciano, draped across the tabletop, was instantly on his feet. “Finally! I’m going to go to see what’s fun around here! Who wants to come?”A smirk graced Francis's face. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m going down to the bar to have a little fun myself.”“This place has a bar? Sick!” Alfred beamed. “Wait - what’s the drinking age in Britain?”“It’s 18, you dolt,” The insult oiled off Arthur’s tongue like programming.“Double sick!” Alfred pumped a fist.In turn, Arthur rolled his eyes. “Don’t go thinking you can get all wasted. We do have another meeting tomorrow, you know.”“Dry up, old fart,” Alfred whined. “You’re just going to go hide in your room like a shut–in. Why don’t you come down with some of us, huh?”“You just want to see me get drunk and make a spectacle of myself like last time.” Arthur repressed a grimace at the memory.Francis clicked his tongue. It seemed to be a special skill of his, the ability to make Arthur want to strangle him before he’d uttered a word. “Well,” Francis trilled, “I can’t deny that would be entertaining~”“No thank you,” Arthur bit back, excusing himself from both the table and yet another dead-end meeting.After taking the time to settle into his hotel room, Arthur let himself sink into the plush duvet of the bed. Every meeting he could swear he grew grey hairs. He massaged his temples, nursing the familiar headache that always plagued him in the aftermath. Just one more day to go.The whole thing was like a script, a song and dance for whichever stuffy officials pretended to give a damn. Like déjà vu, they always slipped into the same rhythms, the same roles. It was exhausting. One more day. Arthur watched the last rays of afternoon sun drift throughout the little room, bathing the creamy walls in a dim orange haze. Gradually, the knot of tension in his shoulders began to leak away. He let himself forget the mess of a meeting, the din of voices vying to dominate the conversation. It was silent here. Peaceful.Arthur slid to his feet, reaching out to open the window. A breeze blew over him. He let the chill of it soothe his headache, tainted with London’s smog and smoke though it was. He loosed a weary sigh. And for the first time that day, a contented smile tugged at his lips.  
. . . . .

After a while, Arthur unfurled himself from where he rested atop the bed, book in hand, when frigid shivers ran through him. Arthur became acutely aware of just how cold the room had become. Then he remembered. I left the bloody window open. He nearly face–palmed.Leaving the book on the bed, he approached the window. The sunlight had long since faded, giving way to the deep artificial grey of the London sky. No stars tonight. Far below, a maze of paved and cobble streets snaked away under the mellow glow of the streetlamps. All the way up to the city skyline, hundreds upon thousands of windows spilled homely light into the vastness of the night.The window squealed as Arthur slid it shut, silencing the ambient city noise. As Arthur’s reflection slid into focus, the eyes flashed an unmistakable electric blue. Arthur recoiled from the glass. Not my eyes. Arthur gazed deeply into his reflection daring it to change again, to prove something was really there. It stayed stubbornly ordinary. Yet that brief feeling from this morning was back – that itching sensation of being watched.  It’s my imagination. That’s what a rational person would say, right? I’m tired and I should just forget about it. But try as he might, the image was seared into his mind’s eye. He could not rid it from his mind so easily a second time.Beyond the plane of glass, Arthur glimpsed a distant neighbourhood of lights be consumed by darkness. He frowned, squinting. Another neighbourhood went dark. And another. The tide of night swept over the city and eventually over the hotel itself, plunging the room into darkness. Arthur pursed his lips. It was a blackout. In the whole city, judging by the view.After a moment, a short knock sounded on his door. “Come in,” he called.Kiku stood in the door frame, wielding his phone as a torch. As a fellow shut-in, he’d probably come from his room next door. “Unfortunate to have a blackout tonight, isn’t it?”“Mhm, unusual, isn’t it?” He agreed, “Hold on a tick while I find my phone.” Arthur fumbled through his bag before fishing out his phone and activating the torch.“Do you think they’ll fix it quickly?” Kiku asked.“Hard to say.” Arthur chewed his lip. “The good chunk of London might be out, judging from what I can see outside.”“I’m going to see who else I can find, and when it might be back on.”Arthur trailed Kiku out of the room. “Good plan. We could start at the bar? I don’t know where else we’d start.”“Hai. Let’s check there first,” Kiku nodded, leading the way through the pitch–dark hall. A hurried staff member bustled past, complaining loudly on the phone. Arthur heard a few other hotel guests clattering about in their rooms as they passed.Branching off from the main hotel lobby, the bar was lit by an electric lantern held by the bartender. The only nations in the bar were Arthur and Kiku themselves. Kiku made a noise of consideration. “Where do you think they went?”“Honestly, I’ve got no clue where that lot could’ve wandered off to–”“Iggy! Kiku!” Arthur flinched at the thunderous voice in his ear. He spun towards the sound.Alfred’s eyes crinkled with mirth. “The dark making you jumpy, old man?”“Shut it, sod.”Alfred laughed in that insufferable way of his. “Anyway, we all moved across to the lounge. It’s got a neat fireplace!” He spun, leading the way to a room opposite the bar. Indeed, a small fire pit sat in the middle of the room, bathing Francis and Feliciano in a wash of warm orange hues, where they lounged in a ring of armchairs and sofas around the fire.Francis’s eyes flicked up as they entered. “Ah, you found two more?”“Yep.” Alfred said, curling himself into an armchair by the fire.Arthur remained standing, shifting from foot to foot. “The whole city might be in a blackout, from what I saw. Unusual, to say the least.” Arthur couldn’t help but feel a twinge of self–consciousness. This just had to happen while he was host.Alfred checked his phone, “I tried to google to see if there’s any news, but the wifi’s down too.”“That would make sense if the router has no power.”“Yeah, but I can get any kind of signal whatsoever. Not even hotspot. It’s patchy at best, like there’s interference.”Arthur gave a lukewarm hum as a reply, not sure what to say to that. He turned his face to the fire, crackling softly within its frame of metal and glass. Even in the heat of the fire, Arthur couldn’t shed the chill still lingering from earlier. Perhaps it wasn’t the cold at all.“Ah, so you’re all in here,” Ludwig’s flat voice sounded around the room. Distantly, Arthur heard him fall onto the couch beside Italy, though he didn’t look to see. He rubbed a hand over his cheek in thought. The visions. The lights. The chill. Something – something was wrong here.“I had a word with the staff,” Ludwig explained. “They have no idea when we can get the power up and running again. If any of you need, I do have a spare flashlight.” Arthur vaguely registered Feliciano expressing gratitude, and Alfred making some comment.Arthur's eyes stayed transfixed on the fire, crackling, flickering. He stepped closer, letting the warmth of it wash over him. Yes – something felt wrong here. But it was barely more than a hunch, a tug of intuition, a sensation of wrong that had been slowly worming its way into his gut since this morning.  Probably nothing, he assured himself. I’m just spooking myself by drawing vague connections between coincidences. The words were flimsy, like they might blow over with a strong breath. But for now, they held.“–Oi! Iggy!” Alfred’s blaring voice tore Arthur from his thoughts. “Yeah, I’m talking to you! Glad I finally got your attention.”Arthur straightened, turning to face the other more fully. “I was just thinking, that’s all.”“‘Bout what?”“Don’t you think the situation feels a little…?” Arthur waved his hand in a vague motion. “Strange?” he finished. Alfred’s brows knitted together. “Heh? What do you mean?”“I just mean it feels off, is all.”Alfred nodded sympathetically. “Oh, you mean like a horror movie? I was thinking the same thing! This is the part where the monster comes and kills us all one by one!” Alfred laughed, though Arthur could’ve sworn he caught the jitter of nerves beneath the surface. (Clearly, Alfred watched too much Hollywood.)Arthur rolled his eyes. He was preparing to tune out again when Ludwig addressed him. “When you said the situation felt strange, what did you mean by that?”Arthur met Ludwig’s blue gaze. He’d always had a severe face, coolly pensive. “Oh, just that something doesn’t seem right here. With the electricity, the internet, the, uh…” The windows, he almost said. “Oh, it’s nothing really.”Kiku drew his knees towards himself, leaning back in an armchair. “Though unusual, a blackout is perfectly plausible. Whatever caused it might have interfered with the service towers, I suppose. I’m sure it will be figured out by tomorrow. It’s likely nothing to worry about.” He aimed a look at Alfred.“I’m sure you’re right. It’s nothing,” Arthur agreed quickly. He turned back to the fire, feeling the heat of it flutter over his skin. It grounded him.“You seem agitated tonight, da?” Ivan materialized behind him, and he flinched. Ivan could be deceptively stealthy for someone so large. He also had an annoying penchant for smelling weakness.Arthur stilled his traitorous hands from fidgeting at his sides, smoothing his composure. “I’m fine, thank you.”“Whatever you say.” Ivan grinned in a way that said he didn’t believe a word of it.Arthur huffed as Ivan, and evidently Yao, joined the group conversation. But Arthur wasn’t really listening. He found himself turning back to the fire again and again. The shifting flames were just so – fascinating. The light chased shadows over walls, over faces, jumping and dancing. The fire seemed to breathe, sending a flurry of fresh embers up the chimney with every smoky exhale. There was something about it—The flames shimmered. ‘Hello England.’ Arthur reeled back. “Who said that?” He barked. The others hushed their quiet conversation to look at him curiously.“Who said what, exactly?” Francis asked.“Just now, someone said my name. My other name,” he clarified.Francis lifted a single brow. “Well, I didn’t hear your name.”“But – I could’ve sworn—” Arthur shook his head, blowing out a breath. It had sounded so vivid. If no one in the room had said it—? He side-eyed the fire, burning away inconspicuously.“Are you feeling alright?” Matthew asked quietly. “Maybe you should go rest early?”Arthur sighed, peeling his eyes from the flames “Yes. Perhaps.” He started towards the door, when the room suddenly flooded with light. Arthur squinted against the sudden brightness.“Well, would you look at that,” Alfred drawled. “All that worry, and the lights are back already.” Despite himself, there was a note of disappointment in his words. (Definitely too many Hollywood movies.)Arthur ignored him, heading back towards his room. He was long overdue for a half-decent sleep anyway. 
. . . . .
 Arthur rolled over where he lay in bed. It’s nothing. It’s all in my head. No one else had seen the lights flicker in the meeting. And no one else had heard that voice. He’d probably forget it by morning anyway. But those thoughts did little to quell his restless mind as he tried fruitlessly to get some sleep.No one else seemed to find anything strange. It was just him. Just Arthur. But it wouldn’t be the first time he’d seen something no one else had seen. He was used to it afterall, seeing the impossible, the unbelievable. Could this be something supernatural? It was either that or he had finally lost his marbles.Could it be some wandering spirit? A wayward ghost? It was a possibility, but to jump to that conclusion could be dangerous. That kind of thinking was a remnant of a bygone era. He was now expected to be reasoned and objective. That was the whole point of the Enlightenment, supposedly. The rational explanation was that he was hallucinating, right? That’s what his state-mandated psych would say (most nations had one, these days). And besides, Arthur hadn’t seen a ghost in… decades probably. These things were so much rarer now.“It’s nothing. It’s all in my head,” he repeated aloud, willing it to feel true.Eventually, Arthur had had enough of tossing and turning. He resolved to put up some makeshift wards, though it was probably pointless. Just a few simple incantations, nothing fancy. For peace of mind, he told himself. After that, he dropped off into a light dreamless sleep. 
. . . . .
 Arthur rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The first thing he did after hauling himself out of bed was make himself a cup of tea strong enough to wake the dead. He was going to need it.Then it struck him. His wards were gone.Arthur checked again. He couldn’t sense any trace of the wards he’d put up last night. Was he really that out–of–it last night?  Arthur wanted to believe that was the case. Very few beings alive today could dismantle his wards. He made a mental note to look into it later.The day’s meeting passed as most meetings go. That is to say, it was insufferable in the most banal way. Ivan threatened to make Alfred’s gums bleed. Ludwig shouted. Feliciano fell asleep again. Francis was almost thrown out a window. And Arthur was left with a migraine. At least no one died. Hooray. It ran almost two hours overtime, digging late into the afternoon. Ludwig was cobbling together the final meeting report, which was essentially a three–page explanation of why they’d achieved absolutely nothing. Arthur could tell Ludwig was miffed. Why he still believed these meetings could do anything, Arthur had no clue. “Is there anything anyone wants me to add?” Ludwig asked, rereading the final report on his laptop.A few people made vague, non–committal noises. Feliciano snored. He sighed. “Well, I’m submitting it now,” Ludwig said, keying something on his laptop. He leaned back in his chair, eyes shut and massaging his temples. And for a pause, they all listened peacefully to Feliciano’s soft exhales. No one moved to wake him.Eventually, Alfred moved. “Well, I guess I should get going now. My flight leaves in an hour.”“So soon? Cutting it a bit fine there, with the timing.” Francis said.“Gotta get home quick to prepare for my Halloween party tomorrow night. You’re all coming, right? It’s gonna be awesome! There’ll be fireworks. And a bonfire! Tolys is gonna help me decorate!” Alfred beamed. Everyone seemed to take that as their queue to start filing back to their rooms.In the aftermath of the meeting, Arthur slumped over his bed, letting his posture sag. He didn’t have the energy to pack. It was nearing late afternoon anyway, so he figured he’d just stay the extra night he booked. Most of the others would do the same.Soon enough, the light streaming through his window faded to pale yellow and then to dusky orange. The time for dinner came and went but found he wasn’t hungry, for whatever reason. When it drew late, he figured he may as well try to sleep.At some point, Arthur drifted over to the bathroom. He leant over the sink, giving a passing glance to his reflection in the mirror. He blinked. The face in his reflection changed. Blue eyes peered back.
‘Hello England. That is what they call you now, correct?’
Arthur’s breath hitched. “You’re not real.” Arthur blinked again. This time, the image didn’t vanish. It stayed terrifyingly, tangibly real. That unsettling feeling was back in full force, churning and twisting in his gut. Whatever this was, this was no ghost. Wrong. This is wrong.The reflection canted its head, a little pout forming on his lips. It bore his likeness, in his unruly hair, his gracile structure, to an uncanny degree. Yet somehow he differed in all the unidentifiable details that made a person. It was Arthur, but not. A warped reflection.“It was you,” Arthur breathed. “You called me by my other name. Why?”A wicked grin curled across the thing’s face. ‘Oh, but I just had to make sure I’d found the right one, of course!’ His lips didn’t move to form words, as if the words were being planted directly into Arthur’s mind. ‘Afterall, it has been a long, long time. Hasn’t it, Albion?’Before Arthur’s mind could begin to swallow that, it disappeared. It was just his own face in the mirror again, wide–eyed and gaping at nothing.Arthur had never seen anything like – that. He didn’t sense anything akin to human spell craft or fae trickery. At least, not any that he’d encountered. This was different. It unnerved him. That face that was his in so many ways, yet so not.Arthur took a moment to find his breath again. He shambled from the bathroom, out the door of the hotel room. He needed room to think, but the chafing feeling of being watched as back. He needed space. He needed air.He threw glances over his shoulder. Was he losing his mind? How else could this make sense? They’d always said he was mad, a few screws loose upstairs. A rasping laugh escaped his lips.A hand fell on his shoulder, a soft voice beside him. “Hey, are you alright?” Arthur became aware of Matthew standing beside him in the hall.“Fine. I’m fine.” Arthur cringed slightly at his own unchecked tone.Matthew released his shoulder, backing off. “You look pale.”“I always look pale,” he retorted.Matthew shook his head, an exasperated gesture. “You know what I mean.”“I’m fine. Just dandy.” He attempted to laugh to break the tension. It came out awkward in all the wrong ways. He wondered how Alfred did it so effortlessly. “Really, I just need some fresh air. I’m going out.”Arthur left before Matthew could reply, glancing back briefly before descending the stairs. Matthew was looking at him oddly, some mixed expression Arthur didn’t try to decipher. He took the stairs two at a time. Would it follow him? Was it still watching? Arthur bit down hard on his lip. Shut up, you sound more paranoid.He dashed through the lobby and out onto the footpath beyond. His legs were jittery. He didn’t want to stand still. He picked a direction, any direction, and just walked wherever his feet led him. 
. . . . .

[Matthew]
 Matthew watched wordlessly as Arthur disappeared down the stairs. There had been a note of something unfamiliar in Arthur’s voice.Arthur was supposed to be solid, a steady, dependable presence. It was disturbing almost, to see him thrown off balance. Now that Matthew thought about it, Arthur had been acting strange last night, too. It was enough to give Matthew pause.  And soon enough, Matthew found himself knocking on Francis’s door. “Salut, c’est Mattieu.”“Ah! Come in, mon cher.” Matthew entered to find Francis lounging on his bed, clicking away on a laptop. “What brings you here, mon fils?”“Um, I was just thinking…” Matthew started, unsure how to proceed. “Have you noticed anything off about Arthur, recently?”Francis lifted his gaze from his laptop. “Arthur has always been a peculiar one, non? How do you mean?”Matthew rubbed his elbow absently. “Oh, he just seemed a little jumpy yesterday, don’t you think? A little zoned out, maybe.”“Mhm, I suppose? Now that you mention it. But I’ve seen him like that plenty of times before. Less so, in these times. I’m sure it’s nothing. He can get himself uppity over the most curious of things.” Francis’s gaze turned distant. He laughed softly at nothing in particular.“You’re probably right,” Matthew conceded after a pause.“You don’t sound very sure of that, mon cher.” Francis closed his laptop, putting it aside. He patted a space on the bed beside himself. “This is really troubling you?”Matthew took his invitation to sit, sidling closer to Francis. “Yesterday, in the meeting, he said it was odd the lights were flickering. Even though they weren’t. And in the blackout, he wouldn’t stop staring into that fireplace and he said... I don’t remember actually, but he had this odd expression – I don’t know.” Matthew trailed off, waiting until Francis motioned for him to continue. “And just now, he rushed past me. He was muttering something. He looked… sick?”Francis quirked a lip, considering. “He seemed enough like his usual grouchy self in the meeting today.”“That’s true,” Matthew agreed.“I wouldn’t worry about it, mon cher. Let Arthur sort out whatever it is he’s got going on inside his head.” Francis smiled warmly.Matthew nodded, doing his best to return that warmth in kind. “Yeah, ok.” 
. . . . .

[Arthur]
 The waning sun had long since set over London. The night air was heavy and damp under a blanket of clouds. The threat of rain hung in the air. No stars tonight again, Arthur noted.He paced the streets, conscious not to stray too far from the hotel. He would go back soon. He did have to get his bag – he was just hesitating.As the night drawled on, the streets became a little sparser. A little stiller. Though the presence of people was never more than a glance away. Arthur found himself lingering on the cobbles outside the hotel. He was being silly, he knew. Irrational. Things aren’t supposed to appear in mirrors. Superstitions were nothing more than flagrant imagination. Arthur should’ve been above that now.When tiny droplets finally started falling onto his eyelashes, forcing him to shield his eyes, Arthur decided it was time to go back in. The hotel lobby was devoid of activity and dimly lit. Arthur started for the stairs, when a hand fell on his shoulder.“Bit late for a stroll, isn’t it?”Arthur jumped, whipping his head around. Just Francis. “Bloody hell, don’t just sneak up on people. What do you want?”Francis tutted. “Awfully jumpy tonight, aren’t we?” He chuckled wryly. “That, or you’re up to something.”Arthur crossed his arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”“Don’t play coy with me. I can read you like a book.” Francis’s gaze was challenging, and Arthur met him look-for-look. Francis glanced pointedly at Arthur’s hands, “You’re fidgeting right now, do you realise that?”Damn fingers, treasonous things. Arthur stuffed them in his coat pockets. Francis knew he’d scored a point. Instead of answering, Arthur asked, “Matthew talked to you, didn’t he?”“Oui. He did,” Francis admitted.“He always was an observant one when it came to people, wasn’t he?” Arthur mused.“Oui. Now stop changing the subject.” Francis looked at him expectantly.Arthur levelled him with a cool glare. Like hell he would tell Francis, of all people. What would he even say? ‘Oh, I’m just hallucinating, and I feel like I’m being watched.’ Arthur sounded like he belonged in an asylum. Instead, he settled on something much more diplomatic. “It’s none of your sodding business, frog.” He turned his back to Francis, ready to leave.“You’re worrying Matthieu,” Francis said quietly, “I would think that makes it my business.”Arthur stopped. Francis could tug all Arthur’s strings, and he bloody well knew it. “Then I’ll talk to Matthew about it.”Behind him, Arthur heard a huff. “Fine.” 
. . . . .
 Passing Matthew’s door on the way back to his room, Arthur paused. But it was late by now. Arthur would talk to Matthew tomorrow. Maybe apologize for his behaviour earlier. Tomorrow. Not tonight.Arthur approached his own door. His hand rested on the handle a little longer than it should’ve, before nudging the door open. He’d left the lights on. The room was exactly as he left it, his bed creased and his bag heaped beside the armchair. It was devoid of any other presence. Perfectly boring.The window was open again, letting in the damp air and the spray of rain onto the curtains. The rain from earlier had quickly brewed into a storm. Thunder rumbled. Arthur stepped over to pick up his bag, packing his items without any real thought. He supposed he would catch a cab to his London flat early tomorrow.Lightning flashed outside, close enough to cast light into the room. The air turned charged. Arthur blinked. The Lightning flashed again. Thunder boomed. The overhead light burst in a shower of sparks, plunging the room into darkness. Arthur let his bag fall from his grip. The hairs on his nape were standing on end again, that uncomfortable prickle of being watched.Arthur sucked in a breath. He could not see in the swelling darkness of his room, but he knew something was here, watching. That sensation was back, that horrid feeling of utter and visceral wrongness. Whatever it was might’ve been all inside his head, but right now he didn’t care – it felt real enough.Arthur straightened. He took a steady step away from the shadows, retreating towards the window. The only illumination came from the ambient city lighting, providing a small circle of light around the open window. He took another step backing toward the window. Then another. And another.Nothing stirred in the dimness. There were no noises, no voices, but for the pattering of rain and the roiling of distant thunder. Was it even here?He retreated until he could feel the spray of the storm on his neck.Lightning flashed. Blinding white rend the sky and split the room. A face in the flash. A smile. Arthur staggered back—Then the air was whipping through his hair. He was falling.He hit something solid far below. The air was pulled from his lungs. The surface beneath him tipped, tossing him onto the rain–slick floor. Something glass clanked. Arthur blinked. The city lights blurred. Then it all went dark.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

[Arthur]

Arthur’s whole body felt like one massive cramp. He could make out voices, though they were muffled by the waves of pain sloshing through his skull. His eyelids fluttered open. Sudden light blared into his eyes. Too bright. He winced. Closing his eyes again, he slipped back into the comforting senselessness of darkness. “He looks like he’s frowning. He’s waking up!” A voice rang above Arthur.“I think that’s just his face, Feli,” another voice said flatly.Arthur tried to move his throbbing head. The dull pain turned sharp. A quiet groan escaped his lips.“I told you so! We woke him up.”Arthur pried his eyes open, slowly, painstakingly. He blinked, trying to push the world into focus. The sky was clear and bright above him. Two faces swam into view. “W… What… going?” he rasped. Feliciano knelt over him, wearing a look of unreserved concern. Ludwig maintained his distance, standing behind Feliciano with a troubled expression.Arthur struggled to push himself up, wincing as he peeled his head from the cold tile floor. Arthur bit down hard on his lip, lest any more pathetic noises escape his mouth. Feliciano helped ease him into a sitting position against a line of balcony railings. His neck and spine popped as he pulled himself straight. Arthur stubbornly avoided their eyes.“You look like you got pretty wasted last night, huh?” Feliciano tried for a light chuckle, before trailing off. It was then that Arthur catalogued the unturned table, the scattered beer bottles, brought up from the hotel bar. God, Arthur thought, I look pathetic.  “I have some aspirin if you need it. I mostly keep it for–” Ludwig swallowed his words. “To help with hangovers,” he suggested, trying to break the awkward silence. If Arthur dared to guess, the glazed look in Ludwig’s eyes probably alluded to a certain brother of his.Arthur grasped the railing, hauling himself to his feet. He didn’t need any bloody aspirin. He wasn’t bloody drunk. “I’ll be fine, thank you,” he said, with all the prim postering he could muster. He resented how his voice croaked.He took a shaky step, gauging his balance. He took another, towards the glass door into the upper refectory. He was acutely aware of their gazes, assessing on his stiff movements as he padded to the door. Neither made a move to stop him. Neither spoke until he rested his hand on the doorhandle, about to push.“Um-,” Feliciano started, “Your head is bleeding.”Arthur gently prodded the back of his head. When he drew his hand back, it was tipped with gooey red. “Well,” he said dryly, “I suppose that explains the headache.” He didn’t spare a glance over his shoulder as he entered the refectory and made for the stairs.Great. Now they think I got so pissed I split my own head. Though that wasn’t much worse than telling them he fell out of his window because some lightning spooked him. A fought a grimace. How many floors did he fall? Three maybe? The table probably broke his impact significantly.Arthur considered having a shower to wash away the blood, but eventually concluded that he didn’t give a fuck. He just wanted to leave this damn place. He fetched his bag, hauling himself downstairs and checking out of the hotel. Soon enough, he was in a cab to his flat on the other side of London. There, he finally showered and changed, before rushing off to catch his flight to the US.He hadn’t expected to wake up so late, but then again, he hadn’t expected whatever–the–blood–hell was going on yesterday. He didn’t know what to make of it. But after falling out the window and getting a painfully real injury, Arthur wasn’t so ready to shrug this off as his imagination anymore. Real or not, he needed answers.On his flight to the US, he had more than enough time to mull it over. It seemed whatever it was, this entity with the blue eyes and the hungry grin, it was hunting him. It had followed him to the conference hall, to his hotel room. The only explanation that made a lick of sense was that this might be something… otherworldly. As much as that explanation rackled.Though Arthur bemoaned the very thought of it, the best place to start would be to talk to his brothers. If chance was on his side, they might know something useful. And besides that, they were probably the only people who might take him seriously. 
. . . . .

Virginia, USA
 By the time Arthur landed in the US, the day was edging into late afternoon. Alfred’s annual Halloween bash would soon be kicking into gear. After checking into a new hotel and changing in costume, he caught a cab to Alfred’s Virginia house. This year, Arthur had cobbled together a Doctor Who getup. It was a bit early to go, though Arthur figured he might as well, if only to make sure Alfred didn’t pull anything this year. (And frankly, he had nothing better to do until it started.) Arthur didn’t think he could bear any more sitting around, stewing in his thoughts. All questions, no answers.Alfred’s Virginia country home was nestled in the crook of a valley of red maples and poplars. The towering autumn trees burst with scarlet and ochre, washed gold in the evening sun. A sliver of moon peeked out from the tree line. The house itself was an old homely style, the panelling a deep green.As Arthur trod up the path, he spied mini-carved Jack–o’–lanterns with cartoonish faces hiding amongst the undergrowth. Paper banners were strung between the trees, sporting silhouettes of various ghosts and ghouls.As Arthur stepped on a patch of freshly turned earth, a robotic voice shouted, “Boo!” Arthur jolted, glancing around. A plastic skeleton was propped up against a nearby tree. Arthur took a small step closer. “Mwahahaha!” It laughed brazenly. It was probably pressure-activated then. Arthur snorted, resuming his path and resenting the fact that it’d made him jump. Clever gadgetry. Still tacky though.The thought crossed Arthur’s mind that his brothers might be here early to help set up. They did harbour a soft spot for Halloween.“Oi! Iggy! You showed up.” Alfred waved aggressively from where he was arranging candied spiders’ eyes at the snack table, proudly donning a walking-dead zombie look.“You’re surprised?” Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Anyway, have you seen– ”Alfred cut him off. “Since you are here, can you help out in the shed? I sent Gil to help Magnus with the lights, but that was, like, twenty minutes ago.” Alfred turned to dish out paper plates, clearly preoccupied.Arthur sighed through his nose, flapping a hand through the air. “Sure. I’d love to.” Despite his dry tone, he started off towards the shed behind the house. He wasn’t going to pry anything useful out of Alfred, anyway.“Thanks! By the way, nice librarian get-up, bro!” Alfred angled the remark over his shoulder before Arthur rounded the corner.Arthur couldn’t decide if Alfred was being deliberately obtuse or just an idiot. It was a fine line with him. “Nice rotting carcass look yourself,” he mused. Arthur wasn’t sure the comment had been heard, but catch Alfred snort in amusement before he disappeared from Arthur’s field of view.Clusters of flowering grasses and wild berry bushes dotted the path. As Arthur approached the shed, a clattering crash echoed from within. Flinging open the corrugated-steel door, he grimaced the mess of toppled boxes.  His eyes fell on Magnus, swimming in the debris. He was tangled hopelessly in a string of mini-reindeer lights and faux-cobwebbing. Gilbert, in a Dnd-esque knight getup, was perched on the only tower of boxes left standing, filming Magnus’s dramatic flailing. He snickered wickedly.Arthur pressed a hand to his nose bridge. “You’re both hopeless.”“Lighten up, you wet blanket.” Gilbert laughed, jumping off the box. “You should’ve seen us ten minutes ago when we first found Alfred’s old costume box. It was glorious.”Magnus had evidently wiggled himself free enough to stand, even if synthetic cobweb fluff still hugged his clothes. He spun a glitzy Barbie bike helmet on his finger. “Check it out! I have no idea where he got all this junk!”Arthur was so not going to waste his time with these two. “Have either of you seen any of my brothers?”“Nope,” Gilbert replied.Magnus shrugged, shucking some cobwebbing loose. “Emrys was in the kitchen, last time I checked.” Arthur inclined his head in a quick thanks before turning tail towards the house.Entering through the backdoor, his ears caught the familiar wispy tones of another brother of his. He followed it to the kitchen. “I just think it was cooler in the old days. No one even leaves out candles anymore. It’s all pumpkins, zombies, bats, ya’ know?” Seamus leant over the kitchen bench, swirling a cup of something fizzing and orange. On the other side of the bench, Emrys was busy partitioning soft drink into jugs. “Seriously, what’s the deal with bats?” Seamus continued, “They’re cute– Oh, it’s you.” Seamus’s expression turned appropriately sour when his eyes fell on Arthur.Emrys waved a polite greeting, before moving to the cooler to fish out some ice, evidently occupied. And just like that, Arthur found himself hesitating in the doorframe. His story - it sounded silly. Trivial.  Should he really trouble them with it?“What’re you looking at?” Seamus groused. (He didn’t do it as well as Allistor, that indifferent standoffishness, but he managed it well enough when Arthur was the target.)Arthur realised he’d been staring. “Nothing,” he replied, “I just needed some more plates for out front.” A paltry excuse. He nabbed a stack from the edge of the bench and carried them through to the front hall. He cursed at himself softly. Was he going to tell them or not? Why’d he hesitate? Arthur exited the front door and laid the plates on the snack table where Alfred was working. And just like that he’d come full circle, having achieved a great lot of nothing.“Oh, you’re back!” Alfred sprung up beside his shoulder. “How’re the lights coming?”“Oh.” That had conveniently slipped Arthur’s mind. “I’m sure Magnus and Gilbert have it handled.” (They most certainly did not.)“Great. I think everything’s nearly all set.” Alfred cast his gaze towards the sun, hanging low over the horizon. The shadow line of the sinking sun was creeping through the forests and fields, pulling with it the cover of night. Alfred sighed with a gentleness Arthur rarely heard from him.  “You excited?”He didn’t answer right away, shoving his hands in his pockets mutely. His eyes followed Alfred’s to the far horizon. He hummed blandly.   Alfred snuck a glance at him. “Ya’ know, I’m surprised you showed this year.”Arthur maintained a neutral expression. “Why so?”“Well, Matthew did mention you were ill or something.” He waved a hand vaguely. “And then something about Feliciano saying you got absolutely trashed last night. Hah. Besides– ehh, nevermind.”Arthur bristled. Rumours spread faster than flights to the US, apparently. “Besides what?”Alfred chuckled, readjusting his glasses in a purposeful motion. “Oh, after the infamous slime incident last year, I just wasn’t sure. And ya’ know… You usually hide in your basement or something antisocial.”Arthur’s eyes flashed, daring him to continue. And Alfred laughed, feigning lightness. “I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant – um, you know what I mean!” Alfred flailed his arms as if his nonsensical movements could somehow induce understanding. Arthur just glowered. “Don’t look at me like that, dude! I’m just saying you’re kind of… uh - unforthcoming? Is that a word?”Arthur rolled his eyes. “And I’m starting to regret my decision not to ‘hide in my basement’ right about now.”Alfred blinked, adding testily, “Kinda proving my point there, bro.”Arthur’s nostrils flared. “Why do I even bother?” He pivoted on his heel and stalked back towards the house, smothering the conversation before it could go anywhere else. In his wake, the front door shut with a little more force than he’d intended.He was hovering in the hall, debating going back to the kitchen to try to talk to his Seamus and Emrys again, when a knock sounded on the door behind him. If it’s Alfred, I swear–“Oh hello, Arthur.” Timo stood in the doorway, cardboard box in hand.“Oh, Hello,” Arthur stepped aside, holding the door ajar. “Come in.”“Thank you.” Timo smiled as he crossed the threshold. He headed towards the kitchen. There were more voices ringing from the kitchen now. It seemed Magnus and Gilbert survived their escapades in the shed.Arthur sighed in defeat. If he wanted to discuss it, he’d just have to find a moment alone with his brothers later. But it could wait. After all, nothing had happened yet today. There was no urgency, right? 
. . . . .
 The fields around the house echoed with amicable chatter and the merriment of party games as more and more people arrived. People flowed between the outdoor snacks, the house, and the garden. Gradually, stars pricked the veil of night.Arthur was loitering on the front porch doing nothing particularly entertaining, when he spied Allistor hanging by the snack bar, laughing unceremoniously with Francis. Then the front door opened behind him. It was Seamus and Emrys who exited. This was his chance.Arthur intercepted the two before they had a chance to leave. Before he could talk himself out of it again. “I need to speak with you about something.” His voice was firm.“Aight, and what about?” Seamus asked.“Just come,” Arthur pressed. “It’s something I need to talk to the three of you about.”Seamus shared a half-lidded look with Emrys, before relenting. “Fine, fine. But let’s make it quick. We were about to crack open the good stuff.”Arthur led the way down to where Allistor was currently sipping a mysterious purple drink, now conveniently alone. “Allistor. I need to talk to all of you, privately.”Allistor arched a curious brow, looking to the two trailing behind him. Emrys shot him a shrug. Allistor gulped down the remainder of his drink, discarding the cup. “Aight. Let’s go then.”Unsurprisingly, there weren’t many opportunities for privacy at a raging party. Then ended up out back, by the shed. It seemed as good a place as any. Arthur ushered the others inside. Glancing around to make sure they were truly alone, he slipped the door closed behind them.“Alright, so what’s all this about then?” Allistor nudged a biker’s jacket with his foot to clear a path for himself. He settled back on an open crate, crossing his arms.Arthur paused. His mind grappled for the right words. The image of it flashed through his mind. A phantom twist in his gut. A shiver down his spine. It renewed his conviction. This was real. This was a threat. “…I’m being followed, I think.”Seamus scoffed, bemusedly, from his seat on a toppled box. “Call the police or something? Don’t ye have yer fancy spy agencies for things like this?”“No, it’s not that kind of issue. It’s… something supernatural.” Arthur sensed, more than saw, when they all stiffened, as if the air now hummed with a sudden weight. Emrys canted his head to the side, a wordless invitation to go on. “It started two days ago at the G8 summit. I’ve felt him watching me, at times.” At the sceptical looks he was receiving, Arthur quickly added, “I’ve seen a face, a couple of times, twice in a window reflection, once in a mirror. He looked like me, but different–”“So, let me get this straight-” Seamus looked like he was fighting amusement. “You think you have a doppelganger haunting you in the mirror now? Do you hear yourself?”Arthur glared. “It’s not like that,” he grit out.“Then what is it?”“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Arthur didn’t hiss back, though it was a near thing. He could feel his defences kicking in. “If you’ll let me finish explaining, that is-”  “What if it’s a vengeful ghost from yer past, come back to spook you on Halloween!” Seamus wiggled his fingers playfully. “So, who’ve ye murdered who ‘looks like ye, but different?’”Arthur found himself rolling his eyes, though a part of him had seen this coming. “It’s not a ghost. I think.” Ghosts came in infinite variations. But Arthur knew the presence of a ghost. It was a gaping hole, a husk which had cannibalised whatever thing within it was supposed to cradle life. Its presence was weak, tethered only by the echoes of yearning for some missing piece or something left behind. And that did not feel like this. “Besides,” he said at last, “What kind of ghost would have my face?”Emrys pressed his palm to his chin, eyes pensive. “What exactly do you mean by that?” He leaned against the far wall, legs crossed.“I didn’t exactly get a good look, but he struck me as looking like my normal reflection at first. But the eyes, they were blue.” Arthur still remembered the way they had stared him down, blown wide with something Arthur couldn’t grasp. If he tried, he could see it still, the image clear as day behind his eyelids. That smile, a warped thing. “It was me but - twisted.”“Could be a demon who stole yer face?” Allistor suggested. “Got any enemies who’d set a demon after ye? Or did ye try something ye shouldn’t’ve–?”“You know I don’t do that kind of thing anymore,” Arthur snapped. (It was true – he hadn’t touched that in centuries. And he wouldn’t – never again.) “But, I do suppose it could be a demon.”Seamus hummed in consideration, his earlier amusement ebbing away. “This sounds like some kind of unseelie prank. Could be trying to unnerve ye for sport or somethin'.”“That is possible,” Arthur conceded, “But there’s more. At the hotel, I set up some rudimentary wards, just in case. In the morning, they were dismantled. Not a trace. At first, I dismissed it, thinking I might’ve set them up incorrectly. But now, I’m not sure.”Silence reigned as they digested the information. Eventually, Allistor said, “There’s not many who could take down yer wards. That sounds like the mark of a trained wielder, though I don’t know how many are left. And that doesn’t explain whatever’s following ye.”“So, in summary, we all have no idea what’s going on?” Seamus huffed. “Great.”“And also…” Arthur started. Their gazes all flicked back to him. “He spoke to me. He knew my name.” (When did it become a ‘he’ and not an ‘it,’ Arthur wondered.) “He called me Albion.”Silence reigned anew, deeper and more thoroughly. No one spoke for a long moment, until Emrys offered a half-hearted comment. “That’s pretty weird.”Looking between each of their faces, Arthur felt something inside him droop. His brothers were just as clueless as he was. No unexpected, but still disappointing. Arthur sighed. “I suppose I’ll set up some proper wards at home, see if the same thing happens.”Seamus nodded. “Yeah, it’ll probably stop bothering you after Samhain passes anyway. Might get bored and go home, who knows?” Seamus shrugged. “It doesn’t sound like a big deal, honestly. It’s not like it’s hurt you, right? Or even touched you?”“Mhm, I suppose not…” It technically hadn’t harmed him yet. He fell out of the window all on his own. (Which he was not going to mention.) Had it shown overt hostile intent, or did Arthur just infer that? Maybe the thing just wanted to spook him afterall.Seamus stepped backwards, already edging towards the shed door. “In that case, fussing won’t do anyone any good, so I say let’s all go back and get a drink, aye?” Seamus grinned as he shoved open the door. “We’ve been locked in this shed long enough.” He stepped out into the night, following the sounds of talk and laughter carried on the wind.Allistor followed Seamus out of the shed without a backwards glance. “Aye, here’s to that!”Arthur wasn’t about to protest. After all, they were right. It certainly didn’t seem like a pressing issue anymore. Yet, every time Arthur pictured that face in the mirror, shudders run down his spine. But that’s all it was. A feeling, a murky sensation accompanied by sweaty palms. And Arthur wasn’t about to make a fool of himself based on some feeling. He’d just have to do what he always did with undesired feelings: bury it mercilessly.“You coming?” Emrys asked over his shoulder as he lingered in the doorway.“Mhm? Yes, of course.” Arthur shook himself from his thoughts, allowing himself to follow the others back to the heart of the party. 
. . . .

[Alfred]
 The night deepened. In the middle of the yard, an assortment of sticks, logs and branches were heaped in a pyre, waiting to be sparked.Alfred balanced a crate on his hip, filled to the brim with bags of marshmallows. He tossed them around, his face alight with a boyish grin. This was always his favourite part. People were milling about in costume, smiling, and spearing marshmallows on sticks. He saw Felix and Elizabeta sparring with theirs. Antonio was catching marshmallows in his mouth (probably in front of Lovino).Briefly, Alfred spied Arthur lurking in the shadow of the crowd. He leant against the old oak, his arms crossed. He was conversing with someone Alfred couldn’t quite see before the window in the crowd closed over. Maybe this year will finally be the day I force-feed him a s’more, he mused.After handing out the last of the marshmallows, Alfred placed the crate face down a little way from the pyre. He leapt onto the crate, cupping his hands by his mouth. “Hey, everybody!” A few people turned their heads.“Hey! Everybody!” He boomed. The chattering hushed. “Thanks! I just wanted to say a few words before we set this baby on fire!” He gestured to the pile behind him. Someone cheered. “Heh, I’ll keep it short for you pyromaniacs. Firstly, thanks for coming guys. And thanks to all the dudes who helped set this all up!” He spared a glance at a small crew to the side. Among them, Magnus and Gilbert stood at the ready with tanks of gasoline. “And please don’t ruin my property value this year. We keep the fire in the fire.” (He was only half-joking with that one.)Alfred gave the signal for the crew to start dousing the wood in gasoline. He drew a box of matches from his pocket. “Now, let’s burn this thing!” A round of cheers arose. Someone whistled. He struck a match, dropping it onto the pile. The gasoline exploded into flame, catching the kindling stuffed between the logs. The heat grew, and Alfred jumped off the crate to join the crowd. The flames quickly swallowed the whole pile.Alfred stared in rapt awe, backing away as the fire consumed the pyre. Others close by were also retreating a little as the heat seared through the chilly night. The noise of friendly chatter, of easy laughter, grew again as people peeled into groups. Everything was going so well this year, dare he think it. (Fingers crossed he wouldn’t wake up tomorrow with no memories and 26 missed calls from various feds).Looking out of the ebbs and flows of people around him, Alfred couldn’t help but beam. This, he thought, This is the real magic of Halloween. He knew certain older nations disapproved of the way he handled the holiday. ‘Tacky’ they called it. ‘Shallow.’ He knew that when they gazed upon the electric skeletons and the fluoro lights from Walmart, that all they saw was a commercialised corruption of something old and sacred.But that wasn’t what Alfred saw. So rarely did they get to hang out as just… people. Friends, even. No government officials weighing their movements, no push and pull of power-ploys and politicking. Even family became simpler, or so he hoped.Tonight, they didn’t have to be themselves. Didn’t have to be whatever it was that beings as esoteric as ‘nations’ were supposed to be. The crowd was a riot of colour in their costumes, with outlandish frills and fringes, capes and caps. Tonight, they got to be whoever, whatever. And that was Alfred’s favourite sort of freedom. That was the real reason he loved Halloween.The night was still decently young, and the air still full of energy. But soon enough, someone would crack into the alcohol, Alfred mused. So, who knew how long the mood would last?

. . . . .

[Arthur]
 Arthur leant against the side of the house, arms interlaced over his chest. He lingered behind the crowd, waiting for the bonfire to be set alight. Soon, the last of the nations were filing in, mingling in a semi-circle around the gathered pile of kindling and wood. Maybe he should go strike up a conversation, but it all seemed like so much needless effort.Arthur swirled his still–full cup of sparkling punch, staring intently into the liquid, and perhaps wishing it were something stronger. A reflection of the moon, now a sliver high in the night, rippled across the surface.“Are you going to drink that, or just stare at it?” Arthur was pulled from his private musings by Emrys’s voice. He was suddenly beside Arthur, his turquoise eyes probing, not unkindly, but still calculating in his own sort of way.“It’s just a poor punch, is all,” Arthur muttered, silently hoping Emrys would disappear as suddenly as he appeared. He really wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Or big talk, for that matter. “You’re really bothered by this, aren’t you?” Emrys said, voice low and gentle. Arthur kept his eyes solely on his drink in hand, not deigning a verbal response.“Hey! Everybody!” Alfred’s voice boomed over the crowd. Arthur was glad for an excuse to end the conversation before it even started. He registered Alfred shouting something else, but he wasn’t really listening. The light of the sudden blaze encompassed the whole yard, casting an orange–gold sheen through the air, and sending flickering shadows along the ground. Alfred had lit the bonfire, evidently.As Arthur’s eyes roved upwards, he saw the electric pumpkin lanterns strung between the trees fall dim. He blinked. They flickered back to light. Arthur stopped leaning on the house, his brows inching together. The lanterns went out completely, all across the yard, leaving only the shimmering firelight to illuminate faces. No one reacted. No one seemed to care.It was déjà vu. Arthur’s muscles tensed. He was on his feet in an instant. He looked at Emrys, gauging his reaction. Emrys was frowning slightly too, glancing around at the trees. Arthur whispered, “You see it – the lights?”“Mhm? What do mean, of course I see it.”“At the meeting the other day, before I heard him, the lights were flickering. No one else saw. Then later, there was a complete blackout.”“And you think the same thing is happening now?” Emrys tipped his head consideringly, strawberry locks flopping into his eyes.Arthur remained guarded. He glanced down at his cup of punch. Where before the moon had rippled, a face appeared. Arthur’s face. But those eyes – Not my eyes.The cup slipped from his grasp. Punch splattered across the grass. Emrys yelped, leaping to dodge the spray. “Hey! Was the punch really that bad?”“I saw him.” He was here. Somewhere. Watching.Emrys paused, studying the fallen cup lying innocently in the grass as if it might explain itself. Arthur straightened, rolling back his shoulders and lifting his chin. He refused to look like some spooked puppy. He exhaled stiffly. “I think I might head back inside now.”“Okay,” Emrys answered, still gazing down at the cup.Arthur took one step, ready to make towards the front door, when he caught sight of the bonfire through a break in the crowd. He stopped, dread pooling in his stomach. There was something about this fire – something other. It reminded him of the fireplace in the hotel, how it had ensnared him.Arthur’s eyes locked on it, those crackling and blazing flames. They sent golden embers spiralling into the sky, mixing with the silver–white stars far above.“…Arthur?” Emrys asked. “What is it?”Arthur swallowed, gathering words. “…Do you see it?”Emrys followed Arthur's eyes, his gaze flicking between Arthur and the fire. “Heh? What are you on about…?”Arthur took a step closer to the fire. Then another. And another. The fire was breathing his name, calling him. Another step.“Arthur. What are you doing?” Concern was creeping into his tone.Arthur stalked closer and closer to the pulsing flames with every step, an aching curiosity building under his skin. The heat seared, burning his eyes. “Don’t you feel it?” A few people were eyeing them curiously. Arthur barely noticed. There was something there. Maybe if he just got a better look, he would find the answers he craved.“Arthur,” Emrys hissed behind him, “Don’t go any closer.”Arthur ignored him. The fire danced and leapt in front of his eyes. A silhouette took form, enshrouded in the pulsing flame. Arthur squinted, trying to make it out. “Do you see that…? Tell me you see that.”“Arthur, please, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Emrys pleaded. He put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, a gentle tug to back away. Arthur stayed planted firmly in place. The silhouette veiled in flame stalked closer. It was not in the fire, but beyond it, Arthur realised. And it was his own silhouette.
‘Hello again, England.’
Arthur’s breath hitched. “It’s him. Do you hear him?”A firmer hand gripped his other shoulder. “Arthur.” Allistor’s low voice ground a warning next to his ear. “Come away from the fire.” Arthur was pulled back harshly, tearing his eyes from the figure.‘You can’t hide from me again.’ The words were a whispered promise. And then Allistor’s hand was digging into Arthur’s wrist, dragging him away. Arthur became aware that others were looking at him. He lowered his gaze. People cleared a path for them as Allistor marched him back to the house, Emrys in toe. Seamus joined their little parade as they passed.They didn’t say a word. And they didn’t stop until they’d gone up the stairs, and into the guest bedroom. Seamus glanced into the hall, making sure no one was there before slipping the door shut.“What was that?” Allistor half-asked, half-demanded.“You can’t just start acting like that out of the blue!” Emrys wrung his hands through his hair. “I didn’t know what was going on. You didn’t talk to me.”Arthur sat down on the edge of the bed. His hands weaved themselves into the quilt. He gripped until his knuckles turned white. “I don’t know what happened, alright? I–”Emrys cut in. “When the lights turned off, you knew something was going to happen, didn’t you? That’s when it started.”“Yes,” Arthur said.“Aye, the lights went out and no one cared… that was strange.” Allistor slowly nodded his agreement. “Are you saying that has something to do with this?”“Yes, I think so,” Arthur clarified. “It happened the other day as well, before I saw him.”“Did you see him again this time?” Emrys asked, “Is that what you were muttering about?”“Yes. I saw him. I heard him, too.” Arthur lifted his green eyes, searching their faces. He swallowed, the words coming out quieter than he’d hoped. “…Didn’t you?”Emrys’s eyes flashed to Allistor’s for a beat, a silent word passing between them. Seamus watched the conversation unfold, his face neutral as he leaned against the door.“No Arthur. We didn’t see, or hear, anything out of the ordinary,” Emrys said slowly. Arthur’s eyes clouded as those words washed over him. His white–knuckle grip on the bed fell slack.As Seamus stepped towards the group. His footing was just a hint sloppy, the only tell that he’d cracked into the liquor already. “So, did it speak to you?”“He called me by my nationhood name. And then, just before we left, he said: ‘You can’t hide from me again.’” A shiver traced down Arthur’s spine at whatever that implied.“Ominous,” Allistor said dryly. “But why were you lookin’ like you were about to climb into the fire?”“I was not!” Arthur leapt to his feet, “I just– There was something about that fire. Surely you could sense it, too? It wasn’t right. None of this is right.” He splayed his arms, as if that would make his point.“You aren’t making any sense.” Allistor groused. “Sit down.”Arthur opened his mouth, ready to spew a retort, but shut it again. Instead, he folded his arms. He did not sit back down.“But it just doesn’t make sense that we can’t see it. Why wouldn’t we be able to?” Emrys pondered, entirely ignoring Arthur and Allistor’s glaring match.“You saw the lights go out,” Arthur said.Emrys shrugged. “That could’ve been anything. Weird things usually happen this time of year. I’ve seen lights flicker before, you know.”Arthur looked between each of their puzzled expressions. “You do believe that something was there though, right?”“Of course.” Emrys reassured, “We’re just trying to figure it out, is all. It’s been so long since we’ve encountered anything like this.”“Well, I don’t know what’s going on. And I don’t know why you couldn’t see. But I know what I saw.” Arthur’s lips drew together, taut. “He’s after me – I know it.”“Sure you’re not finally going loopy?” Seamus laughed half–heartedly in what was probably a slightly intoxicated attempt to lighten the mood. Emrys cut him a glare. Arthur’s fists tightened at his sides, digging his nails into his skin. Allistor gave Arthur a warning glare.“I guess that’s what everyone else thinks, too. That I’m crazy.” He tried for a light tone but found he couldn’t stop something slightly bitter seeping into the words.Everyone was silent for a moment, before Emrys piped up. “No, no. They don’t–”“What did they just see me do? They probably thought I was hypnotized by the bloody fire or something. And if none of you saw or heard anything, they definitely didn’t.” Arthur’s eyes drifted down to the carpet tassels under his feet. God, they must think I’m a senile old man. Then, a little belatedly, he thought, What if I am a senile old man?“These things happen to everyone. We’ll just tell them you’re overtired and overworked. Which is true, by the way.” Emrys commented, with a pointed look.Arthur stayed silent.“Knock, knock.” Alfred’s voice drifted in from the other side of the guest room door. “You guys having your own party in there or what?”Seamus opened the door, revealing Alfred leaning against the doorframe. “What do you want, yank?”Alfred held up his hands as a sign of peace. “Just checking on you guys like the awesome host I am. After ya know, you all ran off to hide upstairs.” Alfred tilted his head meaningfully.“We were just about done here anyway,” Seamus said, casually patting Alfred’s shoulder as he left. Allistor took his leave without bothering to speak, yet again.“Don’t worry about it. Nothing important.” Emrys gave Alfred a weak smile, quickly trailing the others out of the room.Alfred watched them go, mild bewilderment written across his face. He turned back to Arthur, lingering on the bed. “So… all good?”Arthur rose to his feet to meet Alfred’s gaze, though he wasn’t quite tall enough to meet it levelly. “Yes, everything is quite alright. Thank you, Alfred. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it is getting quite late, and I think I’ll be going now.” Arthur promptly sidestepped him into the hallway.“But you haven’t even had any marshmallows yet. I’ve even got ones that look like eyeballs. And I vowed I’d make you try a s’more if it’s the last thing I do!”Arthur sighed, “Maybe next year.”“You say that every year.” Arthur wasn’t sure if he was meant to hear that utterance. He pretended he didn’t, as he descended the stairs without another word.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

[Arthur]

North England, UK
Arthur always found it nice to breathe wild air again, nice to be back in his countryside home. Since Halloween, Arthur had had four days of precarious peace while he held his breath. Yet there was nothing - as if the thing had gotten bored and left. It was almost worse, the constant tension. The glances over his shoulder when it was quiet. The double-takes when he passed a window or mirror.In his dreams, Arthur still saw his own body in the flames, shifting beyond the fire. ‘You can’t hide from me again.’ Those words played around Arthur’s mind, catching and scratching like a broken record on repeat.He hadn’t fooled himself into thinking the thing was truly gone, though his brothers were under the impression it had passed with the end of Samhain. That was wishful thinking. He was sure it still lingered in wait, biding its time. But for what, he had no idea.As Arthur lugged in his grocery bags and set them on the kitchen counter, his mind was far away. He was painfully aware of how many pieces of the puzzle were missing. He emptied his shopping bags, mindlessly sorting items into his larder.There was one piece of the proverbial puzzle that snagged him every time his mind brushed against it. It had jagged unruly edges. It refused to fit into the picture he was trying to build. It was the fact that his brothers hadn’t seen. It was him who’d seen. Only him.His hand stilled, half–way to putting the butter in the fridge. He’d always been able to see things most people couldn’t. He’d been ostracised as both a seer and a heathen because of it. But his brothers had always been right there with him in their little gang of freaks. Through thick and thin, at least they’d shared that. Arthur had never been able to see something his brothers couldn’t. And the implications of that were chilling.Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he shoved the butter next to the eggs. He shut the fridge, letting his breath trail out slowly.It was nearing evening by now, with the lilac sky fading into deeper blues outside the kitchen window. Arthur carefully pulled the final items from the last bag. Black salt and chalk. The final ingredients to set up his own proper wards. For the last few days, he’d been relying on make-shift wards, like he’d used at the G8 summit. They’d held so far. But Arthur wanted something a bit more thorough.Black salt was a favourite of his. There was something stark and damning about it. Black like yer soul, Seamus used to joke. The contrast against the pure white of the chalk made for a striking combination.He fished out some woven tweed bags from the back of his cupboard. One by one, he meticulously spooned the black salt into the bags, tying the top with a knot of twine. Plucking a salt bag off the wooden bench top, he spun around to hang it on a discreet nail by the kitchen window. In chalk, he carved a rune onto the surface of the glass for an extra layer of defence.

The first time he’d learnt runes had been shortly after his mother had died. He vaguely recalled learning his staves with a much younger incarnation of Magnus, though his memories of those centuries were hazy. Even if they weren’t originally intended for spellwork, they would mould themselves to his purpose all the same.“Long time, no see,” sang a familiar, chiming voice. Arthur spied a six–inch faery perching on the windowsill. Puck was here.“Oh? you’re still squatting at my house, I see,” Arthur said a touch wryly. He hung the bag on a hidden nail in the window frame.“What’s that?” The faery jerked his head towards the bag, tussling his brown curls.“Don’t touch it. It’s full of black salt.” Arthur drew back from the window, turning to retrieve the other salt bags.In a flitter of gossamer wings, Puck landed on the bench next to the bags. “Uh huh. But why though?”“Cursed with curiosity, aren’t you?” Arthur mused. “They’re actually for some new wards.”“Aw, you really hate me that much? I’m flattered, really.” The faery put a hand over his heart.Arthur rolled his eyes, though his lips crooked upwards in the corners. “They’re not for you, you little narcissist.”The faery gasped in mock offence. “Well, if it’s not for me, then who’s it for?”Arthur gathered the last of the bags in his arms, heading towards the living room. “If you must know, I’m trying to keep out some kind of… I’m not entirely sure what it is. But anyway, I’ve been getting slack in recent years. It’s about time I set up some proper wards here again, don’t you think?”Puck zipped through the air, trailing him out of the kitchen. “Mhm, but don’t you think it’s more fun when uninvited guests come to visit? If you ward everything, how are they going to get in?”“That’s the point.”“But that’s boring.”Arthur shot him a half–lidded look. “You haven’t been inviting strangers into my house while I’m gone, have you?”“Of course not! I would never do something so utterly irresponsible.” Puck flouted his most innocent smile, flashing all his teeth, before muttering, “Probably.” Arthur sighed, moving to hang a bag behind one of the window blinds. He drew an accompanying rune.“Aww, come on, Arthur! I was only joking. You know I don’t have the authority to invite other fae over the threshold.” Puck called after him, before landing on the mantle.“You make it too easy Puck, really. Don’t think I didn’t notice you specified ‘fae.’” Arthur strung another black salt bag behind the curtains over the window, and inside a hook in the fireplace, for the chimney, each with a complementary chalk rune.“It’s not my fault I can’t lie,” Puck grouched.“No, but it is your fault for inviting something inside my house.” Arthur proceeded to the entrance hall, hiding a woven bag in a nook by the door. “So, what did you bring in now?”“Well… uh… there was a queen bee wandering around outside a few weeks ago. Her hive had been destroyed by wild savage animals, you see! She just needed somewhere to call home… so I said she could make a new hive in the attic.”Arthur froze. He blinked at Puck. “You put bees in my attic.”“Yeeeeeah. I did…” At least Puck had the decency to try and sound sorry. But he was failing miserably. Arthur could see his typical wicked grin cracking through the veneer of apology.“You’re dealing with them later.” Arthur swept to the next room, leaving to rush to catch up.“What? What do you expect me to do?”“You put them there. You’re finding them a better home. They aren’t staying in the attic.” Puck pouted, though he didn’t refute it, instead choosing to zip out another window.Arthur continued in silence, hiding black salt bags and scribbled runes near all the openings on the first and second floors of the house. Sometimes he wasn’t sure why he harboured Puck, for all the mischief he managed. But the faery was a vestige of a dying era, so maybe it was the nostalgia of it all. And the banter was familiar, he supposed. (Or maybe he just didn’t like that he lived alone these days, though he’d never utter it.)After he finished, he descended through the doorway under the stairs. A smaller staircase spiralled down into the heavy darkness of the basement. He’d installed electric lighting back in the 40s. Miraculously, it still glowed, dim and yellow. Dust–ridden manuscripts and moth–eaten books lined the shelves. Arthur choked a little when the musty air hit his lungs. This place hadn’t tasted fresh air in longer than he cared to remember.Arthur lit a candle, perching it on the writing desk. He sifted through a couple of books, before finding the one he sought. It was an old one, hidden behind a scattering of parchment notes. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs to blow over the cover. A plume of dusty motes swirled up under the dim candlelight.The cover was basic, a faded burgundy with a peeling bookbinding. Line after line of dense notes filled the pages. Arthur’s own, from centuries ago. Lifetimes ago. He skimmed it until he found the passage he sought, laid out like a recipe.By then it was late, the sun having long since set. Puck was still off who–knows–where. But Arthur didn’t need him for the warding rite. He cleared a bare space on the wooden floorboards, sweeping away the gathered dust.He fetched the half–empty sack of black and brought it down into the basement. Arthur drew a circle with the black salt, arranging five candles around the circle. Picking up a chunk of chalk, he followed the directions in his book. Starting in the lower right, the earth point, he drew a line up to the higher spirit point, then continued down to the fire point, the air point, then the water point. A star took shape within the circle, with four points to represent each of the earthly domains and one for whatever bound them. He took a match, lighting each candle. They flickered weakly in the thick darkness of the basement.Arthur sat back. He inhaled deeply. Exhaled deeply. He closed his eyes. “Ic hydan unġesewen. Friþ eam ic. Ic hydan wiðinnan mīn bord. Blæt ic wand, þærfore, hit sceal bēon.” Arthur held his breath a moment. He didn’t feel anything. Arthur peeked open one eye, then another. Nothing looked different, felt different.Arthur huffed through his nose in frustration. Was he really that out of practise? He shut his eyes again. Inhale. Exhale. He let his loud thoughts fade into the background. He pictured the wards rising around his home, a protective field enveloping everything up to the edge of the woods.  “Ic hydan un ġ esewen. Friþ eam ic. Ic hydan wiðinnan mīn bord. Blæt ic wand, þærfore, hit sceal bēon.” Arthur felt something stir in his core. Something that had not been awakened in a long time. His eyes opened. The candles blew out. Smokey trails lingered in the still air.
It worked.
 
. . . . .
 The following morning, Arthur found himself hunched over the desk in his study, scanning government documents under the lamplight. After establishing proper wards, he’d finally managed a night of decent sleep, as if the wards kept even his dreams at bay. All the better to finally catch up on work, he supposed.Eventually, Arthur put the papers aside. He glanced at his mug. It was empty, but for the dregs. He sighed wearily.Then, flying in through the open study window, Puck appeared. He landed on the desk with a flare of his wings. “Arthur! You’re going to bee so proud of me.” He swaggered forward, hands on his hips.Arthur rolled his eyes, refraining from otherwise acknowledging the awful pun. “So, does that mean you found the hive a new home? Is that where you’ve been the last day and a half?”“I’ve been here, I’ve been there. Around. Somewhere. Not important. But yes, I did find the queen a new home.”“Good. Now can you get off my papers. I am trying to read those.”Puck, stubbornly, did not move. “Arthur, have you been doing this all day?”“I have work to do,” Arthur replied curtly.“Have you even had food yet?” Puck crossed his arms. “You’ve been living off tea, haven’t you?”Arthur quirked his lip, his eyes flicking to his empty mug. Puck had him there. “…I suppose I should get lunch.” Puck beamed, zipping ahead to the kitchen. Arthur stretched, rising stiffly to his feet. Grabbing the mug, he followed after.Arthur sliced two pieces of bread, leaving them on the bench. He leafed through his fridge, scanning for anything easy. He wasn’t in the mood to cook today. Cheese, that would do. He fished it out, preparing to cut it into slices.Puck drifted down to the bench, pulling a face at Arthur. “Cheese-on-toast? Again?”“You got a problem with that?” Arthur shot back, placing the cheesy bread into the microwave. “You can always get free food somewhere else.” Puck promptly shut his mouth.Arthur moved to refill his tea. When the microwave beeped, Arthur pulled out the plate with a mess of gooey cheese over warm bread. He cut off a small portion, handing it to Puck. Little freeloader. Yet seeing him bite with gusto into Arthur’s meagre cheese–on–toast made him smile, just a little. He was one of the few that didn’t gag at Arthur’s cooking.A knock sounded, interrupting the comfortable silence. Arthur abandoned Puck and his half–eaten toast to get the front door. 
. . . . .

[Matthew]

Positioned outside Arthur’s front door, Matthew stood, hands folded pleasantly. His pine–green suitcase rested at his feet. He knocked on the door, chewing his lip as he waited. After a moment, Arthur cracked open the door, a hint of surprise evident in his eyes.Matthew waved warmly. “Uh, hello.”Arthur’s surprise melted into a light smile. “Oh, hello. I wasn’t expecting you until overmorrow, at least.” He opened the door wider, ushering Matthew inside.Matthew stepped over the threshold, pulling his suitcase behind him. “Ah, my minister of foreign affairs moved the flight forward because she wanted more time before the parliamentary discourse. And, uh, I got dragged along.” Matthew curled a lock of golden hair around his finger idly. “I’m sorry for turning up so soon. I did try to call you! But you didn’t pick up.”“Did you call my home phone?” Arthur suggested. “That goes to my London flat.”“Oh, whoops. But I also left some messages on your mobile too.”Arthur rubbed his chin absently. “Oh, apologies. I supposed I missed it then. I’ve been preoccupied of late.” They drifted further down the hall, nearing the stairs. “I do hope it wasn’t too hard finding the place.”Matthew shrugged. “Eh, it wasn’t so bad. Been a while since I’ve been here though.” He eyed the house fondly. “Really brings back memories...”Arthur cleared his throat softly, already starting up the staircase. “Well, I suppose I’ll make sure your old room is in order. I must admit, I haven’t dusted in there in years.”Three doors down the hall was Matthew’s old room. Arthur waited for Matthew to stop beside him before creaking open the door. A four–poster bed was tucked into the far corner, scarlet red sheets spilling onto the floor. The walls were a soft cream, bare but for a few black–and–white photographs. The desk and shelves were mostly empty, completely untouched. It might have been cosy but for the stale atmosphere.Arthur flicked the light, striding forward to wring open the curtains. Dust swirled into the air, illuminated by the afternoon light now streaming through the window. “I’m terribly sorry Matthew. If I’d known you were coming so soon–”Matthew tried to be subtle when he coughed into his elbow. “Really, it’s fine Arthur. It’s perfect.”Arthur nodded. “Well, I’ll leave you to settle in then.” He turned and left, slipping the door shut behind him.Matthew let his eyes drift over the room. He remembered the chip in the door handle, caused by an indoor hockey accident. The pictures on the wall, snapshots of his adolescence. He recalled the choppy plaster ceilings, the empty fireplace in the corner. It was all familiar.The faint smell of pine and chestnut permeated the whole house. Matthew let it fill his lungs. It wasn’t his smell. His land was maple and spruce and poplar. But it did remind him of distant days. Treasured days, when he’d felt like a part of all this. Like a part of a family. And then like thunder following a flash, the memories of other days came crashing into his mind. Days when he would bury his head under his pillow to drown out the shouting downstairs.Moving to the desk, Matthew saw where an empty mug lay toppled. Next to it sat the book Matthew had been reading on his last stay here, a mild summer fourteen years ago. Arthur truly hadn’t entered since his last stay here, had he?Matthew wandered over to the wardrobe, dumping his suitcase at its foot. Unpacking could be a problem for later. Matthew wanted to keep rediscovering the old house, starting with the hall. When he passed Alfred’s old room, he paused. The promise of memories beckoned from within. Matthew reached for the handle, but stopped short. It wasn’t his business. He banished the idea and kept walking.The bathroom was completely unrecognisable to when he’d seen it last. He figured Arthur must’ve had it renovated, given the sleek surfaces. Then Matthew’s eyes shifted to the thick black cloth covering the wall above the sink. Matthew frowned, canting his head in curiosity.The cloth had been draped over the mirror, blocking any view. Perhaps it had been broken? Matthew reached out to brush the cloth aside. Underneath, the mirror appeared perfectly ordinary. Matthew let the cloth fall back into place. His frown deepened. Why would Arthur hide a mirror?

. . . . .

[Arthur]

Arthur returned to his cheese-on-toast. Predictably, Puck had disappeared again. The cheese had soaked into the bread and firmed as it cooled. Even by Arthur’s standards, it tasted poor. He ate it anyway, before returning to his study and settling back into his work with a fresh cup of tea.Sipping away, he continued sifting through paper after paper as the sun descended outside his window. Eventually, it dipped below the trees. He moved to take a sip of tea, bringing it to his lips before realising it was yet again, irritatingly empty. He leaned back in his chair, finally realising how late it had gotten.Glancing at his watch, it was nearly seven. And he still hadn’t finished the work his boss had ordered. Arthur groaned. Well, he wasn’t doing any more work tonight without tea. Bringing his mug and pot, Arthur was surprised to see Matthew up and about, buzzing around in the kitchen. He’d been so quiet about the house that he’d almost forgotten he was here.“Matthew?” Arthur set his tea mug down.“Oh, you’re here. Good. I was just about to come get you, actually. I made dinner. I hope you don’t mind. I wasn’t sure if you had plans or anything, but, um, yeah.” Matthew rambled, stirring a pot of gravy on the stove.“It looks delightful.” Arthur’s eyes roved over bowls of steamed vegetables, mashed potatoes and Bannock bread. To Arthur, it looked like a feast. (Mostly, Arthur was relieved he wouldn’t end up eating cheerio’s for dinner again, or just more cold cheese-on-toast.)“By the way, Arthur,” Matthew said, pulling a tray of roast chicken out of the oven, “I was just wondering: why is the mirror in the bathroom covered up?”“Oh, that.” Arthur licked his lips, trying to conjure something believable. “It was broken. I don’t want fractured pieces scattering about before I can get it removed from the wall properly.”“It didn’t look broken though?”Arthur glanced up, studying Matthew’s face. Matthew sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry, was I not meant to look?”“No, it’s fine.” Arthur was quick to look away again. “It’s just got a lot of microfractures. It’s an old mirror. And I’m afraid it’s become quite fragile. Some of the glass has very small fault lines – they’re hard to see. If you touch it, the tiny fragments might become lodged in your skin. It’s not too painful, but the splinters are difficult to remove.” Arthur busied himself, putting plates onto to bench. He observed Matthew out of the corner of his eye.“Oh, of course! I won’t touch it again,” Matthew said, taking a seat at the table once they’d finished prepping. “Thank you. Now, let’s forget about that. This looks delicious.” Arthur sat down eagerly. Across from him, Matthew offered a homely smile. Arthur returned it. 
. . . . .
 Arthur’s eye lids slid open, bleary, unfocused. He shifted under his sheets. What time was it...? He glanced at his watch. 5:53 AM. Too damn early, that’s what time.Arthur rubbed a sluggish hand over his throat. It was dry as paper. He fumbled for the glass of water on his bedside stand. It was empty. Arthur groaned. Slipping onto his feet, he shuffled towards the bathroom, glass in hand.He flipped the tap, watching the water spill into his glass slowly. The waning moon was dipping low over the woods outside, barely above the tree line. It cast faint silver rays through the bathroom, glinting on the porcelain surfaces. Arthur turned off the tap, bringing the glass to his lips. Then he paused. His eyes widened. The wards – they were gone.Arthur checked again, casting out a little piece of himself to roam over his house. Nothing. He sensed no trace of the wards he had so meticulously established. And as if a coat against the wind had been removed, Arthur now felt strangely exposed. He placed the glass down next to the sink. Briefly, he considered ripping away the black cloth veiling the mirror right before him.Would he be there...? Arthur took a careful step back at the thought. He stopped, slapping himself lightly. Foolish. He was being foolish, cowardly. He'd hungered through famines, clawed his way through wars. He wouldn’t fear a simple mirror. Steeling himself, he ripped off the veil in one deft movement. Arthur’s own, emerald eyes met his in the pale light. It was a perfectly ordinary bathroom mirror.Satisfied, Arthur arranged the cloth over the mirror once more. But the thought of the wards being dismantled by unknown forces still sat heavy in his mind. This was the second time. That was no coincidence. Unless I really have lost his touch, he thought cynically. Perhaps his wards were faulty? There was no real way to know. Neither possibility sat easily.Arthur knew he wouldn’t be getting back to sleep after this. With a sigh, he resigned himself to a very early morning. He dressed and raked a comb through his hair. Tip–toeing past Matthew’s room, he made his way down to the basement entrance under the main stairs.Nothing appeared to be off in the basement. The chalk lines of the interwoven star were undisturbed. The salt remained a perfect circle. At least Arthur knew his banishing pentagram hadn’t been tampered with. Arthur found himself pacing. Wards were not supposed to vanish on their own.He wasn’t sure how long he was pacing, back and forth, back and forth, with his hand resting on his chin, eyes clouded in thought. Eventually, Arthur conceded that all he was going to do was drive himself mad overthinking. He reascended the spiral stairs to the kitchen, pulling out a familiar tea mug, and turning on the kettle.He reached for the blinds. The kettle whistled, shrill and whining. It sliced through the morning quiet. The shutters of the blinds rotated, letting in the glare of the early morning sun. Arthur’s breath caught. Two electric blue eyes were fixed on his, peering from the glass between the blinds.Arthur blinked. As fast as it came, it was gone again. He lurched back from the window. He was here. Arthur whipped around, scanning the kitchen. There.A face that was not quite Arthur’s own flashed over the silver pots and pans hanging over the stove. Arthur lifted his chin high. I do not bow to fear. He poured steel into his voice. “I know you’re there. Show yourself.”The kettle’s hissing grew higher, the only noise in the stillness of the morning. Arthur’s eyes shifted over the kitchen. There was no answer.Arthur yanked open the miscellaneous drawer beneath the sink, pulling out a plain hand mirror. “Show yourself,” he repeated. “I know you’re there.” The kettle switched itself off, the water boiling furiously. The mirror remained ordinary. Then crackling laughter echoed through the room.
‘You think you can command me?’
Arthur turned on his heel, eyes searching. The thing was hiding. Where was he hiding? The voice laughed again, shrill and sharp, as if teetering on a knife’s edge. Arthur spun, faster. The laughter seemed to shift source, echoing.Nowhere. Everywhere. It came from all around. It came from inside his very skull.Arthur clamped his free hand tight over an ear in a futile attempt to shut it out. He stumbled back, bumping into the stove. A deafening crash. Pots and pans clattered to the floor violently. The mirror slipped from Arthur’s grip.Crack. Fractures webbed across the surface as it collided with the floor. The laughter ceased. Arthur’s hand fell away from his ear.Hundreds of shards of blue eyes blinked up at Arthur from the mirror. A shattered-glass smile flashed its teeth. Arthur swallowed. “You. You took down my wards. Who are you.”
‘Who do I look like?’
Arthur shook his head wordlessly. “You – you’re my imagination. Nothing more. That’s why no one else sees.” Whether Arthur fully believed those words or not, they felt powerful.
‘Really now? Perhaps they do not see because they aren’t meant to. You of all people should know that what people see is never the whole picture.’
Arthur backed into the kitchen counter, his eyes locked on the mirror. Behind him, he sent a hand feeling along the bench until it found the knife wrack. He whipped out a knife, brandishing it at the mirror. “You aren’t real. I don’t know what this is, but you are not real.”
‘Not real? Why should your side of the mirror be real, and not mine..?’
Their gazes locked. Feral blue eyes meeting wide green. Arthur’s grip tightened around the knife, clutching it in front of his chest—“Arthur? What on Earth are you doing?” Matthew’s face was peeking into the kitchen, distress lining all his features.Arthur’s eyes whipped between Matthew and the mirror. The thing was gone. The smashed mirror lay innocuously on the tile floor, empty. “I’m– uh…” Arthur gently slid the knife back into the rack. “It’s nothing.”Matthew’s puckered brows rose a fraction. “What was that crash? And what’s with the knife…?”Arthur’s eyes flicked back over the mirror. “Really. It’s nothing. I was just making some tea.” He turned to pour the kettle into his mug.“It’s barely six in the morning. Do you usually get up this early?”“Couldn’t sleep.” Arthur replied, curtly.Matthew stayed silent, hanging back in the doorway. “Arthur, you looked ready to… I don’t know… stab something.” Matthew tentatively raised his eyes to Arthur’s.“You just caught me at a bad moment.”“You don’t need a knife to make tea, Arthur,” Matthew said softly. “Is this something to do with what happened on Halloween...?”Arthur put the mug down. His head snapped to Matthew.Matthew swallowed. “It’s just that, you had the same strange look in your eyes. Like you weren’t really seeing.”“You saw that? On Halloween?”“Yeah... I was going to ask what happened that night. But I didn’t want to intrude or anything.” Matthew shifted a little closer. “You know, you can just tell me what’s going on.”Arthur pursed his lips. He wanted to, so badly. Matthew was one of the few he almost truly trusted. It pained him to lie. But he forced his voice to soften nonetheless, to flatten into a soothing tone, “It’s nothing, really. Don’t worry over it.”Matthew didn’t press after that. He was wordless as he began pouring himself some cereal. Arthur collected his tea and left. He couldn’t bear the worried looks Matthew tried and failed to conceal.So he retreated into his basement. He filled his arms with his old books. Placing the tea on the desk, he settled down for some reading. Leafing through the yellowed pages of the first book, Arthur already knew this was going to consume his whole day. But damn it, Arthur craved answers. Anything. Any scrape of information could be useful. He hated feeling lost, feeling helpless. And moreso, he hated Matthew’s concern. He took a sip of tea, resigning himself to a long day of reading.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

[Matthew]

London, UK
 Seated in a private lounge, Matthew sifted through the documents before him. His boss had ambushed him when he’d arrived at the embassy, dumping an inch-thick report onto him. Matthew sunk into the faux leather sofa, skimming the details. It was the usual spiel, a garble of jargon he was somehow expected to understand. It didn’t take long for the words to start blurring together.In a private corner of his mind, he was still picturing Arthur, backed against the stove like an animal in a corner, clutching a knife. Eyes wild, like he was preparing to claw and bite. In his own kitchen, no less. The image made something twist in Matthew’s gut. That look didn’t belong anywhere near Arthur. Anywhere near one of the men who'd raised him - whatever they were were to each other. (Brother had never quite fit right. Father, even less.) Matthew coughed abruptly, despite himself. He realised he hadn’t managed to finish the first page. Sighing deeply, he let the papers fall limply to the desk. Arthur had been lurking in the basement when he’d left early for London. Not wanting to disturb him, he’d just left a note. Would he still be down there? What was he even doing? Matthew snuck a glance at his phone, undisturbed beside him. After a beat he caved, scooping it into his hand. He clicked his tongue, weighing his options. Calling Arthur would be useless. He’d insist vehemently that he was fine, even if he was a heartbeat from keeling over. (If he even picked up, that is.)But maybe, he thought, someone else could help put my mind at ease. 
. . . . .

[Arthur]
 
Northern England, UK
Arthur sighed, long and slow through his nose. He tossed another book onto a mounting stack beside him. This one had been equally as unhelpful as all the rest. Sprawled across the floor, surrounded by piles and piles of leather–bound manuscripts, Arthur was no closer to finding an answer. All he’d managed to find in his hours of scouring was a dull headache.Arthur ground his teeth in frustration. Useless. All utterly useless. How was he supposed to protect himself? How was he supposed to fight back? Arthur was helpless and he loathed it.It had been an aeon since Arthur had felt so much like a child, so lost and small in a world far too vast. In his early days, he had half-memories of tracking aimlessly through eternal woods of alder and ash, of hawthorn and hazel. A single grassy field or gravel beach could feel larger than life. The natural world was one big unknown.Then he’d grown up. The world had felt a lot smaller when he learnt to fit it all on a map. Arthur tapped his knee, a thoughtful tic. There had to be a way to work this out – a way to fit neatly onto a map. He tossed his hands up in exasperation. Eventually, he resolved to march back up the spiral stairs, leaving his whirring thoughts to linger in the basement without him. The house was quiet, Matthew having already left. Arthur was expected to be at the embassy too, by 2 o’clock. He’d need to leave soon if he was to arrive on time, so he moved to the study. He began sorting various papers into a briefcase.“Off already? You only got here like a week ago.” Puck’s melodious voice drifted in through the open window. He perched on the sill, delicate wings folded behind his back.“I’m not moving back to London just yet. I just have to go in for work today.”“Oh? So I’ll have to keep putting up with you? Shame.” He mock–pouted.Arthur ignored his theatrics, hefting his briefcase off the desk. “Try not to do anything stupid while I’m gone.”“I would never!”Arthur rolled his eyes, ready to turn and leave. Then he stopped. His brows puckered in the telltale way that meant an idea had just struck. “You didn’t notice any… presences… this morning, did you? Anything out of the ordinary?”“Nope. I was sleeping.”“Of course you were.” Typical.“…Might I ask why you ask?” Puck’s playful tone dampened. Arthur could tell he’d piqued a rare spot of genuine interest.Arthur regarded him briefly. His insight on the situation might be useful. At the very least, he was unlikely to outright reject it. Arthur gave him a rundown of everything he'd seen or gleaned, and how his wards had been disrupted at some point last night. He glanced briefly at the protection he’d put on his study window. The black salt appeared untampered, though the rune was partially faded.Puck narrowed his eyes, a tiny shift of his features. His smile slipped into something a little harder. “Well, I’ll keep an eye out while you’re gone, make sure it doesn’t come back.”“So, you don’t know anything? Anything at all?”“No…” Puck shook his head, once. His gaze fell to something outside the window. “But if I’ve encountered it before, I should be able to recognise it again.”Arthur tried not to look dejected. “I appreciate it. Now, I really do have to be going.” Arthur waved a quick goodbye before leaving the room.But before he could breach the front door, Arthur heard the distinct twist and click of a key in the lock. The bras doorknob swivelled from the outside, the door pushing open. A slight figure stood silhouetted on the threshold. “Oh, hello Arthur.” Emrys smiled, slipping a key into a pocket. “Fancy seeing you here.”“Emrys.” Arthur gave a slow-lidded blink. “What in heaven’s name are you doing in my doorway?”Emrys canted his head aside, eyes gleaming. “Careful. With a tone like that, one would think you’re not absolutely delighted to see me.”“Emrys,” Arthur pressed, “Why are you here?”Emrys’s smile flickered. He sidestepped Arthur in the doorway, inviting himself into the house unbidden. “We need to have a chat, Arthur.”Arthur rubbed a sluggish hand over his nose. He regrated not incinerating that spare key years ago. “I have work. Can it wait?”“Actually, I talked to Matthew. They don’t need you in today.”Arthur ached a thoughtful brow. “You talked to Matthew, did you?”“To clarify,” Emrys continued, utterly unperturbed by Arthur’s molten look. “He talked to me.”“Fine. Let’s have this ‘chat’ then.” Arthur dumped his briefcase by the door, letting it thunk on the wooded floor. “Is this the type of ‘chat’ I should bring out the whiskey for?” He asked, deadpan.Emrys ignored that comment. He inched closer to Arthur, his voice dropping low and stony. “Your little stunt with the knife. You scared Matthew, you know that?”Arthur’s stomach twisted into ugly knots. He’d been holding out hope that they could sweep that under the rug, and forget about it alongside all their other dust-collecting memories. That was a fool’s hope, really.Arthur’s guttural reaction to the probe was to clamp shut, to weather it with the obstinacy of steel and stone. But this was Emrys and he was inescapable. But more pressingly, this was for Matthew, so maybe Arthur could make an exception. He sighed. “He came back,” Arthur muttered. “And this time I know he took down my wards.”If Emrys was surprised that Arthur had caved so quickly, he didn’t show it. Emrys was silent for a breath, his face unreadable. “You’re sure?”“Yes. I’m sure.”Emrys’s eyes shifted around the house. Withholding further comment, he wandered into the living room. Arthur followed, watching as Emrys catalogued the salt and smudged rune by the mantle. His ginger brow crinkled. “Yeah. I don’t feel any wards, per se. But I do feel something else.” As if on cue, Puck flittered from the kitchen, perching on the plush backing of an armchair. “Oh? You’re still alive and kicking about?” Emrys asked musingly.“I’ll be up and kicking until Satan personally escorts me down, thank you very much.” Puck said, matter-of-factly, before turning on Arthur. He wagged one of his three fingers at him accusingly. “And what happened to leaving for work? You must love to disappoint me.”“Apparently, I’m not needed today.” Arthur looked pointedly at Emrys, though inwardly, he was thankful he didn’t have to show up for a mind-numbing session of sitting and signing.Emrys just shrugged. “Matthew has it all sorted. So, you don’t have to worry about that. Instead, you’re going to tell me everything. And now you have no excuse to bail.”Arthur huffed. He would never– (He might, actually.)“Sit down. Tell me what happened.” Emrys’s voice, though pleasant, left no room for argument.After a moment, Arthur complied. He sank into the sofa. Puck flew down, repositioning himself on the coffee table in front of it. Emrys took to an armchair by the fireplace. He gazed at Arthur softly, a nudge to begin. Arthur took a deep, filling breath.Then, surprisingly, he talked. 
. . . . .

[Emrys]

As Arthur’s tale unfurled, Emrys’s knee began to bob restlessly. Emrys had hoped Halloween was the last of it. That whatever anomaly it was might leave as suddenly as it had reared itself into their lives. But no. Apparently, the forces at play had other plans.Arthur’s gaze lost its focus when he uttered words of the face in the fractured mirror, the kitchen knife in his grip. When he finished, his breath trailed away in the quiet room. His head lolling wearily, he sought Emrys’s eyes. His green-eyed gaze held great expectations. Was he asking for affirmation, or was he shying from condemnation? Emrys swallowed, weighing his next words. “…Show me the mirror,” he finally said. “The one he spoke to you through.”Arthur stood silently, leading the way to the kitchen. Emrys followed. Puck drifted after them, soft and light as a gentle wind. Arthur pulled a hand mirror out of a drawer. Cracks rippled over the surface. To Emrys, it looked unassuming, if broken beyond repair. He blinked. His reflection copied, just as it should. “If we know it was here once… Maybe, could we try to find it again?”Arthur frowned, considering the words. “Do you mean a tracking spell? Could that work? I’m not sure if he’s still anywhere near here. Or, if something like him even leaves traces to find.” Puck looked between them, keeping his mouth firmly shut for once.“It may yet work,” Emrys answered. “Theoretically, tracking spells stretch as far as one can imagine. In my prime, I was able to track beings all the way to the veil between worlds.” Beyond that, beyond the seams that bound this world with the thing beyond, his tracking visions folded and warped. That was the final frontier of the imagination, he supposed. It was a challenge to see that far, though he’d done it before.Seeing determination spark in Arthur’s eyes, Emrys hoped his guidance was worth something. Arthur stared down hard at the shattered mirror in his hand, his face hardening. “So, what do we need?” 
. . . . .

[Arthur]
 Soon, Emrys and Arthur had cleared a new space in Arthur’s candlelit basement. Puck had abandoned them, making a vague claim that he had an urgent business to attend. (More likely, he was a flake, Arthur thought.) It was typical of Puck to find a reason to vanish when Arthur performed a spellcasting, he realised.Arthur hadn’t done a spell like this in several mortal lifespans, though Emrys seemed to remember the gist. The most important requirement was something already connected to the being in some way. Arthur had seen him, spoken to him. So he would cast the spell, clutching the mirror the thing had appeared in.Emrys lit two candles, one on either side of Arthur. He turned off the lights, plunging the room into a darkness pierced only by the dual candles. “It’s ready, I think.” Arthur nodded at Emrys, who gave him a tight–lipped smile, stepping back into the shadows.Arthur raised the mirror, gripped tightly in his hand. In the firelight between the two candles, Arthur could see his own green–eyed gaze, and scattered in the glass. He took a long breath, loosening his shoulders as well as his mind. “Bringan mīn gesiht þæt hwilc ic secan. Openen mīn eges. Blæt ic wand, þærfore, hit sceal bēon.” They waited, bated breath. Nothing happened. Arthur’s mind remained blank of sudden insight. “Try again?” Emrys encouraged.Arthur stared into the mirror anew. As he uttered his ancient tongue once more, he infused his will in the words. “Bringan mīn gesiht þæt hwilc ic secan. Openen mīn eges. Blæt ic wand, þærfore, hit sceal bēon.”They waited. And then… nothing. Arthur huffed hot air out of his nose. Emrys shrugged his shoulders, a faint movement from where he stood in the shadows. “Ah, well… it doesn’t always work, right?”“One more time.”Arthur took a long breath. He needed answers, and this was the best - and only - lead he had. He wouldn’t go back to helpless pacing. This had to work. It had to. Instead of looking down at the mirror, this time he shut his eyes. He inhaled, long and slow. As his filled his lungs with dusted air, he filled his mind with memories of him – It. The thing, whatever name it took.Twice now, he’d been so close that Arthur could’ve felt the puff of his breath if he’d had any. The thing’s crackling laughter echoed between his ears, through his head, as fresh as when it had first pierced his mind. Arthur’s gut squirmed under the scrutiny of unwelcome eyes. He gasped. He’s here again–For a heartbeat, Arthur felt him. Fire. Water. Bloody sky. The bitter taste of ash—The mirror slipped from his fingers. It clattered to the floor in a spray of glittering glass. Arthur’s eyes flew open. The circle was unchanged, the candles still flickering weakly. “Emrys. I did it.”Emrys lingered stilly at the edge of the room. His brow furrowed. He gestured to the candles. “But… the spell didn’t complete itself? And I didn’t feel the mark of a spell.”“I know, but I felt him - I know it. He can be tracked!”Emrys shifted closer, until the candles illuminated his sceptical expression. “If you did find it, do you now know where it is?”The things he’d seen had been fuzzy – more sensations than clear-cut visions. Less a person, more a space. Impossibly close and far, at the same time. “I… don’t know,” he said finally.Emrys’s face bunched in confusion. “But you say you found it…?”“It’s more complicated than that—” What exactly did Arthur find? “But, I do know that wherever he is right now, it isn’t here.”“Not here? As in, not in the house?”“…Not in this world, maybe.” That was all he could really glean. “The otherworld, maybe. If it really is some kind of spirit, or—"“Arthur-?” Emrys inhaled carefully. “Are you sure the spell worked? It didn’t really look like–”“Emrys. I don’t know what went wrong in the casting, or why it didn’t fulfil. But I know I found him.” Or at least, Arthur wanted to believe he did. Sure, there was no face to connect it all to. But it had to be him in some way, right?Silently, Emrys walked over to inspect the spell circle, the candles, the chalk. Then his analysing gaze shifted to Arthur himself. He was searching for something, Arthur realised. Arthur turned away, quickly. He mounted the spiral stairs. “Well, after all that, I suppose I’m ready for some lunch. How about you?” He did not deign another glance back to see if Emrys would come along. 
. . . . .

[Emrys]
 After a moment, Emrys followed wordlessly in Arthur’s footsteps. He climbed the stairs from the basement, aiming for the kitchen, where Arthur was already rifling through the larder. There was something itching in Emrys’s mind, something that did not quite fit together. That spell had not worked. It was meant to flash, to blow out the candles, to stir a wind, any kind of signature from where the flow of power had spilled out into the physical world. Spells always left a trace of the caster, in one way or another. If nothing else, Emrys should have felt the distinct twinge that indicated a spell had been performed. Yet, there had been nothing.Despite it all, Arthur had seen something. But why? Perhaps, he thought conspiratorially, whatever it was didn’t come from the spell at all. Perhaps it came from inside his head. The thought sat uncomfortably.“Peppermint?” Arthur’s voice broke Emrys’s thoughts.“Mhm. Sure.” Emrys took a seat on a stool. Arthur removed the kettle, pouring two cups of peppermint tea. He slid one across the benchtop to Emrys, before taking a seat on another stool. They both moved silently.“So,” Emrys started, “What are you going to do now?”Arthur stared intently into his tea. He did not move to drink it. “Honestly, I don’t know. But at least this is something to go on.”Emrys swirled his hot tea before taking a tentative sip. “I think I might be going now. I do have my own work, you know.” That, and there were a few things he needed to ponder. Emrys stood, pushing his stool in.Arthur still did not move to drink his tea. “What are you going to tell Matthew?”Emrys paused. “Uh - Not to worry. Because you’re going to be on your best behaviour from now on.” He lightened his voice, ruffling Arthur’s hair. “Just don’t do anything stupid again, brawd bach.” Arthur swatted his hand away. He rolled his eyes, though not unfondly.Emrys turned to leave. Stopping in the doorframe, he threw a glance back. Arthur was still staring into his tea, looking unlikely to drink it anytime soon.Wordlessly, Emrys took his leave. He had work to do. 
. . . . .

[Arthur]

As the night drew deeper, the moon crawled across the sky outside Arthur’s bedroom window. Arthur often struggled to sleep on the best of nights – he always had. Tonight was no exception.Matthew had gone to bed hours ago. Probably long since asleep. Meanwhile, Arthur tossed and turned under his sheets. This was useless. His mind just wouldn’t silence. Those visions kept flashing beneath his eyelids. Fire. Water. Bloody sky. The bitter taste of ash.Arthur rolled over again, glancing at his clock. 2:49 AM. He wondered if he should have just taken a sleeping draught. But eventually, his relentless thoughts smeared into one another. His mind sank into a fragile sleep.
.

.

.
 Arthur was standing on a cobblestone street. He knew this street. It was in London, his heart. People were bustling about, spilling over the footpaths, milling the cobbled road. There were no cars, no vehicles in sight.No one seemed to notice Arthur. No eyes would settle on him. Arthur tried to call out. No sound left his lips.Arthur didn’t feel a thing as a pre-schooler with a red balloon skipped right through him. Arthur realised he couldn’t move. He tried to run, to walk, to take just one step. He couldn’t twitch a finger. He was a phantom, here on the street and in his own skin.“So, you finally found me with your little spell, did you?” The din of the street scene faded a little as Arthur’s focus locked onto a new voice, coming from behind. “I must thank you. It’s much easier to track you now, too.”Arthur strained to look back. To see the familiar face that he was sure belonged to this lilting voice. Still, his body would not obey.The voice drew nearer. “Beautiful, isn’t it? Your world.” As those footsteps grew louder, the scene flickered. The crowds evaporated entirely. The air became thick with smoke and still with death. He heard a deep sigh, something Arthur couldn’t imagine coming from that perpetually grinning visage.The footsteps behind him stilled. The voice lowered, a whisper from beside Arthur’s neck. “It should have been mine.” 
.

.

.

Arthur’s eyes shot open. He bolted upright, sheets pooling in his lap. It had been a nightmare – just a nightmare. And like any dream, the details were quickly slipping through his fingers. What had he been so afraid of, anyway?Arthur glanced at his clock. 6:23 AM. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, slipping from his bed. That was enough sleep for today, he supposed.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

[Matthew]
 Matthew descended the stairs, still stretching the sleep from his muscles. Arthur’s bedroom door had been ajar, which meant he was already up and about. But where he was, Matthew had no clue.The day before, Emrys had left a short message simply saying, ‘Arthur will be fine. Make sure he eats and sleeps.’ Matthew had been hoping for a little more detail, but he shrugged it off.Arthur’s problems weren’t his problems, he reminded himself. (Again). Still, it wouldn’t hurt to check on him, right?Matthew poked his head into the kitchen. It was empty, but for a few fresh mugs by the sink. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not. Then he looked in the living room. Empty. Next, Arthur’s study. Empty. He tried a few other rooms, to no avail.There was only one place left he hadn’t checked, and it was one of the rooms he’d been avoiding.Matthew knocked lightly on the door under the staircase. Silence was his answer. He reached for the doorknob. His lips parted when it turned. Matthew couldn’t recall a time when this door hadn’t been under tight lock and key.Gently, he eased open the wooden door. As a child, he remembered Arthur disappearing into a strange room under the stairs a couple of times. He’d been in here only once when he was a child. When Alfred, being Alfred, had broken in one day, dragging Matthew along as an accomplice.The room as it stood now was just as he remembered, as if stolen from a memory. The entire room had an indescribable air about it. Matthew wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.Drawn forth both by his search for Arthur and his own burgeoning curiosity, Matthew descended the spiral stairs. The rickety boards groaned softly under his foot treads. “Arthur? Are you in here?” They were whispered words. It would’ve felt blasphemous to shout in a space so akin to a library.Papers rustled. A laptop closed. Arthur emerged from behind a shelf holding a leather–bound book. Matthew sucked in a breath. As children, when he and Alfred had been caught digging through Arthur’s things down here, Arthur had been livid. At first, anyway. Afterwards, he’d seemed to settle into a state of fretful concern.“Oh?” The Arthur of the present asked, “What are you doing down here?” It didn’t sound accusatory, more curious than anything. “I was just looking for you, actually,” Matthew said. “I couldn’t find you anywhere, and I was just wondering if you would like to join me for breakfast before we head into London, eh? But if you’re busy or anything–”“Of course. Just a moment.” Arthur dashed back behind the shelf, leaving the books and returning laptop in arms. He gestured for Matthew to lead the way up the stairs, following as they made their way out of the basement and up to the kitchen.Matthew placed fresh slices of bread into the toaster, and set a couple sizzling eggs in a pan. He watched out the corner of his eye as Arthur began pouring himself a cup of tea. There was already a gathering pile of mugs by the sink. “Arthur, have you had anything to eat, at all, today?”“Mhm–”“Tea doesn’t count.”“Well then… not exactly.” Arthur’s voice was flat, tired, as he gazed out the window. That was when Matthew noticed the ugly, dark rings under his eyes.“You’re having eggs with me before we go.” Matthew did his best to make his voice commanding. Thankfully, Arthur didn’t protest. He didn’t say anything, in fact. He just sipped his tea quietly. 
. . . . .
 During the discussion and signing of the trade deal, Arthur had appeared well enough. And on the drive back North Arthur was back to his typical grumbling and grouching, badmouthing bureaucracy, or institutions with vague-sounding names Matthew had never heard of and just generally sounding like an old man. Matthew’s earlier worries slipped his mind completely. As Matthew packed for his flight home, there was a little less tension in his shoulders than the morning past. Arthur seemed settled into his usual self. And besides, his brothers were close by to keep an eye on him.When he wheeled his suitcase out the door, Matthew sighed fondly, bidding goodbye to both the old house and Arthur. “Guess I’ll see you at the next world meeting then?”Arthur blinked. “The next-? When’s that?”“It’s next week.”“So soon already?” Arthur tipped his head in a casual motion. “It must’ve slipped my mind. But of course, I’ll be there.”Matthew nodded. “Then I’ll look forward to seeing you there.”“Likewise.” Arthur’s lips twitched into a rare smile. “Safe travels, Matthew.” 
. . . . .

[Arthur]
 Arthur watched as Matthew stepped into a cab that carried him further and further into the distance until he was nothing more than a speck on the horizon. Arthur’s smile faltered. It was exhausting to pretend, but for Matthew it was worth it. His shoulders hung wearily as he wandered back inside.Slowly, he slid the door shut behind him. His hand slipped from the doorknob, falling slack at his side. He had the house to himself again, at least. The official negotiations had been a nice distraction, a breath of normality in the mess Arthur found himself in. (Though that didn’t mean it hadn’t been headache–inducing.)Arthur dragged himself into his study. Opening his laptop, his eyes glanced lazily over the notes he’d taken during his hours of scouring his assortment of amassed texts. He hunched forward, resting his arms on the desk. Paragraph after paragraph, he scrolled through the document absently. The words were starting to blur. The letters smeared.Slowly, his head drooped forward. His eyelids sank closed. 
. . . . .
 Arthur’s mind stirred from a mercifully dreamless sleep. His eyes fluttered. I’m in the study..? Arthur’s mind quickly sharpened. He saw pages upon pages of ‘QQQQQQQQQQQQ’ had flooded his document from where he’d been resting on his keyboard. He groaned, pushing himself upright in his seat. He felt strangely well-rested. Maybe I should sleep on my desk more, he mused.He noticed a small stone had been pressed into his hand. It was flat and smooth, but for a small hole in the centre and a ring of weathered carvings. Arthur’s brow furrowed. Then something fell into place in some deep, forgotten corner of his mind. He knew this stone.His mother had given him this stone one starry night, many mortal lifetimes ago. He remembered her plucking it out off the side of a brook as they passed through the woods of his old lands. She’d tucked it into his little hands, with a few quiet words. Arthur couldn’t remember those words for the life of him. He couldn’t remember her face, either, through the vague haze that plagued every memory he had left of his mother – which were very few to begin with.For years, he’d just kept the stone as a luck charm. Or maybe just to keep alive a memory of his mother. But he hadn’t seen it in centuries. He’d entirely forgotten about it. So why was it here now...?Arthur pushed himself to his feet, cradling the stone in his palm. Outside the window, the sky was a starless, inky black. It was late.He got to his feet, figuring if he was tired enough to sleep at his desk, he might as well go to bed and try to sleep like a normal person. But a movement caught his eye as he passed the kitchen. He stopped. Puck’s small form was balanced on the bench, rifling through a small satin sack.“Back from your wayward questing already?” Arthur asked, treading closer.The faery looked up, meeting Arthur’s gaze with his signature smug smile. “Yeah. Went scouting round a few old sites. Found a few tokens. The works.”“And what loot did you find?”“You’re holding it.”Arthur held up his hand, palm still curling around the hag stone. “You found this?” Arthur was stunned. “But… how?”“Secrets.” He winked.“Oh, come on. Tell me really. I’d completely forgotten about it.”“Do you remember those caves down south where you used to hide when the villagers chased you? I scoped them out. Lo and behold, I found that old thing.” Puck’s grin muted a little as he looked into the distance. “I remembered you keeping that stone close to you as a child. I never knew why. But once, I remember you said it made you feel safe.”Arthur was lost for words. He just gaped at the little wonder in front of him.“You know, I believe a ‘thanks’ might be in order.”Puck’s sass snapped Arthur out of his nostalgia. “Nice try. But I must say… I truly do appreciate it.” Despite not being able to weasel a ‘thank you’ out of him, Puck’s grin stretched from cheek to cheek. There was a moment of easy quiet. And then Arthur asked, “But what were you there for originally, down in those caves?”“Ah! I wondered if there was any treasure left there.”Arthur rolled his eyes. “Heaven forbid you find any more shiny things.”“Humph. Everyone knows you can never have enough treasures.”Arthur stepped forward to peek into the satin bag. It held a few copper coins, a tarnished silver brooch, and a few rusty lumps. “Yes, I can see you found some ‘treasures,’ indeed.”“Hey! This will clean up nicely. You’ll see.” Puck turned back to his collection of trinkets, eyes glittering with zeal.Arthur hummed in response but soon found himself disengaging to yawn. He must’ve been more tired than he realised. Before leaving, he opened the pantry. He pulled out the honey, spooning it into a teacup. He placed the teacup on the bench next to Puck on his way out of the kitchen.He spared a look over his shoulder as he left. Puck stood next to the teacup of honey. A sincere smile lit his face. He tipped his head at Arthur, a silent thanks his fae lips wouldn’t utter. Arthur found himself returning the gesture.He wandered into the hall and up to his room, practically collapsing into sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. The smooth surface of the stone was still pressed gently into his palm, cupped in his fingers. Arthur had another blissfully dreamless sleep. 
. . . . .
 A strange sense of peace washed over him when he clutched the stone tight to his chest each night as he fell asleep. He felt foolish, relying on a stone. But if it helped, it helped, he supposed.The next few days would’ve passed peacefully, if not for the nightmares. Every night he would wake gasping on air, his forehead slick with cold sweat. Arthur never remembered his dreams – he hadn’t decided if that was a good thing or not. He was still out there, somewhere. Still watching, still waiting. Arthur knew it. He knew it as he paced the house, locked in thought. He knew it even as he drifted into sleep, staring at the stone in the dark.He didn’t know how he knew. The rational part of his mind protested his mounting paranoia, but Arthur found those voices quieter and quieter with the passing days. Or maybe he was just too busy to listen. He found himself readjusting his wards continuously. He kept pouring through his old books. He wore tracks in the carpet where he walked back and forth, back and forth, his sleepless mind churning. He was still out there and Arthur felt it in his marrow. He was coming. He was coming—Puck had flown away into the night on a new escapade, never one to settle for too long. The house was quiet but for his own scratching of notes, the tapping of keys and his own echoing footsteps. Arthur was left alone to prep for the coming world meeting. Tomorrow he would fly to Stockholm, for the commencement of the summit the following day.A faint knocking on his front door halted his train of thought. He wasn’t expecting anyone today. Whomever it was knocked again, rapping his door with persistence. “I’m coming. I’m coming, hold on…” he huffed, tearing open the door. “If you’re–! Oh.” Arthur’s words fell away.The form of Allistor filled the door frame, an ashen cigarette between his lips. Emrys stood behind him, hands in his pockets as he inspected the roses.  Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “And what are you lot doing here?”“We need to talk, Arthur,” Allistor said, his tone every bit as flat and caustic as usual. Allistor pulled the cigarette from his mouth. A trail of smoke curled from his mouth. He dropped it, grinding it under his boot, before ploughing straight into the hall. He poked his head into a few rooms as he went. He swept through the kitchen before dropping himself into an armchair in the living room. Arthur remained standing, arms laced taut across his chest. Emrys hung behind them both, leaning on the doorframe of the room.“So,” Allistor began, ever blunt with his words. “Ye’ve gotten worse?”Arthur scowled. “If you’ve come all this way to interrogate me about what’s been happening–”“No, no. That’s not it. I just wanted to see a few things for myself before I decided.”“Decided? What are you...?”“Arthur, you look like shit. You know that?” There was an intake of breath, easy to miss. “We were thinking, the two of us,” -he gestured between him and Emrys- “maybe one of us should go to the world meeting instead.”Arthur blinked once. He wheeled on Emrys. He was quick to glance away, dodging his eyes. “You told him, didn’t you?” Arthur forced his voice to remain even, measured. “What exactly did you tell him, Emrys?” Slowly, Emrys’s gaze lifted to meet Arthur’s eyes. It shone with sympathy, but was distinctly non-apologetic.Allistor answered for him. “He told me enough. I know about the knife. I know the tracking spell failed–”“I did not fail,” Arthur snapped, “I found him - I know it. I had a vision.”“Arthur. I don’t know what ye think ye saw, but Emrys said the spell didn’t do anything. An’ whatever ye saw doesn’t sound like how it’s supposed to work.” Allistor flicked his eyes to Emrys, receiving a confirming nod. Witheringly, Arthur watched the traitorous interaction unfold between the two of them.Allistor continued, “I just think desperation for understanding leads people to” –he gestured around with his hands, feeling around for the right phrasing– “To, ya know, jump to conclusions and look for answers that aren’t there.”Arthur’s jaw fell slack. “You think I imagined it…?” He spun to bring both their faces into his field of view. “I know what I saw. And it was as real as the power of any spell.”Emrys took a cautious step closer. “Arthur… It’s just that… this whole situation makes less and less sense the more we learn. This isn’t like anything we’ve ever encountered and maybe there’s a reason for that.” Emrys stepped closer again, seeming to give up on sticking to the periphery of the room. “Maybe there’s a reason I can’t find a mention of anything like this in any books, in any records. I’ve looked, Arthur. And I know you have to. And, maybe it’s the same reason none of us can see it – or sense it.”Arthur opened his mouth and closed it again. “This is about more than the spell, isn’t it? You– You don’t believe any of this is real.” The words tasted sour on Arthur’s tongue.Emrys winced at the accusation. “It’s not like that. We’re just looking for alternatives–”“Do you think I’m lying?” There was a resounding note of betrayal hanging in his voice, more than he expected. This time Emrys flinched, as if it were a blow. “Not lying! No! Just… The mind sometimes plays tricks on us–”“So now I’m mad? Oh, that’s so much better!” Arthur sniped.“Both of you. Shut up.” Allistor was on his feet in an instant. “That’s not what he meant, Arthur. And ye damn well know it.”Arthur took a step in retreat. His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “Neither of you believes me.” He heard a bitter laugh escape his lips. “You, who have been decried and ostracised all your lives for seeing the unseen, just as I have been. Now you think I’m the crazed one.” Irony was a funny thing indeed.Allistor stalked closer. “If you’re so sure it’s real, then prove it.” His voice was low, daring. “Prove to us that it’s real.”Arthur’s fingernails bit into his palms as his hands curled. “You ask the impossible of me. You know I can’t just manifest some solid proof out of thin air!”Allistor sighed abruptly, rubbing his hand against the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, yeah. I know.” Allistor backed off a little, his posture falling into something less confronting. “But frankly, I’m not convinced. All I know for sure right now is that you look like a mess. You haven’t combed your hair in the last few days, have you? Have you showered? You don’t look like you’ve been sleeping. And I saw a mountain of mugs by the sink. No doubt you’re practically hammered with tea at this point.”Arthur glared, his green eyes boring into Allistor with a mounting fire. Allistor took that as answer enough. “And until we’ve sorted out whatever’s going on, I think I should go to world meetings—”“Wait— You?” Emrys blurted, spinning on Allistor. “You have no diplomacy. Remember the last time you went to a world meeting? That’s why you don’t handle these things.”Allistor wheeled on Emrys, “You want to get back into this? Really? And that was a long time ago, I told you.”“I thought we agreed I should be the one to handle international affairs.”“No. You just declared it. And I never agreed–”Arthur groaned at their bickering, throwing his hands in the air. “Would the both of you just shut it? I’m going to the world meeting. End of story. I am perfectly capable of handling this on my own, thank you very much.” Arthur could not bear that they thought he needed babying. It set his hackles rising. “And honestly, I doubt either of you could handle it anyway.”“What?” Both Allistor and Emrys whirled their attention back on Arthur.“I always take world meetings,” Arthur continued, unperturbed. “And I’m not going to let you take my responsibilities away just because of some–”Allistor straightened, dark energy crackling in his gaze. “In case it slipped your mind, we are also nations, Arthur. We are fully fucking capable of handling some rowdy meeting. And you are not going anywhere, lest you wave a god–damn knife at someone else–”“Get out.” Arthur’s hands vibrated with rage.Allistor leered. “What did you say?”“You heard me. Get out.”Allistor stared him down, eyes narrowed into slits. “Fine,” he spat, turning on his heel and marching out of the house.Emrys shouted after him, “Nefoedd, Allistor! We can talk this–” But the front door was already slamming. Emrys let his head thumped lightly against a wall as he groaned through gritted teeth. “This is why we can’t get anything fucking done around here—”Arthur crossed his arms across his chest defensively. “You were the ones who barged in, basically accused me of hallucinating, tried to take over my role, and then Allistor had to go and–”Emrys turned molten eyes on him. “We’re trying to help you, you idiot. And don’t pretend that wasn’t at least a bit your fault. Why do you always have to be so arrogant? You and your damn pride, I swear.” “You didn’t have to tell him about the knife incident, you know. Nothing really happened, anyway.”“He needs to know – we all do. We can’t help you unless we figure this out!”Arthur laughed incredulously. “And what a great help this was!”Emrys returned his tone with a scowl. “You don’t make it easy, you know. To help you.”“Maybe I don’t want your help.” Arthur regretted the words as soon as they left his lips.Emrys sucked in a rapid breath. “I see how it is then. Da boch chi, Arthur,” he replied curtly, before walking around Arthur and out of the house without looking back. The front door slammed, yet again.The sudden silence in the room was suffocating. Arthur released the tight breath he’d been holding. Slowly, he uncurled his fists. He realised his palms held angry, red crescents from where his nails had pressed into the pinkish flesh. He tucked his hands under his arms to hide them away.In the storm of thoughts, Arthur kept tripping over everything they’d said. They'd near-enough admitted that they thought he was losing his grip on reality. It stung, more than Arthur was ready to confess. The thought was a twisting ache somewhere deep in his gut. My own brothers don’t believe me. My own brothers, who have always been able to see what I see. My own brothers, who have been called mad all their lives, just like me. Then a new thought emerged from the storm, as poignant as it was sickening. Arthur’s breath caught in his throat.
And what if they’re right…?

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Arthur stared into his bathroom mirror. Dulled, green eyes blinked back from his perfectly boring reflection. He’d found himself staring into this mirror more and more over the last few days. The bags under his eyes were back with a vengeance, like ugly purple bruises lingering under his eyes.My brothers don’t believe me. He took a breath. I have no proof. He took a breath. Two breaths, for good measure.
And what if they’re right…?
That thought was a poison that had been gradually seeping into the exposed cracks of his mind. He shoved it away, sealed it under hours of work and books and chores. He refused to open the door to the possibilities behind that thought. But the idea that he was wrong still clung to him, following him like a shadow.They think I’m mad. His breath turned rasping.His hands curled into fists on the bathroom sink. He couldn’t erase the image of his brothers’ eyes. So full of pity. He’s seen that look many times. From friends, from enemies. He hated it. And coming from his own flesh and blood… It made his skin crawl.Arthur leaned closer to his reflection, until his breath fogged the glass. Still, his boring, ordinary face stared back. He slapped himself, a sharp pang on his cheek. It snapped his mind out of its murky fog.He had a world meeting to get to, didn’t he?He hadn’t heard a peep from Allistor or Emrys. But he’d be damned if he let them do anything for him. 
. . . . .
 
 Stockholm, Sweden
The flight to Stockholm was smooth, blissfully uneventful. But like Deja vu, Arthur had spent yet another night tossing and turning in a hotel room before he eventually slipped into an uneasy sleep.When he woke to the faint bird twittering heralding the morning, Arthur’s skin was sallow, his hair unruly. He ironed his clothes thoroughly and raked a comb over his scalp the best he could.Eying himself down, Arthur cringed. This was nothing more than a paper–thin guise. Underneath his tamed fringe, his eyes were still savagely red-rimmed. No amount of tea was going to save him today. But if he had an ounce of luck, he hoped he’d simply be left alone during the meeting.Dragging his feet through the doors, he could already tell that today was about to be a world–class headache. The UK seat was already filled. So much for his luck.Nostrils flaring, he stormed over without sparing a glance at the other nations milling about. His eyes were locked on his seat. “Emrys. I thought I told you,” Arthur said, keeping his voice even, “I can do this myself.”Emrys’s squeezed his palms at his sides, before raising his head to match Arthur’s eyes. “Arthur,” he said, his voice impassive, “Let’s talk about this. Privately.”  Emrys rose to his feet, tucking the chair under the table in a deft motion.“Ayy? What are you doing ‘ere?” Seamus’s voice entered the scene, just as Emrys was about to lead Arthur away. Seamus strode closer, fixing Arthur with a puzzled stare.Arthur’s eyes narrowed in return. “Expecting someone else?”Seamus’s gaze flicked to Emrys, a question in the way he arched a brow. Emrys winced. “This really isn’t the time.”“It’s just that… Eh–” Seamus trailed a hand through his swaths of thick ginger hair, his words dying on his lips. Again, his gaze settled on Emrys, who just sighed, bowing his head.“I suppose you told him, too.” Arthur’s words were flat. Of course they would tell Seamus.Emrys lifted his head to meet Arthur eye-to-eye. The look he gave was practically a confession. But his lips were pulled tight. Arthur could see his jaw biting down on any of his usual apologies trying to spring forth. Emrys had told Seamus. And he was not sorry.Arthur set his jaw. The silent moment dragged on. Emrys’s eyes never wavered, that near-pleading gaze awaiting either Arthur’s acceptance or his ire.A spoon on a wine glass rang through the air. They all snapped their eyes down to the front podium. “If everyone would please take their seats, the conference is about to commence.” Ludwig’s booming voice powered over the scattering of conversations in the room. People meandered to their assigned spots. Seamus took the opportunity to flee the brewing cloud of tension between the two.Arthur took a sly step, edging towards the table. “As he said, we need to take our seats.” Arthur claimed the UK spot, angling a triumphant smirk over his shoulder.Emrys simply pulled up another chair from a stack against the wall, sitting himself right beside Arthur. “Be as petty as you want, I’m already here and I’m still keeping an eye on you.”“You don’t need to stalk me.”The room descended into silence as heads turned their attention to the front stage. “I’m not–” Emrys bit his tongue, falling back into his chair. “We’ll talk later,” he whispered.The meeting commenced with Sadiq being invited to the stage for his scheduled presentation. They fumbled around at the front for a long moment, trying to work Sadiq’s corrupted power-point.Arthur was rigid, hands clasped tightly on the table. He set his eyes ahead. Though the room sprung back into quiet chatting as they waited, Emrys did not resume his rebuttal. They avoided meeting each other’s eyes.When it seemed like the presentation wouldn’t be starting anytime soon, Arthur coughed to clear the stagnant air between them. “I take it you won out over the stubborn bastard.” It was less a question, more a statement.“Actually, Allistor is–”Eduard had finally managed to work the power-point, pulling up the projection onto the big screen.Emrys fell silent. “Nevermind. I’ll explain later.”Sadiq commenced his presentation. Arthur shot Emrys a curious glance. If Emrys saw, he ignored it, refusing to give him anything to work with. So Arthur turned his focus to the presentation.Sadiq’s speech passed after a short Q&A. Afterwards, Alfred rose to the stage to plead his case on something ludicrous or whatnot, with his own vibrant power-point. By this point, Arthur was barely hearing anything. He’d stopped listening a while ago, his sleep-deprived mind incessant on wandering. Realising his concentration was drifting, he brought his eyes back into focus, shaking the tangle of thoughts from his mind.The lights. They blinked. It was a momentary flicker. But it was enough to make Arthur’s shoulders pull tight. It’s happening again. Moments passed. The beaming lights were unwavering. Maybe his reaction had been unwarranted? Arthur felt his muscles gradually loosen.Then the power-point glitched. The projection flashed, the screen a mess of buzzing pixels. Arthur threw a cautious glance at Emrys. He had his eyebrows drawn together, regarding the screen. Emrys saw it too.The projection glitched again. A few exclamations arose from the crowd. Alfred himself turned his attention to the screen. They all saw it. Arthur’s relief was palpable.The screen seemed to settle itself after a moment of Alfred fiddling with the cords. He resumed his speech with his usual unfaltering bravado, as if it’d never happened.It was nothing. So why did Arthur feel his gut knotting in expectation? Arthur consciously forced his tight muscles to relax. He was being paranoid, stupid.  Afterall, he thought somewhat sourly, it’s all in my head, isn’t it? The projection shuddered again. The screen flashed violent colours. This time, no confused voices. No movement, no reaction. Alfred continued blabbering, even as the screen filled with fuzzy pixels and blotches of blocky colours.Arthur flicked his eyes to Emrys. Emrys’s face remained blank, a show of indifference, as he leaned his elbows on the table. Emrys could not see it. Arthur’s gnawing dread came back in full force.As Arthur scanned the room, it all felt a bit detached, distant, from Arthur. All these people, they weren’t experiencing the same world as him. The pocket of reality he found himself alone in. It’s just me. A bitter thought.The lights switched off, switched on. There was a noise, like a microphone’s ear-curdling screech. Arthur threw his hands over his ears on impulse to block the noise.Emrys swivelled to Arthur with a questioning expression. Arthur looked at him, looked at the lights. They flashed again, as if a wave of shadow was passing over. One cast a shower of sparks. That horrid, worming sensation was back. It was back. He was back.Emrys’s face hardened on Arthur, observing him warily.The mechanic screeching flooded the air again. It crackled, and the projection fizzed and whirred. Arthur covered his ears again, desperate to shut it out. Then the flashing projection melted into static. The sound dulled into a humming white noise. It may have been softer, but it was penetrating. The static filled every corner and crevasse of his head. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t–Arthur could sense eyes on him now. But he didn’t care. They were far away, on the other side of a wall inside his mind. There were hurried voices too, muffled and distant through the static washing through his mind. There was movement around him. Chairs grinding on the floor.
‘You’re slipping, England.’ 
A shudder through Arthur’s spine. He whipped his head up. There were faces swimming around him. He leapt to his feet. A hand rested on his shoulder, pulling him back gently.  
‘Slipping away.’
It was him. He was here. Somewhere. Arthur’s feet moved beneath him, at the beck of the siren’s call. Arthur shoved through the wall of bodies encircling him. His hands tightened into fists at his side as he marched toward the voice.The big-screen. Between the pulsing waves of pixel static, a face flashed. It was not through fire, but through electricity that his image crackled. Blue eyes. Strawberry hair. A strangely warm gaze, piercing all the same.Then the screen cut to black. The world was doused with silence. He blinked, the layers of his mind sliding into focus. He was on the podium, back in the conference hall, centre–stage beneath the big-screen.
Oh.
He swallowed bile threatening to climb his throat.
Oh 
no.
He turned. Eyes, all across the room, were directed on him. A few had risen from their seats. They hovered on their feet, unsure where to go. Seamus and Emrys were walking hastily down to the stage. As the static cleared from Arthur’s mind, he came to notice voices were talking. Confused questions were shot from confused faces.No. This was not how today was meant to go. Why now–Emrys leapt onto the stage, reaching for him. “Nefi Blw! What the hell are you doing? Are you ok? Are you– You just–!” He gripped Arthur’s shoulders, shaking him lightly. Arthur was rigid. He barely breathed. His hold on the world around him was still fragmented at best.Alfred jogged over, nearly tripping on a cable across the stage. “Dude. What the fuck.”And then Francis was there, fussing over something or other. And then Ludwig was there, hand to his forehead to check his temperature.Too many people. Too many voices.The conference room door opened with a burst. Allistor strode forth, his hard face set into a cool resolve. A new wave of exclamations rose. Allistor ignored them, barging his way straight through to the stage.He didn’t utter a word until he was looming between Emrys and Seamus, whispering, “Stay here. You’re on damage control.” Then he grabbed Arthur’s arm, hauling him off the stage in toe, and through the lower door.Arthur didn’t have the presence of mind to protest.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Allistor hauled Arthur by the arm out through the lower door. Arthur didn’t know where they were going, as his feet fumbled numbly down the stairs. And he didn’t care, as long as it was far, far away from that room, those eyes. So many eyes, weighing him. Condemning him.Allistor halted. Arthur nearly smacked into his back. His mind was still lagging. Allistor grunted, jerking his chin at a side door. He wrenched it open, scanning the hall to make sure they were alone, before hauling Arthur inside. It was a dim storage room, with plush red chairs stacked against a wall. A whiteboard leaned against a cream–coloured wall. A few brooms were stowed under a table. Allistor slid the door shut quietly. He did not turn around. He did not face Arthur. “I knew ye’d come even though we told ye to stay home.”The dark authority in Allistor’s words did not settle easily in Arthur. “And you thought I would obey you without question? Well, I’m sorry I came to my meeting to do my work.” The heat of their previous conversation was rushing back to him, but his mind was still foggy and undirected. All he knew was he was angry, and he was scared. Of the two, anger was familiar. It was simple. His mind latched onto it. “Why are you so intent on me staying home, huh? Do you want to take my place that badly?”Predictably, Allistor turned, thunder in his gaze. “Don’t you dare blame me for the fact that you hoard all the work.”“So you admit it. Wanting me to stay home was a power move.” The accusation felt natural between them. It was a path they’d tread before.“Fuck, no. You idiot.” Allistor rubbed a hand down his forehead. His voice softened, unexpectedly. “We were trying to help you. I got you out of there. And right now, Emrys and Seamus are up there, covering your sorry arse. Is a little gratitude once in a while so beyond you?”Arthur had never heard that before. He found he had no response. His mind grew a little clearer.  “So,” Allistor continued, “What happened.” His voice was low, with an edge Arthur rarely heard from him.“I don’t know.” Arthur swallowed thickly.“That’s the best you’ve got?” Allistor raked a hand through his thick red hair. “You came to the meeting after we warned you not to. You just did whatever–the–bloody–fuck–that–was in front of everyone. Clearly, whatever is wrong with you is getting worse. And all you have to say is: ‘I don’t know’?”Rage bloomed anew in Arthur’s chest. “Yes. I don’t know. Do you want me to say it again? I. don’t. know. And I’m just so sorry for not knowing whatever the bloody hell is ‘wrong with me,’” Arthur spat. His breath rattled through his lungs. “Don’t you think I’ve tried, Allistor? To find answers, to find anything. But whatever I learn – It’s only more confusing. So, if you have any clue what’s ‘wrong with me,’ feel free to fill me in. Because, as I said, I don’t know.” Some part of Arthur knew that it wasn’t fair to direct his own frustration at Allistor, but the louder part of him was just angry.The blaze in Allistor’s eyes swelled in return. “But what exactly have you learnt? You never tell us anything. We didn’t know it had gotten this bad. It’s- It’s like you were somewhere else. You couldn’t see us, couldn’t hear us– And now all the others–”Arthur threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “No. Don’t even say it. I know what you’re thinking. I know what you think they’re thinking.”Allistor opened his mouth, ready to retort. He shut it again. “It’ll be fine,” he finally said, his words suddenly quiet. “Seamus and Emrys will make something up.”Both men seemed to shrink into themselves a little. Somewhere, just a few floors above, Emrys and Seamus would be facing off a crowd of bewildered nations. Arthur’s rage dulled into something closer to fear. Allistor mirrored him, the line of his shoulders falling slack.The conversation ground to a halt. 
. . . . .

[Emrys]
 Emrys stared mutely as Allistor dragged Arthur out through the lower door behind the stage. Emrys knew his brother still wasn’t fully present behind those glazed, unfocused pupils. He threw a quiet look at Seamus, who met his eyes just as wordlessly. His pinched brows mirrored Emrys’s own.The swell of voices filling the room only grew around them, as the initial shock wore off. “One minute he’s in his seat, the next he’s muttering and pushing his way to the front!” Felix rocked back precariously in his chair. “Seriously, what’s his problem?”“Did you hear what he was saying?” asked someone Emrys couldn’t see. “I couldn’t make out a word.”Another voice answered. “I’m not sure those were words at all. His breathing was so erratic.” They continued talking over each other. Questions, met with speculation.Emrys felt a tap on his shoulder. Seamus flicked his eyes at the exit, a silent question. Emrys bounced on his heels in a moment of internal conflict, weighing the idea of going after Arthur and Allistor.Then Vash’s clear voice rang through the storm of voices brewing in the room “Hey, you! You know something, don’t you?” He aimed an accusatory finger at Emrys. “You were talking to him just before all this.”Several sets of eyes nearby turned their attention on Emrys. He froze.“What are you even doing at this meeting today?” Ludwig asked from the edge of the stage platform. “You haven’t represented the UK in a world meeting since 1992, at least. And Allistor hasn’t been at one in even longer. Why was he here?”“Yeah! You dudes have been acting totally suspicious,” Alfred agreed, “You better spill!”Emrys gulped, sending Seamus a plaintiff look. Seamus shrugged unhelpfully. “Um,” Emrys started, “We just came because–” He was suddenly feeling the pressure of more attention being turned his way from various people around the room. “I just thought it was time to catch up on world happenings, ya know. I just really really wanted to hear about the recent recession of the euro.” Emrys fought the urge to cringe at his own excuse.“You left the EU. So why do you suddenly care so much, hmm?” Francis’s eyebrow quirked dubiously as he butted into the conversation. “You finally realised you want back in, hmm?”“It’s just that… ehhh.” Emrys floundered. His eyes kept flicking to the door Allistor and Arthur had disappeared into. How dare they just leave him to clean up this mess.Seamus’s arm draped itself over Emrys’s shoulder in one smooth motion. “Is it such a crime to take an interest in current affairs? Besides, makes yer more independent if you take the initiative to come along to a world meeting, right?” Seamus winked at Alfred. Emrys would’ve rolled his eyes at the overt appeal to Alfred’s pride if Seamus hadn’t also been drawing all the uncomfortable attention away from him.A thoughtful expression passed through Alfred’s face, though Emrys doubted the ploy would get him off their case. Francis’s eyebrows inched higher, if that was possible. Ludwig remained coolly expressionless. Despite it all, Emrys gave his brother a thankful look.“All I’m hearing is a whole lot of stalling.” Natalia’s ice–cold eyes were locked on Emrys. “You’re hiding something. And whatever it is, I bet he knows.” –She jerked her head at Seamus– “And Allistor, too.”It felt like the whole room had their focus pinned on Emrys now. His thumbs traced circles into his palms as his mind scratched for excuses. How could he tell them anything about what was going on, when he himself didn’t understand? (And what little he did understand was certainly no better.)“Fine. You’re right. You caught me.” Emrys sucked in a steeling breath, deciding how to play his words. “I didn’t want to admit it, but I came because I was worried about my brother. Trouble sleeping, I’m sure you all know what that’s like. He’s been up working every night, and I’m afraid he’s fallen back on old habits. He’s been out–of–lately, if you know what I mean.”Arthur would gut him later if he found out what he’d said. But too bad. Emrys had given just enough information to lead them to their own conclusions. After all, every nation knew their own sleepless nights. Every nation had their own little habits they’d rather leave in the dirt.There was an uncomfortable dip in the volume of voices. Emrys saw a few pairs of eyes turn far-away, lost in their own memories. Roderich scoffed without any substance. Vash crossed his arms silently.They knew that wasn’t the full truth. The dubious looks Emrys was receiving were enough to tell him exactly what certain people felt. But at least they’d all backed off – people generally knew when to mind their business. To that, Emrys was eternally grateful.He cast his eyes over the room, meeting anyone’s probing eyes with his own challenge. They all looked away when their gaze met Emrys’s. Then his gaze fell on Alfred’s sky-bright eyes. Under Alfred’s neutral pretence, Emrys sensed something deeply earnest. The kind of feeling only ever found in the faces of youth, of children.This time, it was Emrys who lowered his eyes first.A hand fell on Emrys’s shoulder. It was Seamus, giving him a gentle pull. Emrys complied, allowing himself to be led towards the exit before the interrogation could resume.No one stopped them as they slipped through the lower door. As soon as it shut behind them, Emrys felt his shoulders droop. He let the tension he’d been holding melt out of him, suddenly leaving him breathless.“Ye did good, ye know.” Seamus patted Emrys’s back awkwardly, uttering a half–chuckle under his breath. “Considering everythin’.”Emrys didn’t reply. He sent Seamus a flat look. Seamus snorted at that, though it was sapped of any real humour. “Yeah… God, what a mess.”Emrys buried his face in his hands. “What are we going to do, Seamus? I–” He stopped himself. The words he didn’t say festered in his throat. I’m scared.Seamus swallowed. “I don’t know. So I guess we’ll just have to figure it out, yeah?” Seamus threw his arm over Emrys’s shoulders, yanking him closer. He ruffled Emrys’s hair.“Yeah, yeah. Oi, stop it!” Emrys batted Seamus’s hand away, though he let Seamus hold him close for the briefest of moments, before pulling out of the embrace. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s go find wherever they got to.” 
. . . . .

[Allistor]

Allistor sat on the carpeted floor, knees crossed, head lolling against the wall. Arthur sat across from him, leaning on the foot of a chair, eyes half closed. He was just breathing. Somehow, it was almost peaceful.Studying Arthur in the musty light, Allistor finally noticed the way his dull hair hung limp around his face. Arthur looked tired. Worn out, like an old rag that’d been wrung out one too many times.“You wanna… talk… about it?” Allistor pushed out the words. He was always better at starting fights, not whatever came after.Arthur didn’t raise his head. “Will you believe me if I tell you?” Allistor hated how quiet that question was.Allistor held his tongue. He wouldn’t lie, but he didn’t know what to say. The deafening quiet between them turned oppressive.It was Arthur who broke the silence. “Puck found something, the other day. Something so old, I’d forgotten I’d even lost it.” He fished into his pocket, his fist curling around a small object. He branched his hand out to Allistor. His hand slowly unfurled to reveal a small river–smoothed stone with a hole in the centre.“A hag–stone?” Allistor asked.Arthur nodded. “Mother gave me this one. It’s one of my only memories of her.”“Oh.” Allistor didn’t have anything better to say. They almost never mentioned their mother. Especially Arthur.Arthur withdrew his hand, slipping the stone back into a pocket. He seemed content for the conversation to lull. Though this time, the silence sat a little more easily between them.Then Allistor noticed footsteps, distant, but approaching. Two people. He strained his ears to catch their voices.“I dunno … way…?”“… Probably not the … “Allistor knew those voices. He wrapped the door with his knuckles. “We’re in ‘ere.”A moment later, the door opened, and Seamus and Emrys entered. Allistor’s eyes met Seamus’s for a split second. Seamus gave him a subtle shake of his head.“I assume it went well then,” Allistor said dryly.Emrys was silent. Seamus took a seat on the carpet. Allistor sighed. “How’d they take it?”Emrys, the only one still standing, paced to the end of the little room. “I basically told them Arthur was sleep deprived and that he’d ‘fallen back on old coping habits.’”Arthur finally showed a reaction to that, whipping his head up. “So now they think I was drunk or something?”Seamus snorted. “Probably.”Arthur glared at Emrys. Emrys just rolled his eyes. “Well, what did you want me to say?” Arthur promptly went back to staring at the floor, unresponsive.It was Allistor who asked, incredulous, “And they seriously bought that?”Emrys shook his head. “Sort of? At least, it stopped their questions.” At this, he finally slid to the ground, taking a seat on the carpet across from his Allistor. The room lapsed into silence.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

[Alfred]
Alfred’s eyes followed Seamus and Emrys as they vanished through the door behind the stage. Meanwhile, his mind was roiling. He didn’t know what to make of anything in the last 15 minutes.He started forward, before a firm hand grasped his arm. “Not yet,” Matthew’s soft voice whispered in Alfred’s ear.Alfred whirled his head, meeting Matthew’s deep blue gaze. “You expect me to just wait around while Arthur’s brothers are doing who–knows–what with him down there while he’s like that?”Alfred jerked his arm, trying in vain to shake Matthew’s iron grip. “I need to–”Matthew cuffed the back of his head. He must’ve seen Alfred’s expression turned stunned, because Matthew immediately released his arm. “Sorry. Just – I don’t want to barge into this hastily. And lower your voice, too.” Matthew glanced back at the other nations, now dissolving into their own conversations. “Listen, I know you want to go help, but now is not the right time for whatever it is you’re hoping for. If we want to talk to Arthur and get a straight answer, we need to catch him when he’s alone. Right now, Allistor Seamus and Emrys will all be there to cover for him.”Alfred sighed in concession. Why did Matthew always have to be so irritatingly right all the time? Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Alfred hummed in thought. “You know what? I bet we can talk to him alone tonight.”Matthew arched a brow. “Do you know which room he’s staying in?”“Err… no. But I do know how to find out! C’mon!” Alfred sprang into action, pulling Matthew along for the ride.The world meeting had dissolved into a smattering of little groups, which Alfred passed with barely a second glance. He was pretty sure today’s conference was officially a lost cause anyway.Then he spied just the man he was looking for. Berwald, standing with Emil and Roderich in the corner. “Hey, Berwald,” he called, a genial grin stretching between his ears. The conversation between the three of them paused. Berwald turned to Alfred in one of his eternally understated movements. “You’re the host, yeah? Can I ask you a question? I promise it’ll be quick.”Berwald’s face remained expressionless. “Mhm.”“Great! I was just wondering where we could find the list of assigned rooms.”“Why do you need it?”Alfred hesitated. “Um. Just to check on someone.” He threw a furtive glance at Matthew, who was peeking out from beside him. Matthew gave an affirming nod.“Very well. I don’t really care one way or the other.” Berwald fished his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll send it.”Alfred beamed. “Thanks dude. I owe ya one.”Berwald put his phone back into his pocket with a nod of acknowledgement, before turning back to his previous conversation.Alfred turned back to Matthew, yanking his own phone from his pocket. “Problem solved.”Matthew half-smiled. “Well then… I guess we know where we’re going tonight.” 
. . . . .

[Arthur]

Arthur paced the length of the carpet in the supply closet he and his brothers had hidden themselves in. Now that they were all here, he tried to explain what had happened the best he could – he owed them that much. He described the voice, the projection, the distinct feeling of detachment from the world around him. When he was done, Arthur paused his pacing to read his brothers’ expressions.“It’s already worse than we thought,” was Allistor’s gruff response from where he sat against the door.“This is nothing we can’t fix,” Emrys said primly.“And how do yer intent to do that?” Seamus asked from where he leaned against the back wall, hands in his pockets.Emrys pursed his lips in that motherly manner of his. “You said the hagstone helped, right?”Arthur scoffed. “It’s a stone. It’s not a real solution.” What Arthur didn’t mention was that he’d been keeping it with him wherever he went for the last few days, including during the meeting. What a great help it had been then.“So there goes that idea.” A note of weariness was beginning to leak into Allistor’s voice. He eyed Emrys. “Got anything else?”“Why do you look at me? I don’t see you even trying.”Allistor groaned, slouching deeper against the wall. “Well, I don’t know. Honestly, I’m stumped.” He and Emrys looked at Seamus, who just shrugged, as if to say ‘well, what do want me to do about it?’Silence reigned once more.After a long moment, Emrys rose to his feet. “I’m going out for some air.” Arthur watched as he slipped out the door. Seamus was next, disappearing without a word.Eventually, Allistor stood, still leaning against the wall. “Some air might do us all some good.” He glanced at Arthur meaningfully before leaving.And just like that, Arthur was alone again.Or, he hoped so.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

[Alfred]
Alfred and Matthew crashed out in Alfred’s room, just to kill time. After raiding the mini fridge for sodas, Alfred suggested they watch a movie. One six-pack of cola later they were still browsing dispassionately through Netflix. Eventually, they gave up on choosing something, flicking to a random channel with some 90s sitcom.Alfred only half-watched. He found his thoughts scattered, flitting about inside his head without direction. He probably should’ve been thinking about what they were going to say to Arthur. Instead, he chose to preoccupy his hands by stacking the empty cola cans into a tower.The light slowly leached from the room until the only source was the blue luminescence of the TV. Hour by hour, the hands on the clock ticked by. Alfred peered at Matthew, slouched beside him, ignoring the TV in favour of something colourful on his phone.Alfred poked his arm lightly. “Do you think it’s time? It’s nearly eleven–thirty.”Matthew glanced up. “Yeah, probably.”They rose to their feet. Alfred flicked off the TV, only then realising that the background noise had actually been quite draining. And of course, he made sure to kick over his tower of cans before meeting Matthew at the door. They toppled satisfyingly. Matthew shot him a flat look for the childish display.“Whaaaat?” Alfred chirped.Matthew rolled his eyes fondly. Alfred pretended not to notice.Taking the elevator to the floor two above theirs, they stepped out into the hotel hallway silently, throwing their eyes around for any signs of life. Or, more specifically, any signs of meddling interruptions. “Do you think the eyebrow bros will be in bed now?” Alfred whispered.Matthew didn’t comment on the code name, though Alfred could’ve sworn he saw the corner of his lip twitch in suppressed amusement. “Let’s hope so.”They stepped fully into the hall, beelining to Arthur’s room. And then-“Privet Alfred.” A familiar voice slithered into Alfred's ear. Alfred nearly jumped. Scrambling to recover his composure, he whipped around. Ivan’s towering frame suddenly filled his field of vision. “Oh, and privet Matthew. I did not see you there.” Ivan waved. Matthew returned his wave with a hasty smile.Alfred crossed his arms, mustering as much authority as he could after nearly jumping out of his skin. “Look, I don’t really have time for one of our usual spats tonight–”“It’s funny, you know.”Ivan’s smile rarely wavered, regardless of his words. That was one of the things Alfred found most unsettling about him. He could never quite get a read on Ivan. While, to his eternal frustration, Ivan had an uncanny sense for knowing exactly how to get under his skin. “What’s funny, Ivan?”“You trying to act like you’re not up to something.”Mercifully, Alfred didn’t outwardly react before he could school his façade back towards nonchalance. “It’s nothing that concerns you.”Ivan edged a little closer, bending slightly to be at eye level. “Oh, so defensive,” he chided. “Besides” –his eyes flicked to the door they were both standing in front of– “Perhaps I only wanted to wish you luck.”At that point, Alfred’s mask finally slipped. His crossed arms fell away. Ivan backed up, a spark of gratification hidden in his smile. He walked past Alfred without another word.“Goodnight Matthew.” Ivan waved again at Matthew before slipping into another hotel room further down the hall. The door closed with a quiet click.“Seriously, what is his problem? I will never understand. “Alfred flung a hand in the air. “A fucking enigma, that one.”Matthew rolled his eyes again in that way he seemed to reserve specifically for Alfred. “Just forget it. The day you two stop playing mind games is the day I quit maple syrup.”“What’s that supposed to mean–?”“Shhhhh!” Matthew’s voice shrank to a whisper. “Do you hear that?” Alfred shut his mouth, straining his ears.Oh. There were two voices in Arthur’s room. Fuck.And one was getting louder. There were footsteps pittering towards the door. 
Double Fuck.
Alfred shared a look with Matthew. And then they were both scrambling down the hallway.Arthur’s door cracked open. “Just promise you’ll tell us if you see it.” A low voice echoed from the open door, closely followed by Allistor’s freckled face. “I mean it, Arthur,” Allistor grouched.Alfred quickly looked away. He leant against the far wall down the hall beside Matthew. He whipped out his phone, pretending to scroll. Allistor went by, briefly sparing a glance in their direction. He passed without a word and Alfred loosed a breath.Sharing another look with Matthew, they began to reapproach Arthur’s door. Alfred reached for the knob, ready to yank it open, when Matthew put a hand to his arm. Instead, Matthew knocked twice.They heard a muffled “Oh, bloody– what is it now?” before the door swung open and Arthur’s face poked out. “Oh, it’s you.” Arthur let them in, before settling on an armchair in the far corner. Alfred plonked himself on the bed. Matthew seemed content to stand, or moreso, to hover.A beat passed before Arthur prompted, “I assume you didn’t come to my room this late to make a business inquiry.”Another beat passed before Matthew responded, “Truthfully… I think you can guess why we are here.” Matthew took a breath. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but we just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”Arthur sighed, a long-suffering sound. “Yeah. Yeah. That’s all anyone says to me these days.” For the first time, Alfred noticed the dark circles ringing Arthur’s eyes, the bleached pallor of his skin. “Is it any coincidence you came in just after Allistor left? You came to ask me what really happened today.”Matthew withdrew at Arthur’s clipped tone. “You make it sound like–”“It’s fine, Matthew,” Arthur assured. “I knew you’d suspect we were hiding something. And it’s only natural you’d want real answers.” Arthur sank lower in the armchair until it seemed to swallow him. “If it’s my turn to be truthful…” Arthur paused, “Maybe I should tell you what’s really going on…”“Really?” Matthew edged closer, as if afraid Arthur would take it back if he approached too quickly.“I’m tired… Tired of all… this.” Arthur’s eyes fell on Matthew, clouded with regret perhaps. “You, of all people, deserve to hear it from me.”Arthur paused again, finally regarding Alfred before shifting his eyes. “I don’t even know how to begin. You won’t believe me.”“We will.” Alfred hadn’t realised he’d said it until the other two looked at him, yet those two words held such conviction. “We’ll believe you. I promise.” A subtle shift in Arthur’s features told Alfred that somehow, by some lucky stroke of intuition, that was exactly what Arthur needed to hear right now.“Alright,” Arthur said, “It started a couple weeks ago.”“At the G8 meeting?” Matthew asked, moving to sit closer to Arthur on the rug in front of the armchair.“Yes. You know I’ve always... seen things that others don’t necessarily notice. But since then, there’s been a recurring figure. How do I put this… I’m being followed.”“By a ghost or something?” Alfred breathed, moving to sit beside Matthew. But ghosts don’t really exist, do they? “Honestly, I have no idea.” Arthur’s lips pulled taut. “That’s the worst part.”“…Is this thing what you saw today?”“Yes. When he comes, it’s like this world just falls away. Like it’s just background noise in my head.”Alfred couldn’t find a response to that. To any of this, really. He was utterly out of his element. It was Matthew who asked, voice small in a room that suddenly felt too big, “Is this who you were trying to get with the knife…?”Alfred blinked. A knife?“Yes. Not the most intelligent move on my part, I’ll admit–”“Back up,” Alfred said, turning on Matthew. “You didn’t tell me about this.”“Yeah…” At least he had the decency to sound sheepish, Alfred supposed.“Neither of you knew anything, really. Don’t fret about it.” Arthur butted in.“Well now it sounds like you were going stab someone?” Alfred blurted. “Pardon me if I ‘fret’ a little.”Arthur sighed again, though this time it sounded like his usual bland irritation, something Alfred found oddly comforting. “You twat. Keep your voice down! Besides, it’s not like I did stab anyone.”Alfred found that answer unsatisfying, but decided a new angle might be more fruitful than pressing. “So what’s this got to do with your brothers lurking around all of a sudden?”“Well, of course I went to them first. Though I’m not sure if I regret that now.” Arthur quirked his lips. “Anywho, they’re just trying to help, in their own way.”It was Matthew’s turn to blurt out, “You don’t agree with what they’re doing?”“As I said, I’m not sure. We’re all in the dark with this one,” Arthur conceded.“But what are they doing, exactly?”“Breathing down my neck, mostly. They–” Arthur blew out a breath of hot air.“They what?” Matthew pressed, ever so gently.“They don’t fully understand the situation. They don’t– They don’t think it’s real.” Arthur’s wayward eyes snapped sharply into focus as if suddenly processing what he’d said.“Oh,” was all Matthew said. “They don’t believe you, then?”“They do. I think. But believing me and believing the situation are entirely different matters. The thing is, they can’t see him like I can.” Arthur laughed, a wry sound. “And how could anyone ever believe in something they can’t see?”Alfred had always known that some of the more ancient nations had stories of some freaky occult stuff. And as a child, he’d regarded Arthur’s every word as fact. Then as he grew up, he’d learnt to shrug it off as Arthur being a traditionalist. He’d learnt to put his faith in the rigour of science over superstition.But this? He had no idea what to make of it, what to trust. This couldn't be real, right?Arthur rose abruptly. “You should probably head to bed. It’s nearly midnight and the next conference starts at nine tomorrow.” Arthur shepherded them both towards the door. “And of course,” he muttered, utterly stone-faced, “Not a word of this to anyone." He looked at Matthew. "Not even Francis.”Stepping through the threshold after Matthew, Alfred spun to face Arthur. “For what it’s worth, I believe you,” Alfred murmured. Whether it was the same bought of intuition guiding him forward or his own volition, Alfred couldn’t surmise. Though he did promise to believe, afterall.So he supposed he could try.A soft, “Goodnight,” was all Arthur said as they parted. Though the soft smile gracing his face spoke louder than anything he could've said. After that... Alfred had many questions, to say the least. But there was one resounding question that buzzed to the surface.

...

Do I believe?

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Waking Nightmares

[Arthur]

As he crossed the threshold, Alfred turned his head back to meet Arthur’s eyes one last time for the night. “For what it’s worth, I believe you.”It was a simple sentence, barely more than a whisper. Yet is held aching sincerity. Arthur had not realised he craved those words so deeply. “Goodnight Alfred,” he replied, a note of unbidden fondness in his voice. He slid the door shut. And finally, he was alone.He wasn’t sure why he’d told Alfred and Matthew – he certainly hadn’t planned to. Yet he’d quickly found himself telling them all the same. And he didn’t regret it.If only… he thought, thinking back to their parting words. If only I believed myself too.

. . . . .
 Arthur found himself barred from sleep until well into the night. Not an unusual phenomenon for him. Without the unnatural fortitude granted by nationhood, he doubted he would be able to function on how little rest he got. Though eventually, he managed to slip into sleep.Sometimes, the little hag stone his mother had given him brought a strange peace when he held it. Sometimes it seemed to help him rest without the haunting of nightmares.Tonight, was not one of those nights. 
.

.

.
 Arthur was wandering through a forest. Birch trees clawed at the twilight sky. With their bleached white bark, they looked like bones protruding from the Earth’s flesh.There were no birds. It was so silent, Arthur could almost hear the land breathing.Red autumnal leaves crunched under Arthur’s boots. He was sure he was walking in circles. The forest seemed to shift when he wasn’t looking, as if the trees were in on some elaborate game designed to spin him in loops.Arthur pushed on, weaving his way through endless trees. There was no sun. No moon. Just a perpetual and pervasive twilight. He had no idea what time it was, how long he’d been wandering. His whole life, for all he knew.Suddenly, he stumbled upon a small pond. It was a glorified puddle really, but Arthur welcomed any sight that wasn’t another bloody tree. He stepped closer, emerging from the cover of the crimson foliage.The pond rippled, though no breeze blew. “Come closer,” a sweet voice-that-was-not-a-voice, wafted through the misty air.Arthur stepped closer without thought. He stooped by the edge of the dark water. He could not see the bottom, he realised, only a reflection of the pale violet sky and the reflection of own green eyes staring up in wonder. Arthur leaned over the water. He canted his head a fraction. His reflection copied.Then a pair of pallid hands broke the surface, rippling the image. They reached for him, grabbing wildly at the air. Arthur could see not whose they were. He reeled back, but the hands were upon him with unearthly speed. They latched onto his arm. They yanked with a monstrous vigour. The land slipped out from under Arthur’s feet. And then he was tumbling into the murky water.His eyes clamped shut as he fell. He braced, preparing to grapple in the pond with his unknown assailant. Then he felt the frigid water swallow him whole. It was much deeper than he’d thought.Arthur’s eyes burst open underwater. The grabbing hands were gone. There was no one but himself. All he could see was uniform dark water below him, surrounding him. As far as he could tell there was no bottom to this watery abyss. It felt as vast as an ocean.The surface world now seemed like only a superficial mask to cover the true depths below, as if the world above was just an afterthought. The only window left to the above world was the surface of the pond, through which Arthur could still see the shimmering silhouettes of trees beneath the sky.The logical part of Arthur’s brain would’ve told him there should’ve been tree roots below the surface of the earth, that this ocean hidden below did not belong. But that didn’t seem to matter right now. Arthur kicked in the water, propelling himself back toward the world above.He outstretched a hand towards the surface. Instead of breaking the water, his hand was pushed flat, as if it were meeting a sheet of glass. Arthur’s mouth fell open in surprise. Distantly, he realised he could breathe. Though that didn’t seem like an important detail.Arthur drew his hand back and thrust it toward the surface with more force. Again, his hand failed to break the barrier. The surface still rippled like water, though it felt like a wall. He punched it. He swivelled to kick it. It would not let him back through.He punched it again and again. Arthur screamed. No sound left his mouth. He pounded harder against the surface. Again, and again. But he was stuck below the surface, roiling in the abyssal darkness. He hit it until he could feel his arms start to tire. His muscles turned to jelly.It was useless. Arthur was utterly trapped.
.

.

.
 Arthur’s eyes flew open, his arms froze mid-swing over his head. His duvet had been thrown off the bed.
Another nightmare.
Arthur’s arms collapsed beside him. His nightmares were getting more frequent. He took a long breath. He couldn’t make heads or tails of his dreams, even when he did remember them. He’d stopped trying, for the most part. And already, the memory of the dream was fading.Absently, he felt for the hag stone, still resting on the drawer beside the bed. A great lot of help it had been. Still, he’d awoken from worse nightmares, he supposed half–cynically.He lifted his head to look at the clock. 9:56, it read.Arthur grimaced. The conference had started at nine.Dream forgotten, he slipped from the unkempt bed. The sheets were damp with cold sweat. Arthur rose, edging towards the bathroom. He splashed cool water over his face. The mirror was mercifully ordinary. (He hated that he checked for such things nowadays.)He resolved to shower and dress. He even raked a comb through his unruly hair. (Though that did absolutely nothing useful.)Arthur hoped he looked semi-respectable as he began to descend the hotel's stairs. Before he reached the floor of the conference room, he could hear the din of chatter. Poking his head around the corner of the stairwell, he spied people buzzing about outside the room. They’re on break already? Lazy louts.After waking so late, Arthur hadn’t been planning to go to the meeting after this morning. Turning up late and drawing everyone’s attention was worse than pretending he never meant to go in the first place.Gilbert’s head started turning towards Arthur from where he stood, not far away. Arthur darted back out of sight.Arthur now saw 2 choices. Go back to his room until the break was safely over. Or, try to pass unnoticed to the next stairwell. Briefly, he considered the former option.
You utter coward.
Arthur stepped out of his shelter and B–lined for the next set of stairs.“Oh. Arthur.” It was Gilbert’s raspy voice.A grimace appeared on Arthur’s face, quickly washed away by a look of forced banality. He turned. Gilbert stood side by side with Ludwig. Ludwig already looked frustrated with the meeting, though Gilbert was as exhaustingly energetic as always.“Wasn’t expecting to see you so soon. Scottie told us you were in sick today. Sudden economic crash?” Gilbert barked a laugh.“Of course he did,” Arthur muttered, before saying a little louder, “You know how it is. The economy,” he waved a hand dismissively, “It’s in shambles.”
‘Tell them about the dream.’
Arthur coughed to cover the sudden choking noise he made. That thought had not been his own.
‘It’s more interesting than the economy~’
Neither Gilbert nor Ludwig showed any reaction to the voice, though they shared a conspiratorial glance at his choking noise.
I’m hearing voices now. I’m hearing his fucking voice in my head.
Arthur heard a razor-sharp laugh escape his lips before he clamped them shut. Ludwig and Gilbert shared another glance. Whatever they were thinking, Arthur hated it.“Are you ok?” Ludwig asked tentatively, as if not entirely sure how to breach the conversation. Whether it was because it was a loaded question, or because it was to Arthur of all people that he was asking, Arthur didn’t know.“I’m fine.”
‘Dirty little liar~’

Shut up. Get out of my head.
Ludwig’s brows furrowed slightly. Gilbert was plainly unreadable. It was a mercy that Alfred chose that exact moment to come bounding over. “You’re up! Man, I thought you were going to stay in bed foreverrrrrrr. Are you– like–” Alfred seemed to think better of whatever that question was and shut his mouth.“I’m not joining the rutting meeting if that’s what you mean. I figure I might as well not, if my brothers insist on doing it anyway, right?”“Yeah true,” Alfred agreed, “I wish I could skip.” He slipped a sheepish glance and Ludwig at that admission.Though Ludwig looked inwardly ready to agree, he instead said, “I suppose we should reconvene soon. Maybe Natalia got it out of her system by now.”Arthur stepped back, a little hastily. “Well, I’ll see you both around then!” When none of them replied immediately, he took another step back before turning and striding to the stairs. As soon as he was out of their sight, he raked a hand down his face.He heaved a breath. “So, you figured out how to talk directly in my head even when you aren’t here?”No response. Arthur sighed. Unravelling. God, he was unravelling.He descended the steps a little more slowly now. Stepping out of the hotel, he took to the misty streets of Stockholm.After a moment of silent walking, he said, “If you’re still there, just say something.” No response.“Come on. Hiding now?” Again, no response. Arthur felt like a fool again. He sighed, resigning himself to wandering in silence. 
. . . . .
 He wasn’t sure how long he had been walking, or in which direction exactly. It would be dark in several hours, he presumed. Swedish November days were short.Soon he happened upon a park enclosed by pink flowering bushes. A small figure caught his attention. A tiny girl with ice–white hair and skin was poking around under the thickets. The vittra appeared to be looking for something among the fallen flowers. Arthur stared at her for a moment. As soon as she saw him looking, she vanished before he could blink. Arthur stuffed his hands into his pockets, peeling his eyes away from where the fae girl had just been.He meandered through the park's gates. It’s not like he had anywhere better to go. He followed the path through the neat rows of trees before he came upon a crossroads.
‘Turn right.’
Arthur jolted. He immediately turned left down the path, finding himself walking through a patch of blue and purple flowers. “If you’re back, are you ready to talk?”There was a long pause. Then nothing. Arthur was already sick of this game.
‘Maybe’
Arthur’s pulse spiked. “How are you doing this? How are you talking to me?”The answer was an almost impish chuckle. ‘Should’ve gone right.’Arthur’s brows furrowed. His feet slowed to a halt. With a scowl, he turned back the way he came to follow the fork right this time. He found the path winding through a trail of towering pine trees above little bushes of ornamental heather.He noticed a tiny figure again in the corner of his eye. The ice–pale vittra was back again, crouching in the heather. This time she held his eyes, her mouth pulled into a grim line. She shook her head once. An omen? A warning? She disappeared into a shroud of purple heather.Arthur took his hands from his pockets, his stance a little more guarded. He would be lying if he said he didn’t tread with a little more caution after that.The path sunk into a glade. A pool of shimmering water lay at the bottom. He was struck with the prickling sense of déjà vu. Something sparked in the back of his mind, a hazy image from a half-forgotten dream in a forest. There was a pond. Hands, clawing at him. Swallowed by darkness. Underwater. He was tapped–The tide of memories flooded his head. He did not step closer to the water, rippling innocently under the misty grey of the sky above.“Are you there?” he called out. No response.Arthur huffed, taking cautious steps closer to the water’s edge until he could see his own reflection dancing on the surface.Arthur blinked. In that split second his reflection took on a life of its own. His green eyes turned a startling blue. His blond hair turned strawberry. And most disturbingly, his reflection’s face split into a hungry grin.“You,” Arthur breathed.‘Me,’ he echoed.“The nightmare–” he began. It was all coming back to him now, crashing over him in waves. He wondered what other dreams he’d forgotten. “Was that you?”
‘It’s easy to sway dreams. It’s the time people are most likely to brush upon our world.’
“Were you trying to taunt me? Spook me? Or just make me look like a fool. What do you want from me?”Arthur expected him to laugh like a demented villain, maybe to monologue his intentions. Instead, his face turned utterly blank. The water rippled. “You may not remember me now. But you will.”Arthur was sick of riddles. Sick of being drip-fed cryptic messages. Sick of being trapped in the dark, being paranoid and powerless. But most of all, he was tired. So, so tired. “You won’t give a straight answer, will you?”A crackling laugh rang through the air. It was a hollow sound. Arthur was surprised to find it belonged to him, and not the ever–grinning reflection. A strange sensation of looseness washed over him. Maybe it was the exhaustion of being afraid. He was done with seeing things, of having voices invade his head, of nightmares and the agonising doubt he felt as his mind slipped. “You’ve been playing with me for weeks now. But can you even touch me outside of dreams and mirrors?” he demanded.He stalked to the water’s edge, a rush of mad heat fuelling his body. “Answer me this, once and for all: Are you even real?”The glade turned deathly silent. The reflection’s face remained expertly blank. But those blue eyes hardened into ice.Arthur crouched down on the bank to look him closer in the eye. “You’re not.” He laughed again, mirthless and void. He didn’t entirely know why.For a split second, Arthur thought he saw the classic grin return in all its devilish glory. But before he could think he was falling. Falling, and he didn’t know why. As if the Earth slipped out from under his feet. He braced himself, clamping his eyes shut as he broke the smooth surface with an icy splash.He landed face down in the water. His hands fumbled over the algae–smooth stones on the bottom. He slipped on the rocks. Slipped again.And then something cold and biting plunged into his gut. It twisted. Snaking pain shot through his body. Arthur howled, writhing to get a grip on the wet rocks. He hurled himself out of the water as fast as he could.Kneeling on the edge, he peered down. A red stain spread like ink through the water soaking his clothes.“You– He stabbed me.” The words were incredulous. And then–
It’s real. He’s real. It’s all real. I’m not fucking mad.
Arthur watched the crimson colour his undershirt. Then a little more of that odd laughter trickled back out of his throat, all the same.
Perhaps I’m mad anyway. He stabbed me and I’m sitting here laughing.
Arthur had always enjoyed irony–He slapped himself hard enough that the world whipped back into focus like an elastic band snapping. Now was not the time to truly lose his wits. He threw himself to his feet. He tore back through the park. He felt a frenzied panic begin to shoot through his veins, urging him to move.That thing that stabbed him could be right behind him.He may not understand much, but he now knew two things. It was real. And it was out for his blood.The hotel. He had to get back to the hotel. His pain-addled brain could piece together that much. He took to the streets, vaguely tracing the way he’d come. He had no idea where he was on these foreign streets, but he was pretty sure it was this way, right?
‘Run, run, little rabbit.’
And run he did. Barbs of pain twisted in his gut with every bound. But it was a distant pain. Secondary to the screaming need to get away.Arthur hurtled through the streets, his thoughts a scattered mess. A couple of people leapt out of his path. A few pointed and screamed. He assumed they were looking at the trail of red in his wake. But Arthur didn’t care. There was no room for thoughts besides he’s behind me he’s behind me I need to run I need to run. There. The hotel.Arthur finally stopped, just short of the entrance. Suddenly the pain seemed so much more immediate. He swayed. He’d lost so much blood. He put a hand to his stomach, as if he could staunch the flow of gushing red.He waddled into the hotel. Someone shrieked. Probably the receptionist. But it all seemed too far away.Arthur climbed the stairs up to his room. He threw open the door, stumbling in. He was panting, deep ragged breaths. He couldn’t get enough air. Absently, he reached for his hagstone, lying untouched beside the bed. It was a cool weight in his hand, grounding his swooning head. He clutched his stomach. What to do what to do—
‘You think you’re safe here?’
Arthur whirled. No one was there. No one he could see. Arthur raked his spare hand through his sweat-slicked hair. How do you run from something inside your own head?He was trapped. Not because he was locked up. But because there was no where to run. No escape.And he was an idiot. He’d lead it back to the hotel. Where everyone else was. What was the point in coming here anyway? His mind couldn’t think clearly, like wading through a dense fog with every thought.Yet, he could feel a pair of eyes on him that did not belong. He needed to get away. Get far away. Get so lost he wouldn’t be found, even by himself.He stumbled back out of the hotel room, wobbling on his knees. He was sure a human would’ve passed out by now. He crashed back down the stairs he’d just come up, half aware of where he was headed.“Arthur?” A blurry voice called. “England!”Arthur paid no heed. He burst out of the hotel's doors. He needed to run. Needed to run–The sun was already setting. Streetlamps lit his way, but the light glared and shimmered. Arthur did not think the light was supposed to do that.He just ran. He raced until he could not feel his legs. The pain in his gut became distant again. It seemed to swim in and out. He could sense he was not fully lucid, yet he could not stop and take a breath to clear his mind. If he stopped it might catch him.Slipping. His mind was truly slipping and part of him was fully aware of it. It was terrifying.But the primal part of him that told him to run was overpowering. He became aware he was on a bridge over a river he'd never seen. A huge river, swirling with twilight water.And then he was falling. Falling, and he was only half-aware. His legs had finally given up and his mind was dimming from the blood loss, so he’d just let go and now he was falling.
Falling–
Icy black water swallowed him whole. In that strange, stretched moment, he found an odd sort of peace. This was it. He was going to vanish into an unnamed river in a foreign land. His body would probably wash into the ocean and never be seen again.But he could not feel his body. He was wholly numb. He felt his grip on the world of consciousness loosen.And then everything faded to black. Or perhaps, something even darker than that.
.

.

.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

[Peter]

A triumphant smirk curled across Peter’s cheeks as he stepped through the door to an otherwise unassuming hotel reception hall.Bingo, he thought. You won’t keep me out this time!After hacking Tino’s emails about the world summit (reading them after he left the browser open), and then catching a train to Stockholm (with his own money!), Peter was finally about to make his debut in a world meeting. A real live actual world meeting! Truly, he was a mastermind for coming up with such a foolproof scheme.His body was practically humming with anticipation. Surely, they couldn’t turn him away this time!He threw a look around the entrance hall as he wandered a little further in. It was empty, but for the receptionist, a spindly boy who looked barely a few years older than Peter himself.Peter raised a hand to his lips in thought. Now, he wondered, where on Earth is the meeting room…?No sooner than the thought had arisen, his eye caught a figure hurtling down the far stairs. He glimpsed blonde hair, mattered and slick with sweat against pale ashen skin. He was running. And electric tension seized his jerky steps.Peter stopped dead. In a ripped and muddied coat, Peter didn’t recognise him at first, though it was unmistakably Arthur, of all people.When he emerged from the stairs, Peter got a better view. He felt his stomach drop to his feet. Thick rivulets of blood were gushing from Arthur’s gut, so concentrated it stained his shirt black.  Peter’s hand flew to his mouth. Either from horror or disgust or the sudden and visceral urge to hurl at the sight–Arthur was running at breakneck speed towards the exit. The receptionist fell off his chair with a shriek and a yelp.Peter snatched a glimpse of Arthur’s eyes, green and dilated. They trembled in their sockets. They spoke of an animalistic desire to run. It was utterly primal. And utterly foreign on Arthur’s face.Peter took an unconscious step back. “Arthur?” His voice quavered breathily. Arthur took no notice. “England!” he tried.But Arthur did not hesitate, did not look back, before he threw open the door and disappeared into the twilight.Peter was speechless. Minutes ago, he’d come beaming and excited to join a world meeting, and he now felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach, left winded and watery-eyed. He did not move for a moment, as if he expected Arthur to walk right back in and announce it was all a sick prank and they could all go back to the meeting together and have tea and bloody scones or whatever–Slowly, the weight of the situation clocked over in Peter’s mind. Arthur was going to bleed out and die. Somewhere on the streets. Alone.Now it was Peter’s turn to run. He bolted up the grand staircase Arthur had just descended, careful to dodge the hot scarlet stains seeping across the carpet. “Help!” He shouted, because what else was he supposed to say? “Help please–” It distantly occurred to him that running in the direction Arthur had been running from was not a good idea. What if there were assassins or–Peter rounded a corner and collided with something solid. “Autsch! He!” A raspy voice sounded above him. A German accent maybe? Peter peeled himself off the stranger, peering up to meet devilishly red eyes framed by icy white hair. He didn’t look like how he remembered Germany from the one or two times they’d met. Prussia maybe? Peter had never met Prussia, though he’d heard plenty of crazy stories from Magnus.“What do you think you’re doing running around corners like that? Do you want to break a leg?” The personification of Prussia seemed to recover himself a little, rolling his shoulders back, before giving Peter a double take. “Junge, are you crying?”Peter touched his face. He found a tear trailing down his cheek that he hadn’t realised had left his eye. It was just the shock of it all, he reasoned. “Sorry, Mr, um… what do I call you?”Something hard and sharp in Prussia’s face suddenly melted, like a switch flicking behind his eyes. He crouched to be on Peter’s level. “Tell me what happened. And just call me Gilbert.”“I– I saw– There was–” Peter’s voice came out garbled. “Blood. So much blood, and…”“Breathe.” Gilbert’s voice was an odd balance of warm and authoritative.And Peter did breathe. A good long breath. “I saw Arthur, running out the hotel doors. A– And bloody. He’s going to die out there!”Gilbert stayed silent a moment. He was annoyingly unreadable. “Of course it was him,” he muttered, as if Peter wasn’t there.Peter frowned. “What do you mean?”Gilbert promptly ignored that question, forging on with a new question of his own. “You’re one of the micronations, yeah? What was it? Uh. See–?”“I am the Principality of Sealand.”“Yeah, that.”“But everyone calls me Peter.”“Great. Well, come with me, Peter!” All at once his voice regained its levity. Gilbert rose, taking Peter’s hand in his.“Where are we going?”“Back to the others, of course.” Peter trailed Gilbert down a hall and through a big door. But this was so not how Peter had imagined his entrance to the world meeting. Gazing around a room filled with more nations than he’d ever seen in one place, Peter felt his knees turn to jelly all over again. He could almost feel the collective millennia of human history ringing in the air. Peter found himself suddenly aware that he was just an abandoned military fort off the coast of Suffolk.Nor was he fully prepared for the chaos that was a world meeting. As soon as he entered, still on Gilbert’s heels, a cacophony of voices flooded his ears. There seemed no limit to the variety of languages (or the creativity of insults) being shouted across the room or whispered in a nearby ear. It took Peter a full minute to process that they were merely discussing inflation of all things. (Something utterly boring and far too convoluted, in Peter’s opinion).Peter remained passive as he was led down to the front of the room, where a group was huddled around the podium on the stage, locked in their own heated discussion. Ludwig and Francis were both on their feet on the side of the stage, caught in a conversation. Belatedly, Peter realised that was exactly where Gilbert was headed.“Psssst. Hey West!” Gilbert said in a whisper so loud it was bordering on a shout.Peter saw Ludwig pause a very animated discussion with Francis to spare Gilbert a half–lidded look. “You took your time. You said you would be back 20 minutes ago–““I know. I know.” Gilbert waved it off, before his voice dropped into something low and serious. “You can chew me out later, but you need to hear this.” How Gilbert’s tones and demeanours could flip between carefree and dead serious so quickly, Peter didn’t know. Practise he supposed.Francis seemed to give up on whatever point he was trying to argue, his expression turning to intrigue upon spying Peter. Ludwig’s eyes dropped from Gilbert’s, falling onto Peter for the first time. “And this is… ?” he asked.Gilbert stepped aside. Oddly, Peter couldn’t help but feel exposed, if only for a second. “Go on.” Gilbert nudged him lightly.“I am the Principality of Sealand!” He puffed his chest a little for good measure. “But you can call me Peter.”“Tell them what you saw,” Gilbert prompted.“Arthur–“ and before he’d even said anything he saw Francis’s face take on a new weight– “I saw him run out onto the street and he was–““Peter, what on God’s green Earth do ye think ye’re doin’ here?”Peter grimaced. Allistor. Frick.As Allistor approached, Gilbert put up a hand to halt him. “Don’t interrupt. Let us hear the kid out first.” Then he added, a touch coyly, “You might even want to hear this yourself.”Allistor did not reply, though his face blunted into something vaguely neutral. Peter took that as his queue to keep going. “Arthur ran out the front door and he was covered in blood,” he blurted. “Like a lot of it.”“Fuck,” was what Allistor finally said.“Did he say anything to you?” Ludwig asked, ever the voice of calm rationale.“I shouted at him, but he didn’t hear or something - cos he’s an idiot.” As soon as it left his mouth, Peter was aware of how childish that sounded. Usually, that would make him cringe. But at the moment, he found it oddly comforting.A string of curses left Allistor’s lips, colourful enough that Timo would probably have covered his ears if he were here. Then Allistor turned and strode towards the exit, still muttering under his breath.“Where are you going?” Peter asked.“After that idiot! Where else?” Allistor called back.“I’m coming too!” Peter lurched in the direction of the exit before something wrapped tightly around his arm.“Leave him to it.” Peter turned and found the voice came from Francis, kneeling next to him and holding his arm. “He works better alone anyway.”“Do you expect me to sit down and shut up after that? I wanna do something.” Peter was aware he had already served his purpose as a messenger. But the thought of now being told to sit down while everyone else handled this seemed wrong.“How about you help Gilbert? He did find you,” Francis suggested.Gilbert started at that. The two of them shared a look, before Gilbert said, “Alright. Looks like you’re stuck with the awesome me, junge.”“But what are we gonna do… ?” asked Peter.“Erm…” Gilbert scratched the back of his neck.They were all silent a moment before Francis suggested, “Do they have security cameras here?”Ludwig stopped to ponder. “That would indeed be useful. But the hotel security would never give those files to us.”Gilbert barked a laugh. “They don’t have to.” Before anyone could ask, he was already on his way back through the room. “C’mon Sea! We got a mission!”“Hell yeah!” Peter pumped his fists, bounding after Gilbert. “But um, what exactly are we gonna do?”“We’re gonna hack their security, of course.”“You’re a hacker?” Peter gawked. For an old geezer, Gilbert was full of surprises.  Gilbert laughed again, a brazen sound from the back of his throat.  “Me? Nope. But I know who is.” 
. . . . .

[Alfred]
 “Hey, jackass!”Alfred’s head perked up at the greeting that had become so familiar. A grin lit his face as he swivelled in his seat. Gilbert was galivanting straight towards him with an energy in his gait that spoke of trouble to come.Alfred rose in time to clasp Gilbert’s hand in greeting. Then Gilbert said, “I’ll cut to the chase. I need a favour.”Alfred’s lip quirked, intrigued. “Uh-huh. And what do I get in return?”“I’ll forget the last time I had to haul you home drunk.” Gilbert smirked.“Haha! Ok, ok–“ Alfred did not need to be reminded of that. “What do you need, dude?”“Think you can hack the hotel’s security system?”Alfred’s brows rose to his hairline. “You want me to what?”Gilbert glanced to the side, probably accessing their very public surroundings. “How about we go discuss this upstairs, ja?”“Mm’kay. We should probably go to my room then.”Gilbert nodded, starting toward the exit. He stopped after a moment, seeming to be waiting. But his attention was not on Alfred. Instead, it was fixed on the little shadow that had been following him.Alfred registered the kid for the first time. He’d met him a couple of times in the U.K. Sealand, was it? Paul? Percy? Peter? Yeah, that rang a bell. Alfred shot him a smile. “Oh, hey! Didn’t sea ya’ there.”A flicker of a smile tugged at Peter’s lips. Then it was gone, as if it had never existed. He did not reply, instead choosing to follow closely in Gilbert’s footsteps.Not the reaction he was expecting, but Alfred quickly brushed it off. He trailed in tow to the hotel lift. Once they ascended to his floor, he led them both to his room.Once there, he pulled up his laptop and draped himself over the bed. “I left my big guns at home, but this is a pretty basic job, so it’ll do just fine.”Alfred set to work, sifting his way through panels of code and feeling around in the strings of numbers for a back door. In the corner of his eye, he spied Peter wringing his hands. A minute passed in silence. Then two.Alfred saw Peter walk to the window, and drum his fingers on the glass. He was probably doing his best to be patient, Alfred assumed. “Almost there – their security is kinda crap. Or maybe I’m just a genius, who knows,” Alfred chuckled, hoping to lighten the air. “So, um, what do y’all need this for, exactly?”“We need to check some footage,” Gilbert clarified.“Ok. Why?”Peter turned and crossed his arms over his chest. “To find Arthur, of course!”The sounds of keyboard clacking ceased. “Come again?”Gilbert explained, voice curt, “He’s missing, and we need more intel.”Alfred opened his mouth, a slew of questions brimming on his tongue. “I–“ He shut his mouth. “I’m almost there,” was all he settled on.Despite popular opinion, Alfred was not an idiot. Something must have gone down. Something involving Arthur, and maybe Peter. Something to explain Peter’s tense hovering, his incessant fidgeting with his knuckles. And something that needed security footage, apparently. He almost had the footage, so he would find out soon enough.He felt Gilbert look over his shoulder. He had no idea if Gilbert understood any of what he was doing as he flicked between a few open programmes. Then bullseye. He was in. “Got em’. What time do you need?”Peter scrambled onto the bed. “Um. I think I got here maybe twenty minutes ago.”Alfred clicked through a few files, before pulling up a grainy video feed. “Geez, they need to update their cameras,” he muttered.They all watched for a few minutes, eyes glued to the screen. Alfred skipped back and forwards a few times before they found a pixelated Peter wandering onto the screen.“There! There!” Peter pointed. And sure enough, a figure of Arthur appeared on the screen. From this angle, they couldn’t see his face or his front. He ran out of camera view. One second he was there and then he was gone.“Thanks, Sea! Now that we’ve found him, how about you go update Ludwig and Francis on what we’ve found? West might’ve cancelled the meeting by now.” Gilbert’s voice was a little too light, though Alfred wasn’t sure if Peter noticed as he slid off the bed and left the room.After they both heard the soft click of the door, Gilbert’s voice dropped, sounding suddenly much more like the general that had trained Alfred all those years ago. “See if you can find a close-up. Or where was coming from.”They sifted through the next few video feeds until they found one with a much more detailed shot. Detailed enough for Alfred to see the overwhelming red on Arthur’s clothes. To see the large whites of his eyes as he ran through the hall.What the hell happened here? Alfred sucked in a breath. “Did Peter…?”“He saw it all. Apparently, he called out, but Arthur didn’t even look.”Alfred pulled up a new feed. They saw Arthur exit his room.“Don’t suppose they have cameras in the bedrooms?” Gilbert asked.“Don’t think so.”Gilbert hummed and Alfred played back through the video. “Whatever it was, it happened before he went to his room.”“So, why’d he go there? He didn’t get anything.”“No idea.”Alfred looked through a few earlier feeds. Eventually, they found one with Arthur entering the hotel. The timestamp claimed it was barely seventeen minutes before he’d left again. And he was already bloodied. Already running with the wild movements of delirium.Gilbert hummed again. “…He was hurt outside the hotel. Ran back, got nothing from his room, didn’t talk to anyone, then ran back out.” Alfred could hear the cogs turning in Gilbert’s mind.“But why?” Alfred could no longer hold back his questions. None of this made a lick of sense.After a long moment, Gilbert shrugged. He was just as lost as Alfred.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

[Albion]

451 Anno Domini. A Forest in Northern England.

Albion cupped his hands and called, “Mama! Alba! Cymru!” He held his breath, waiting for a response. All he heard was his own echo, bouncing back through the dense wall of aspens. 
Albion bit his lip. He’d been travelling with Mama and two of his older brothers when he’d somehow stumbled off the path and got himself lost. The sun had been on the horizon then. Now the moon was high, swimming in a sea of stars. And he was still lost.
He pulled his cloak a little tighter around his shoulders. He filled his lungs, ready to call out again, when he heard a rustle. A twig snapped in the brush. Albion froze. “Is anyone there?” His voice was quiet, meek. “…Mama?”

Albion turned, slowly, eyes fixed on the rustling darkness. Was it just a night breeze?

Then he saw them. A pair of luminescent eyes barely fifteen paces away. A wolf.

Albion’s hand moved to rest on the hilt of his hunting knife. He did not take his eyes off the wolf.

For a moment, neither moved, content to stare. The wolf tilted its head in a way that seemed far more cat-like than it should. And then it took a bold, prowling step closer, abandoning stealth. The grace of its movements, precise and calculated, belied the layers of dense muscle rippling under its fur.

Albion whipped his knife out of his belt. It was a meagre thing he’d crafted from stone and bound with leather cord. “D– don’t come closer–“ He waved his knife like it might deter the predator currently eyeing him up and down like a three-course meal. He tried to ignore the way the knife shook in his hands.

Albion squared his feet the way he’d seen men do before a sparing match. “I’m warning you! I’m– I’m not afraid!”

The wolf flicked its tail, drawing back onto its hind legs. Then it sprung, cutting through the night in one swift move.

Albion didn’t have time to process. One moment the wolf was bearing down on him and the next, he felt a thud on his side and he was sprawled in a bank of leaves. He expected the wolf to take its chance, to finish him there and then.

It didn’t.

Albion looked up. Alba was there, plunging his own blade into the heart of the wolf. It was a sword. A real blade. Fully iron, and beautifully lethal. Alba lept back as the wolf collapsed, snarling and clawing at the air. Albion could’ve sworn it looked at him in those last fuzzy moments. But eventually, it stilled. Just a warm corpse.

Alba pulled his sword from the beast. He wiped it on his cloak, something Mama would undoubtedly reprimand him for later. He was a couple of heads taller than Albion, big enough that Mama trusted him with his own weapon. “Come,” he said, “I want to get back before Cymru eats all the currants again.”

Abion got to his feet, brushing leaves from his unruly hair. “You found me.”

Alba glanced down, meeting his wide green eyes. “We’re brothers,” he answered flatly.

Albion looked back to the warm corpse of the wolf. In a few heartbeats, it had gone from a stalker in the night, a knife-fanged beast ready to devour him whole, to a still lump on the forest floor. Where before its eyes held malicious intelligence, the cunning of a predator, now they were dim. Dead.

Still eyeing the wolf, Albion asked, “What if you hadn’t?”

Abla took a moment to watch his breath fog in front of him before mixing into the night air. “I will always find you. I promise.”

Abion blinked at him.

Then abruptly, as if the encounter had never happened, Alba grasped Albion’s hand in his, pulling him back to the path. “Now let’s go! I’ve had enough for one night and I want dinner.”
 
. . . . .

[Allistor]
 A string of curses were the only clear thoughts filling Allistor’s mind as he erupted onto the street. The sun was setting, and darkness was rapidly pooling in every crevasse and crack that remained unlit by the iron streetlamps. The street was almost barren but for a few cars and the odd pedestrian.Allistor halted only long enough to catch a glimpse of burgundy on the paving stones nearby. He crouched beside them. He ran a finger through the brownish-red. It was newly dried.The lines of Allistor’s face pulled taught. In an instant, he was on his feet again, hovering over the next spot of blood. Then the next and the next, as he began to pick up speed.With every new fleck of unwelcome red, Allistor felt his stomach tie another knot.
Fuck. Fuck–
Without missing a step, Allistor’s phone appeared in his hands. Within an instant, he was dialling Arthur’s number. Allistor held his breath. The phone rang and rang again. Pick up. Pick up, you idiot. The call gave way to voicemail.Allistor huffed, still trotting along between the splotches of the paving stones. Arthur’s route made no sense. He seemed to double back at times, to almost go in circles. That did not bode well, Allistor thought grimly. And how anyone could lose that much blood and still be walking…Allistor rang again. No response.Soon the darkness swelled. It spilled out of every lurking shadow as the last of the meagre sunlight faded away. Allistor squinted to make out the trail until he was forced to use the torch on his phone as a guiding light. Occasionally, he would slow to send Emrys an update. He traced street after street. When he could see the trail up ahead, he broke into a run. Other times, he had to guess and trace his steps to find the right path again. At some point, he realised the trail was growing sparser. His pulse beat a little faster. He followed until he found himself on a bridge above a gushing river. For the life of him, he could not tell where the trail led beyond that. He stuck around that area for hours, circling back for any sign of blood, or really anything at all. He found cold hard nothing. As if Arthur had simply disappeared. That disturbed him more than any amount of blood could.Eventually, he settled into a slower pace, his frantic movements slowing into something that spoke more of his weariness than anything else.For lack of anything else to do, he called again.  The phone dialled in his hand, yet he also heard a fainter ringing. He paused, following the sound back to its source. Kneeling by a potted fern on the shore before the bridge, he spied a phone, vibrating on the ground. As the phone in his hand turned to voicemail yet again, the phone on the ground fell silent. Oh no. He inspected the phone, the screen a web of fresh glass shards. He called Arthur again with his own phone. Sure enough, the new phone fluttered to life with an incoming call.This was Arthur’s phone.He watched the shattered screen hum and fall silent with each ring. Each time, he felt something in his chest collapse a little more. He let the call run its course. He watched numbly as his last connection to Arthur died in his hand and did not light up again.A bloody trail that led to nowhere. A phone, discarded and broken…
…What now?
Allistor’s shoulders dipped. His muscles loosed of the hopeful tension that had kept him on his feet into the late hours of the night. Suddenly, all he felt was just heavy. He felt himself drop forward onto his knees. He was aware of the stone–cold paving stones that came up beneath him. But it all felt a little distant, meaningless.Arthur was gone. Allistor should have known. Should’ve kept a better eye on him. All the signs were there if he’d just– He should’ve–Allistor’s hand curled dangerously tight, still clutching Arthur’s phone. A new crack etched itself across the screen.He should’ve– He should’ve–He couldn’t think it, couldn’t complete the sentence. Instead, he buried those thoughts. They were acidic and stinging and right now he just felt too raw. He was not ready. Not tonight. Tonight, he was allowed to be tired. The hand gripping Arthur’s phone slowly loosed. He let it fall to the ground with a light thud.Then there was a new ringing. Initially, he glanced at Arthur’s, not quite sure what he was hoping for. It was still dark. He placed it down on the stone pavement beside him, turning his attention to his own phone. The screen revealed that it was Emrys calling back.Gently, he picked up his own phone, hitting the green button to accept the call.“Allistor! Allistor, where are you? Did you– Did you find–?” Even through his sluggish mind, Allistor could recognise the note of hysteria on the edge of Emrys’s voice.“Emrys.” He said abruptly, cutting him off before he started blubbering. “I didn’t find-” Beep. The call ended. Allistor frowned. Oh, his phone had finally died. He breathed a sigh. Not a sigh of irritation or his usually icy frustration, but rather a long breath stunted with fatigue. He could not muster anything more right now.He sat, numb against the cold stones. His phone slipped out of his hands. He let the dead wiry husk of it thud down next to the other, cracked and broken. Just a pair of dead phones.He cast his gaze out over the dark water of the river. It seemed peaceful. The dark waves ebbed and lapped gently in the moonlight.Wherever Arthur was, Allistor would find him. He knew he would. He’d promised, afterall. A number of times, back when Arthur would’ve been too young to remember. But Allistor remembered.But that was all before. A lot changes in nearly two millennia. He wasn’t sure if half-remembered promises still counted.But a brother is still a brother.
I will find you.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

[Ludwig]

Ludwig watched as the conference room drained of people. Probably to go crash in their beds or at the bar, despite the fact it was barely evening. Soon, the vast room contained only four – Francis, Emrys, Seamus and himself.When Sealand – Peter – of all people, had come heralding the alarming news, Ludwig hadn’t delayed in wrapping up the meeting. It had been a fruitless endeavour anyway. (When was it not, he thought bitterly.)Ludwig’s eyes tracked Emrys’s incessant pacing across the stage. Emrys had already tried to call Arthur, to no avail. Wherever he was, he wasn’t picking up. Every so often, Emrys would peel his eyes off his phone long enough to sneak a look at Seamus, who was currently straddling a chair backwards at the foot of the stage. Something furtive would pass between the two of them that flew hopelessly over Ludwig’s head.He had never been good at reading people. That was Francis’s forte. Yet Francis, seated in the first row of seats, appeared just as lost as Ludwig.Eventually, when his questions grew too loud to contain, Ludwig asked, “Does one of you know what’s going on?”Emrys and Seamus shared another of those inscrutable looks. Ludwig found that was quickly becoming irritating. After a moment Emrys said, “Allistor is searching for him now. He’ll find him. Soon. He’ll find Arthur soon.”“Is it truly that bad?” Ludwig asked, “I mean, it’s not the first time someone has run out on a summit.”The door to the conference room clanged shut. Ludwig hadn’t even heard it open. “Arthur didn’t pull a runner,” Peter answered bitterly, “You didn’t see him like I did. This was something else.”Emrys winced, glancing at his phone again. Ludwig filed that peculiar reaction away for later, along with all the others he was yet to decipher. “If this is so serious, perhaps more of us should be searching?” Ludwig suggested.“Allistor is tracking him right now. He’s one of the best trackers I’ve ever known,” Emrys said, “If anyone can find Arthur, it’s him.”Seamus grunted, seemingly unsatisfied with that declaration. “Another pair of eyes and ears never hurts.” Seamus kicked his leg over the chair, preparing to stand. “Maybe I should–”The door flung open again and Gilbert and Alfred barrelled into the room, quickly setting a laptop on a table. “You need to see this,” was all Alfred said, his face bleak. Ludwig and Francis strode over to see the screen, Emrys and Seamus were right beside them a breath later.No one spoke as they watched the video, blurry and bloody as it was. Peter sidled up beside Seamus to watch. No one stopped him.The video ended. And this was so much more than Ludwig had first thought. He found his mouth had gone dry. Ludwig’s uneasy interaction with Arthur that morning came rushing back to him. What is going on here?Beside him, Francis was a mirror of Ludwig’s confusion. He uttered a breathless, “Why?”“It gets weirder,” Alfred replied, “We watched more footage. He actually entered the building like that. He went up to his room, then ran straight back down and out onto the street.”Emrys muttered something unsavoury under his breath. “Then he was attacked somewhere outside the building.”Gilbert’s face was cool and calculating. “But who would attack him? What’s the motive here?”“Well, we know for sure it wasn’t another nation.” Alfred stated, “We were all right here.”Francis turned his gaze to Peter. “You didn’t see anything before you came in?”Peter shook his head.“Hold on,” Ludwig cut in, “If he really was assaulted by a stranger, we should be contacting the authorities-”“Screw that! They’ll only slow us down,” Seamus scorned. He withdrew himself from the table, his resolve to search with Allistor renewed by the footage.“What if it’s a targeted attack? Some kind of terrorism?” Ludwig suggested, “They might come after you too.”“I don’t care. I’m going.”“Listen,” Ludwig continued, “Allistor might be putting himself in danger by going after him. If you go to, that’s one more person at risk. We don’t have enough information. We need backup.”Seamus did not falter. “That could take hours. Arthur is out there somewhere, either dead or dying. And if Allistor is in danger out there… We don’t have the luxury of hours.”Emrys hurried to catch up to Seamus, who was already reaching for the door. “I’m coming with you!”Finally, Seamus stopped. He waited until Emrys was at his side. In hushed voices, they traded a few words, far too soft to be overheard.“Do we know if he got anything from his room?” Francis queried, drawing attention back to the group clustered around the laptop.  “If he did, we don’t know what,” Alfred answered, “He’s in and out in barely a minute.”“But why did he keep running? No one came after him.” Francis shook his head, almost disbelievingly. “It just doesn’t make any sense. And why didn’t he talk to someone? We were all right here, just a couple of rooms away...”The conversation lulled into a stilted silence. Peter plunked himself into a seat, his eyes glued to his shoes. Ludwig certainly didn’t know what to make of it. And glancing around, it appeared no one else did either. He could parse that much.In the quiet, they all heard the door shut behind Seamus. Emrys glanced at something on his phone and cursed quietly. And each of their gazes, brimming with questions, turned on him. 
. . . . .

[Emrys]
 Emrys hurried to catch up to Seamus before he could leave the conference room. When Emrys was comfortably at his side, Seamus leant in. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Stay. One of us should be here if he comes back. Call me if you learn anything and keep an eye on Peter.” Seamus swallowed thickly. “Make sure they don’t do anything rash. And if this is… you know…” The possibility went unsaid for now.“Do you really think it is…?”Seamus shifted uncertainly. “I don’t know what I think right now.”Emrys must’ve mirrored his trepidation because Seamus quickly added, “I will find them. Both of them.”Emrys nodded. “Alright. Go.”With that, Seamus left the conference room. Watching the door shut behind him, Emrys felt his gut sink further. He itched to help his brothers search. But he’d never been as good a tracker as either of them anyway. And Seamus was right. He needed to keep a watchful eye on Peter.But what good he could do in influencing the other nations, he didn’t know. They never listened to each other, let alone him. He’d spent the last few decades neglecting diplomatic meetings and opportunities to network.He pulled up his phone again. There was a new text from Allistor, short and sharp and grossly lacking in punctuation.
still following the trail. no sign yet
“Nefi blw,” Emrys cursed to himself. How far could Arthur possibly have gotten in that state?“Something going on, dude?” Alfred asked.It took a moment for the question to register. And another moment for Emrys to realise it was for him. He looked up and found them all eyeing him expectantly. He slipped his phone into a pocket. “Oh, Allistor’s still looking.”He’d hoped that simple answer would sate their interest. Apparently not, because Alfred continued to ask in his usual straightforward way, “Any idea why this happened?”Emrys hesitated. “No.”“Anything at all?” Alfred didn’t look convinced.“No.” There was no chance in Hell he would ever breathe a word of… that possibility – a possibility he was increasingly being forced to confront, as they were yet to come up with a better one. But Emrys wasn’t ready to think about that. They would find him any second now. He had to keep believing it.Francis sighed. “Please, it’s obvious you must know something. And if you don’t tell us, God help me, I will get make you talk one way or another.”Up till this point, Francis had been largely passive in the discussion. Emrys was taken aback by his sudden intensity. “Um- I-” He floundered.“All three of three of you have known something for a while now, haven’t you? That’s why you and Allistor came.” Francis stepped forth, in a graceful motion eerily like a prowl. “Did Arthur know too? Is that why he did what he did in the meeting yesterday? And don’t give me excuses about him being hungover or something. That won’t work on me. If you’re hiding something that could help us find him…”Emrys raised his arms in a placating gesture. “We want to find him and work out what’s going on just as much as anyone.”His non-answer did nothing to quell their interest. If anything, their dubious looks only grew more honed. They were waiting, he realised, to see if they could probe him into talking with just looks. They wouldn’t push him any further. No one would cross that boundary.Emrys offered them a stunted smile, meant to be reassuring. After a drawn-out pause, they must’ve realised they weren’t going to get anything out of him. Francis sighed, moving back to the laptop to rewatch the footage.Peter glanced between the adults. How much of that exchange he’d followed, Emrys couldn’t be sure.“We’ll need to suspend the summit until further notice,” Ludwig said eventually, “And we need to inform the authorities.”“Perhaps we should wait until Allistor and Seamus get back?” Emrys proposed. If officials got themselves involved, the case would become messy. And they would inevitably be asked questions they couldn’t answer truthfully.Ludwig remained unswayed. “I know Seamus didn’t want them meddling, but if someone goes missing, we have a duty to report it. And really, we don’t know how deep this goes. We could still need backup.”“They’ll find him soon. At least give them a chance. A few more hours, then we can?” It was already past nightfall. Granted, that came early this time of year and so far north.“Alright,” Ludwig conceded. He turned back to the table, where the others were reviewing more footage.Emrys breathed a sigh of relief. He checked his phone again. No more messages for either Allistor or Seamus.All that was left was to wait. So Emrys resumed his pacing. 
. . . . .

[Seamus]

It wasn’t hard for Seamus to find the tell-tail trail. At least in the hall, the stark red splotches stood out against the creamy carpet.A small group of nations was already gathering by the base of the stairs, pointing at the stains, and passing words in hushed voices. Seamus didn’t bother with them. In the next second, he was out the front door. It felt good to be on his feet, instead of sitting idly.It was considerably harder to see the trail in the open dark of the street. The lamps helped a little. But his phone torch helped more. There were surprisingly few people on the streets. Probably due to the cold, Seamus presumed. Though he saw the odd few out on the streets.  As he went on, the night grew colder and the people fewer. Seamus guessed a frost was on the way. He wound his way through the streets. As the trail grew weaker, He looked for other signs. A toppled bin here, a muddy footprint there. Tracking was always difficult in urban areas, with no soft dirt or grass. There was also no way to know if the signs were left by Arthur or Allistor.“Allistor!” Seamus called into the night. “Arthur!”A few heads spun his way. He ignored them.Seamus checked his phone for messages. There was one from Emrys, asking for an update. Not found them yt, he shot back.The trail barely existed by the time he stumbled upon a quaint little park, tucked into a forgotten pocket of the city. But at least here, there was crushed grass and rustled leaves to follow. It led him to a paved path that meandered through the park until it became a bridge. By now the trail was well and truly dead. He checked his phone. There were no updates from either Emrys or Allistor. Seamus cursed colourfully, kicking a stone off the bridge. It landed in the water below with a soft plunk.Seamus was preparing to call out again when he heard a familiar voice. “Over here.”Seamus turned to see Allistor approaching from the cover of the trees, his hands in his pockets and his gaze downturned. Where before such a pose might’ve seemed like Allistor’s usual brand of standoffish, Seamus could recognise the slack way he held himself.“Hey,” Seamus said.Gradually, Allistor raised his head to look Seamus in the eye. “We’re too late.”“Too late?” Seamus repeated.“Wherever he’s gone, he’s gone. I’ve scoured the area. I can’t find another sign of him, though it sure doesn’t help that folks have been tromping through here all day, leaving prints willy-nilly.” Seamus leaned back against the rail of the bridge, letting a heavy sigh pass through him.“And,” Allistor continued, “I found this.” He pulled something from his pocket and handed it to Seamus in one loose movement. In the darkness, it took a moment for it to register as a phone – Arthur’s Phone – cracked and useless.“Oh,” was all Seamus managed.“Oh,” Allistor echoed back, with an almost mocking tone, though Seamus knew it wasn’t directed at him. Allistor joined him at the railing, slamming his elbows onto the railing with the resounding hrring of metal. A wet laugh escaped his lips. “We fucked up, didn’t we?”Seamus looked down again at the mangled phone grasped between his fingers. He swallowed the bitter lump in his throat. “Yeah.”“Do ye think it was the uhh-?” Allistor didn’t say the words. He didn’t have to.“Maybe,” Seamus agreed. “But let’s hope not.” He clapped Allistor on the shoulder, “C’mon. Let’s do another sweep before we tell Emrys.”Allistor nodded. And together, they began to search back over the park. 
. . . . .

[Emrys]
 Emrys paced the length of the stage. Back and forth. Back and forth. Arthur had been missing in action for hours now. Every few laps Emrys would shoot a glance at his phone and continue when he saw no new messages. A few times, he received a text from Seamus saying they were still looking.So Emrys kept pacing, giving his restless feet and even more restless mind a way to whittle off the energy. Alfred was still pouring over all the footage of the day, looking for hints of something amiss. Gilbert was discussing something with Ludwig, occasionally peeking over Alfred’s shoulder when he found anything interesting. Francis was in a seat to himself, content to stare into space, or so it seemed.But it was Peter, who was now sitting alone at the edge of the stage, that gave Emrys pause. He looked so small. Emrys sighed.He moved closer, sitting down beside Peter. He held out his arm, as an open invitation. Peter hesitated for only a moment before he caved, wriggling closer to Emrys’s side. Peter’s legs dangled over the side of the stage.Emrys slowly lowered his arm across Peter’s back. He half-expected a protest, but Peter practically melted into his touch. He sank deeper into the embrace, allowing Emrys to pull him close. They stayed like that for a little while, just holding their breath in each other’s comfort. And again, Emrys was reminded of how young Peter was. By their standards, at least.Occasionally, he caught snippets of the conversation behind him. Theories were tossed around, mostly, each more ridiculous than the last. Though, he supposed, the truth may be crazier still.Ludwig was the first to leave. Apparently, some of the others had found suspicious red stains in the lobby and were starting to speculate themselves.Peter stayed as a warm comforting weight at Emrys’s side. He couldn’t even remember the last time they’d hugged. They rarely saw each other these days as it was, with Peter now living far across the Baltic Sea.“Are you frightened?” Emrys asked softly.“…No.”“It’s ok to be scared.”Peter did not respond. So Emrys tried something else. “We will find him.”Again, Peter did not answer. Though he seemed to pull Emrys a little tighter. “It’s getting late. How about we find you a bed, yeah?”Peter finally shifted from Emry’s side. He nodded. Emrys stood, holding out a hand for Peter. Peter took it.On the way out, Emrys called over his shoulder, “I’ll be back, soon.” They seemed satisfied with that. Peter followed Emrys out into the hall. They passed several groups on their way to Emrys’s room, more than he would’ve expected at this late hour.Emrys swung open the door to the room he was sharing with Allistor. “You can take my bed for tonight and we’ll sort everything out tomorrow.”“Really?” Peter asked.“Yeah, I’ll take the couch. There’s plenty of spare blankets.” Emrys patted Peter on the shoulder. “And tomorrow we’ll find Berwald ad Timo and explain why you’re here.”“Ok.” It seemed Peter was reduced to one-word answers this time of night. Emrys watched as Peter went and sat on the bed, kicking off his shoes.Just before Emrys turned to leave, he muttered a quick, “Good night,” before he shut the door behind him.On the way back down, Emry’s phone buzzed. Hastily, Emrys drew it from his pocket. It was from Seamus:
Can you call now?
Instead of answering the test, Emrys skipped straight to calling, “Seamus? Seamus? You there?”“Emrys, are ye alone?”Emrys threw a glance over his shoulder, checking the way was clear. “I think so,” he said, before adding more tentatively, “Why?”“…It’s not good.”Emrys chewed his lip. “How not good?”“Trail went cold in some park around a river a ways away.” Seamus’s heavy intake caused static over the phone. “…We didn’t find him. Not even a body.”The line of Emry’s shoulders sagged. “And Allistor is with you?”“Yeah…” Emrys made himself breathe easier for that small relief. But Seamus continued, “But he’s not taking it so well.”“How do you mean?”“He, uhh, found Arthur’s phone in some bush. It’s broken.”“Oh.”The sound turned choppy over the call, as if Seamus was repositioning his phone. “Look, we’re just finishing doing a final sweep of the area. We’ll be back soon. And we can talk more then.”“Yeah, ok. Bye.” The call ended and Emrys felt hollow.He found he’d walked all the way back to the conference room by this point, but he delayed entering. A long, tired sigh breezed his lips. He would wait until Seamus and Allistor returned before he told the others. Maybe he was procrastinating, but he didn’t care. He would wait.

. . . . .

[Alfred]
 Alfred’s mind buzzed with pixelated images. He readjusted his glasses, pushing them further up his nose. Gilbert sat at his side, eyeing the laptop screen.Alfred found that his mind kept wandering back to that conversation the night before. He’d never managed to decide what to make of it. For Arthur’s sake, he’d tried to believe. He really, truly had. But it was a struggle.(His initial inclination had been to consider it a hallucination. Ideas of schizophrenia, or even epilepsy had passed through his head, if only very fleetingly.)  The memory of Arthur, weary and worn, his confession, replayed over and over in his mind while the footage of Arthur, bloody and bruised, replayed over and over on his laptop. Alfred thought he might be sick.This whole mess made less and less sense the more he let it stew in his head. It had to be connected somehow. But how? Why?Should he tell Matthew? Alfred didn’t want to worry him, but he deserved to know.It was then that Ludwig returned.“What’s going on out there?” Gilbert asked.“Just a few people asking hard questions. Everyone will know something has happened by tomorrow. If we don’t tell them, rumours will spread.” Ludwig sighed, falling into a chair with a little less of his rigid poise than usual. “Hold on, where did Emrys go?”“Took Peter off,” Gilbert said, “Probably should’ve been back by now though.”A moment later, the door burst open again. Emrys entered, Seamus and Allistor on his heels. All eyes turned to them. “Speak of the devil,” Gilbert muttered, probably to himself.Their expressions were stony. The air about them was heavy, like clouds about to break into pouring rain. Alfred already knew he wasn’t going to like this conversation. 
. . . . .

[Allistor]

The room hung in limbo for a long moment. The others seemed to sense where this was going, though they pretended to wait patiently for them to explain.Allistor angled his jaw sharply. “We didn’t find him.”“Nothing?” Francis’s voice rang high with disbelief.“Nothing except this.” Allistor drew a corpse of a phone from his pocket. He stepped forth, laying it on the table for all to see.“Is that…?” Alfred began.“It’s his, alright. I found it discarded in a bush almost two miles from here.” He went on to explain how both he and Seamus had scoured the area top to bottom and found no further trace.When they finished, Ludwig rose to his feet. “In light of this, I believe it’s time to make some calls.”Allistor, Seamus and Emrys shared grim looks. Ludwig must’ve caught it because he opened his mouth to argue before Emrys rushed to appease, “You’re right. We’re going to need help. But let’s discuss it first. Besides, they aren’t likely to take action until the morning anyway.” Ludwig nodded, reluctantly. Then sank tiredly back into his seat.“You know, Berwald might be able to sense his whereabouts.” Gilbert rocked back on his chair, seemingly unburdened by the lateness of the hour. “Though he’s probably asleep by now.”“Like we all ought to be…” Ludwig muttered dryly.“That’s true,” Allistor agreed, ignoring Ludwig’s comment. “Should we go wake him now?”“He’s an early riser. He’ll be up in a few hours anyway,” Gilbert said. “Besides that, we’re definitely going to need to suspend the summit, maybe even cancel it. We don’t know who’ll be targeted next.”Francis made a low humming noise. “Are you proposing he was taken by someone?”“Could be. Or could’ve been some old enemy of Arthur’s.”“Do you really think someone’s targeting us?” Francis asked.“Don’t know. There’s no motive yet.” Gilbert shrugged, though Allistor knew Gilbert’s show of nonchalance didn’t reflect the subsurface machinations of his tactical mind.  “But before he went missing, we do know he was attacked. He must’ve seen who did it. By why not call for help? Why go back onto the street to be ambushed?”Allistor was happy to let Gilbert continue to entertain his own theories while he kept his circling thoughts to himself. What had started as a lurking suspicion was seeding at the back of his mind. It was seeming more and more like the only possibility that made sense, as the discussion continued to loop around itself and go nowhere. From the looks he stole at Seamus and Emrys, he knew they’d been wrestling a similar idea. Allistor looked back to Gilbert. Better that they make up an explanation of their own, he thought morbidly. No one would accept what they had to tell them. “Maybe they had a hostage?” Francis suggested to Gilbert. “Maybe they threatened him so he wouldn’t get help?”“Could be, could be.” Prussia rubbed his chin in contemplation. “But who would the hostage be? Some random human? What leverage could they possibly have?”“Or maybe—” Alfred’s far-eyed gaze lingered in the distance. “Maybe he just thought we wouldn’t listen if he asked for help.” It was only then that Allistor realised how uncharacteristically silent Alfred had been this entire conversation.Seamus and Emrys shared in another look between the three of them. This time it was more than just a knowing look. It held the unsaid weight of guilt.When Allistor directed his attention back to the conversation, he found Alfred eyeing them. Alfred was quick to look away.Gilbert snorted humorlessly. “People generally listen when someone starts bleeding all over their expensive carpet.” Then Gilbert's face shifted as he remembered something. “Although, now that I think about it, the kid did say something weird. He said Arthur didn’t see him as he passed, even after he shouted at him… So maybe he wasn’t in his right mind.”A tight silence reigned as their minds ticked over. The dread withering away at Allistor’s mind only grew.Francis was still, tight-lipped. The hour was starting to leave its mark on him too. Ludwig rubbed a hand across his face. “It just doesn’t add up.”“There has to be something we’re not seeing here.” Gilbert wrapped his fingers on the table in a jittery rhythm.  “Maybe this can’t be solved by sleep-impaired brains. We’re going to be useless tomorrow if we don’t get a few hours rest while we can.” Ludwig moved slowly to his feet. “I’ll make what calls I can. Then I’m going to try to get some sleep. I suggest you all do the same.” With that, Ludwig took his leave. Francis rose next, followed by Gilbert. They seemed to have finally run out of words.  They left the room silently. Allistor watched them go, remaining rooted to the spot.Alfred’s fingers curled around his laptop, drawing it close. Slowly, he rose to take his leave. The look he angled over his shoulder as he left was inscrutable to Allistor. He ignored it.Then there were three.“We need sleep too, Al.” Emrys’s warm hand appeared on his shoulder. “We don’t need to do this now.”“Ok,” he said softly. The conversation they owed each other could wait. Without another word, they each exited the room.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

[Matthew]
 “Morning.” On the way to the third conference of the summit, Matthew offered a polite smile to a janitor scrubbing the floor.“You too.” The Janitor tipped his head as Matthew passed.Matthew continued around a corner, adjusting the documents cradled in his arms. He stopped when he saw yellow tape barring his path. “What…?”“Sorry for the inconvenience, but you’ll have to go the other way.” An official in a fluorescent vest said to Matthew before going back to typing on his phone. A woman behind him was photographing various splotches on a decorative vase.“Ok?” Matthew supposed he would just have to take the elevator. He spun on his heel, nearly colliding with Kiku as he appeared from around the corner. “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”Kiku smiled placatingly. “No need to apologise.” Then Kiku’s eyes drifted to the officials behind Matthew, still at work in their sequestered little area. “Oh. Can we not go this way?”“Apparently not, though I have no clue why.” Matthew shrugged. He began wandering in the direction of the elevator.Kiku kept pace by his side. “Did you go straight to your room after the conference ended yesterday?”“Pretty much, yeah,” Matthew answered. “Why?”“Some of the others didn’t. Apparently, there were mysterious blood stains around. They poked around until Ludwig basically ordered them to go back to their rooms.”Matthew’s steps faltered. “Seriously?”“Mhm. I don’t know if it’s true. I don’t mean to frighten you. It’s just what I overheard,” Kiku admitted. “But if officers are here, it may be true.”Matthew didn’t reply. One by one, they stepped into the elevator. The doors slid shut.“I am certain it will all be explained in the meeting today,” Kiku offered, trying to be optimistic.Matthew hummed non-committally. “Yeah. Probably.”A few stories down and the elevator pinged, the doors sliding open. As they neared the room, the voices from within grew in volume. “Did they start without us?” Matthew wondered aloud.“I suppose others were curious. News travels fast when everyone is staying within a hall-length of each other.”“Mattie! Wait!” Matthew spun toward Alfred’s approaching voice. As he closed the distance, Matthew noted the crumpled clothes he wore, as if he’d slept in them. The aroma of instant coffee clung to him.“What is it, Al?”Alfred slowed to a stop in front of the pair. Seemingly, he only then registered Kiku’s presence. “I need to talk to you. Alone. Sorry Kiku.”Kiku nodded politely. “I’ll see you later, perhaps.” Then he opened the door and slipped inside. With the door left ajar, discordant voices escaped from within. Whatever they were talking about, they were more impassioned than Matthew had heard them throughout the entire summit.“Alfred, I think it’s already started,” Matthew said, “Later, ok?”Alfred wrung his hands. He hesitated but followed Matthew into the room without complaint. The room was surprisingly full already. And evidently, many didn’t feel the need for seats, choosing instead to stand about.“Is it even safe to leave?” Someone called out. Matthew couldn’t see who from his position by the back.Ludwig manned the front podium, flanked by Gilbert. Ludwig remained stone-stiff, weathering the barrage of questions and the buzz of conversation. “We don’t know at this time. We don’t even know where it happened—"“How do we know if we’re still safe here, though?” someone else shouted.“To our best knowledge, we’re still safe here. But I would urge you to take caution on your way home. Your bosses have already been informed.”Matthew gaped openly. “What on earth is going on? heh?”  “The summit’s been cancelled,” Alfred answered.“But why-?”Matthew didn’t receive an answer before Laura’s voice rang over the chatter. “Surely, we’re going to organize a search party to look for him?”“The police are working on it,” Ludwig answered. “You’ll have to ask them—"“But how can someone just vanish? He can’t have left the country on foot?” A new voice asked.Eyes across the room flitted to Berwald, standing to the side of the stage between Timo and Magnus. Berwald shook his head, a tired motion, as if he’d done this many times before.As the situation unfurled, Matthew’s confusion precipitated into dread. “Alfred. Is someone missing?”The bitter smell of coffee grew sharper as Alfred leaned closer. “Arthur.”Alfred drew back, just enough for Matthew to meet him eye to eye and witness Alfred’s soberness on the matter. “This is what you wanted to talk about?”“Yes.”The conversation between them died, subsumed by discussion around them. Matthew found it suddenly a little too loud, and his mouth a little too dry. A few people walked past them to exit the room, talking or texting on their phones.“It might not have been terrorists. What if it was just hallucinogens?” Basch asked. “What substance was he on?”From Matthew’s position, he could just make out Emrys, standing in the front row. Matthew presumed the question was directed at Emrys when he stiffened and whipped toward the voice. “I never said that there was necessarily substance involved.”“You damn well implied it,” Basch retorted.Matthew tried to shift his head for a better view, with little success.“Well, I don’t know, alright?” Emrys near-snapped, the loudest Matthew had ever heard him. “And what does it matter? He’s still bloody missing.”The noise of the room exploded again, and Matthew lost his grip on the discussion. His mind felt like it was wading through information, but he gleaned news of the disturbing footage and the fruitless search. Matthew shrank against the far wall of the room. He was reeling from the sting of the news. Like being dunked in icy water, his instinct was to recoil. It didn’t feel true yet.Alfred shifted uncertainly beside him. “How about we get some fresh air, yeah?”Matthew allowed himself to be led from the room mutely. Alfred took him down a story to the ground floor. They manoeuvred through the kitchens to a door that opened into an alley. It was quieter out here. Cooler, too. The crisp air eased the pressure in Matthew’s head, the burden of racing thoughts and feelings, and connections to Arthur’s conversation two nights ago.They hung there for a long moment, comfortable to bask in the newfound quiet. It might have been disconcerting to see Alfred so stilled, if he did not know exactly why. It was Alfred who found his voice first. “Matt, we’re going to find him. I know it.”In lieu of a real response, Matthew posed a new question. “When did you find out?”“Last night. I was the one who hacked the footage.”Matthew inclined his head in the direction of the street beyond the alley. Together, they began to trek towards it. In the open exposure of the city, the chill was more menacing. Matthew welcomed it – he loved the cold.“It just… it’s so sudden.” Matthew muttered after a little way of walking.Alfred swallowed glumly. “I know.”And yet… the signs were there. Signs of something, surely. Going back weeks, even, now that he thought back. Matthew had dismissed them as the quirks of a strange ancient man at first, and later as abnormalities of circumstance. Until the night before last, anyway. “You don’t think it has anything to do with what he told us that night, right?”Alfred trailed his hand along a wall absently, tracing the grooves of bricks as they walked. His eyes followed his hand. “Matt. I don’t know. I really don’t. It’s dangerous to leap to that conclusion when we know so little of what actually happened.”“You can’t think it’s a coincidence, though?”“I don’t,” Alfred defended. “But that doesn’t make a lick of sense either.” His hand idly trailing the wall curled into a fist. “Nothing does right now.”Matthew slowed, turning to face his brother more fully. “Al, did you sleep at all last night?”“Nope.” Well, that explained the reek of coffee.“Besides sleeping,” Matthew coughed pointedly, “Maybe we should ask Arthur’s brothers. They knew too.”“Yeah. But predictably, they haven’t talked about it.”Matthew hummed. “Then we’ll make them.” 
. . . . .

[Peter]

Peter rested against the railing of the platform overlooking the lobby. A team of high-vis officials buzzed through the space below. They’d already spent the morning asking him questions he couldn’t answer. Peter watched them with downcast eyes as they busied themselves down below. They had commandeered the main stairs and half the floor space, funnelling the flow of departing nations to one side.When Peter had awoken, Emrys had already been up and prepping for the day. He hadn’t delayed in passing Peter off to Timo before hustling off to the conference room without him. Timo had skipped the meeting to give him the longest scolding of his life for sneaking into a summit. But Peter hadn’t minded. He’d taken it without a word of refute. (Timo had stayed with him, at least.)And when Peter had finally told him what he’d seen, Timo had wrapped his arms around him so suddenly that Peter didn’t have time to protest. (Not that he would’ve.)And then Berwald had come back early with the verdict. With the summit cancelled, they could either stay and search, or pack up and leave. Most had chosen the latter, Peter guessed, as he watched them file through the doors below.Berwald, further along the railing, was currently locked in a tight-lipped conversation with his boss over the phone. Timo hovered behind Peter’s shoulder, exchanging hushed words with Lukas. Timo was yet to let Peter leave his sight.“We should be out there,” Peter huffed, “It’s useless just standing around here.”“Patience Peter, we still need to sort a few things out.” Timo pointed discretely at Berwald. With his muted expressiveness, it was hard to get a read on the situation. But if Peter were to hazard a guess, it wasn’t going well.Peter narrowed his eyes. “…We’re not going home, are we?”“We’re going to join a search party as soon as we can.” Timo gestured to himself and Lukas. “But Peter. You’re going home.”Peter reeled from his rest against the railing. “Wait. What?”“An investigation is no place for you.” For a child.“You can’t send me away!” He protested, “I was the one who saw it. I should help search.”Timo crouched slightly. “Peter, listen—”“If you stay, then I stay.” Peter tried to mimic Timo’s own unbudging tone, but couldn’t help fearing he sounded petulant. How did Timo manage it?Timo sighed through his nose. He flicked a look at Lukas, who only shrugged. That didn’t seem to be what Timo was hoping for, judging by the way his shoulders dipped in concession. “You can stay for now. But don’t you dare leave my sight. Do you hear me?” Peter nodded vigorously.Timo straightened. Their heads turned as Berwald approached. He slipped his phone into one of his many coat pockets. “Boss said I could stay.”“Was that all?” Timo half-teased, falling back into the comfortable rhythm he reserved for Berwald. “Couldn’t have guessed from the way he shouted at you.”“This happened with me as host. It was my responsibility,” Berwald answered, flatly as always.Timo’s face turned hard. “If he’s blaming you, I’ll break his ankles—”“Timo. It’s fine.” Timo softened at Berwald’s look, releasing a puff of warm air. Barely a moment later, Magnus appeared. Emil followed a few strides behind, dragging his feet. “We ready to head out?” Magnus called ahead.“You guys are staying too?” Peter asked.“Of course! Did you think we wouldn’t?” Magnus chirped, like it were that easy. Like nothing could dampen him. Behind him, Emil crossed his arms, eyes glued to the ground. Peter took that as an agreement as well.“Then how about we begin?” Timo suggested, earning a series of nods and a “Let’s go” from Magnus.Eyes flitting between each of their willing faces, Peter felt something warm bloom in his chest. Hope. And maybe something else, something warm and glittering. Pride. Pride for the family that had essentially taken him in, now searching for the family that had gone missing. 
. . . . .

[Lukas]

Lukas hung back behind the others, keeping his eyes peeled and his ears sharp as they wandered.  Berwald had taken the lead of their little party, guiding them through a maze of narrow streets at the summons of his intuition. He hadn’t chosen the likely routes mapped by the authorities that other parties were searching. Instead, he’d lead them in the opposite direction. Magnus might’ve jabbed at that decision, but Berwald had stood firm, reasoning that it was the direction Arthur had run from on the footage.A passing rain in the night had purified the earth and the air, washing it clean. There would be no evidence to find anywhere they searched. Still, they marched forward on the chosen path. Timo kept Peter close, even resting a hand on his shoulder at times, before Peter would inevitably shrug it off.After a stretch of silence, Magnus poked Berwald’s forearm. “Do you have any idea where we’re going?”Berwald offered a deep throaty hum, as if that was an answer. And Magnus huffed, before fixing his attention on kicking a pebble along the path.By high noon, they hadn’t found anything of note, though they’d gone in enough loops that Lukas had a good feel for the lay of the land. They’d circled back to the same hedge-rimmed park at least three times by now. Finding themselves there once again, Berwald finally sighed in resignation. He halted his stride, and Magnus nearly walked into him.Timo shifted to meet Berwald’s gaze. He shook his head, lifting his shoulders in what might be seen as a shrug by someone with a keen eye. Someone like Timo, that is. “Maybe we should take a break?” He offered.Eventually, Timo, Berwald and Magnus sat on a weathered bench off the main path of the park, nestled in a patch of heather. Emil positioned himself a little way away, tucked out of view by a flowering bush, probably to check at something on his phone.But Lukas found himself still standing, for some reason. And apparently, he wasn’t the only one. Peter drifted about within Timo’s line of sight, scuffing his feet in the dirt.Lukas scanned the little pocket of wilderness around him. It seemed nice enough, suitable for a brief walk. A breath of isolation certainly sounded appealing. Glancing over his shoulder, he judged that the others weren’t likely to be leaving anytime soon.He rounded a corner, passing a bed of drooping ferns. But just as Lukas was about to head back, a small voice reached his ear. It was distinctly non-human. Like a whisper of winter’s chill, soft as an eyelash against a cheek. “Do you come seeking?”Lukas spun until he found the source. A tiny creature of snowy white perched in the crook of a twisted tree. “I do come seeking,” he answered, “I search one named Arthur.”The creature canted her head. Her doe eyes did not blink. She began to stroll along the branch weightlessly, gracefully. “There was one who came, two moons ago.”So he had been here. Berwald had not led them astray, even if he didn’t know it. “Go on?”“He was not alone. There was one other.”Lukas quirked a curious brow, his interest piqued. “What do you mean?”He blinked, and suddenly she was gone from the branch. “I tried to warn him,” she chimed from just behind him. Lukas turned, until his eyes met hers once more. She now rested on a chest-height branch, the cut stub of it jutting out over the path. “And now I warn you.”“Warn me?” Lukas repeated.She stepped forth a little more. This close, Lukas could see the way her hair curled around her face. “If it is he you seek, then your search is futile. He is gone from this place.”“Then where – where is he?”“Somewhere you should not follow.”Between blinks, she vanished, stolen away by the gentle winds that rustled through the mesh of leaves. And Lukas knew he would not find her again.“Oh – there you are!” Magnus’s bright voice entered the grove. “We were wondering where you’d scampered off to.” When Lukas didn’t respond, Magnus curled his arm invitingly. “You coming?”Lukas shook his head once, as if that might dislodge his cloying unease, before joining Magnus’s side.Clearly, something was not as it seemed.

. . . . .

[Emrys]

The meeting ended with a good portion of people heading off to the airport at the summons of their bosses (most seemed relieved to be going home, if not weary of the circumstances.) A smaller portion stayed to form a search party. The investigative units, thus far, had upturned nothing new.Emrys had ended the meeting exhausted. It certainly didn’t help that he’d only managed about two hours of fleeting sleep the night before.Now in one of the private business rooms on one of the higher floors, Emrys shoved the furniture, a table and several stools, against the walls. He needed space to work. Seamus slumped against the table in the corner of the room, content to watch and wait as Emrys drew a circle of charcoal on the bare wood floor. The use of charcoal was a quirk of Emrys’s magic, something he hadn’t seen anywhere else.Emrys continued by drawing a star with a point for each of the four earthly elements, and a point for the inexplicable beyond. He laid the candles he’d borrowed from the kitchen staff around the circle.Allistor entered, a box of matches in hand. He tossed them to Emrys, who flitted between the candles, setting them alight. “That everything?” Allistor asked gruffly. The events of the last few days were taking their toll on him, if his unusually pronounced scowl was any indication.Emrys wasn’t faring much better. His movements were more sluggish than usual, lethargic and dragging. He nodded to Allistor, glanced at Seamus, before stepping into the circle. He drew Arthur’s broken phone from a pocket, the last item Arthur had with him.Emrys’s eyes fell shut. He stilled his body, and then his mind. His breathing eased into a whisper. He pictured Arthur, the way his dishevelled hair fell awkwardly no matter how he styled it, the green glean when his eyes caught the light. He thought of Arthur’s practised poise, his small precise movements whether he wielded a pen or a sword. He held the image in his mind and the phone in his hand. “Trwy fy ewyllys, agor fy llygad mewnol.”Emrys felt nothing.Frustrated, Emrys squared his shoulders. He poured the reserves of his conviction into his words. He let his heart flood with intent, the most crucial ingredient in any spell. I will find you, Brawd Bach. He repeated the incantation over again.Nothing happened.Emrys gritted his teeth. His fist tightened around the phone. I will find you, Arthur. He raised his voice, “Trwy fy ewyllys, agor fy llygad mewnol.”Again, nothing. His mind was void of visions, of any sudden insight.Why, damn it? This had to work. It had to. Or else—
I will find you, England.
“Trwy fy ewyllys, agor fy llygad mewnol,” he repeated, louder. Nothing again. So he threw himself further into the spell. “Trwy fy ewyllys—"“Emrys!” Emrys’s shoulders shook from an outside force. His eyes flew open. He was panting, he realised. Seamus gripped him by the arms, unmasked concern in his gaze. Allistor peered over Seamus’s shoulder.Emrys noticed the stinging in his hand. Beads of red marked where he’d gripped the phone too hard, digging into the cracked shards of the screen.“I take it - it didn’t go so well?” Seamus ventured.Emrys glanced at the untouched circle. The candles remained lit. The spell had not been fulfilled – his magic had reached out and grasped nothing. “I… I couldn’t…” Emrys’s eyes fell from theirs.In the quiet, Emrys could hear their minds clocking over. They were all thinking the same thing. This was the final evidence. The nail in the coffin of their hope, so to speak. It explained why Berwald couldn’t sense him. If Arthur was untraceable, there were two options. He could’ve been intentionally masked by an adept magic wielder (unlikely, given how dead they all were). Or, he could’ve been dead, his soul having drifted to a world beyond the reach of mortals and nations alike.“I couldn’t find him— ” The admission was a small frail thing on Emrys’s lips. “I’m sorry.” Where the admission hurt, the apology burnt. It curdled in his mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t—”“Don’t.” Seamus regripped his shoulders, and gave him a light squeeze. “Don’t say that.”Emrys shook his head, as if to ward off the tide of dread washing over him. Drowning him. Pooling in the crooks of his eyes. “He can’t really be… He can’t...”A beat passed. Then another. Emrys saw something wilt in Seamus’s eyes as his grip fell away.“He’s not.” Allistor said, steel in his voice. Ice in his eyes. “He is not dead.” The way he said it made it seem like a cold hard fact. Immutable.“Then where…?” Seamus’s eyes were unfocused. For the first time since this began, he seemed truly and somberly lost. “Where could he be? He can’t really have just… disappeared?”Allistor’s hands curled into fists. “…Unless it was that thing he was seeing.”None of them seemed surprised by the statement. It had crossed Emrys’s mind. At first, he’d wanted terribly to discredit it. But with no other leads, the possibility now hung in the air between them. It glared him in the eye, daring him to refute it. He couldn’t anymore.“What did he say about it? That it was following him in reflections and flames?” Seamus asked tentatively. “Talking in his head and all that.”“That’s not much to go on.” Allistor sighed into his palm, dragging it down his face. “Fuck, none of it adds up.”“Are we presuming this thing somehow took him, then?” Seamus asked. “And this thing knows enough spellcraft to conceal Arthur from us?”“Perhaps,” Allistor said through a tight jaw. “Emrys did say the last tracking spell to find this thing fell flat too.”Emrys nodded.“So maybe it can conceal itself?” Seamus suggested. “Or it’s hiding somewhere beyond our sight. What next? We have no clue what we might be dealing with.”In lieu of a proper answer, Allistor simply said, “We’ll find him. I know we will.”“How?” Emrys’s voice cracked on the word. “The spell failed. I failed him.” He looked both of them dead in the eyes, one at a time. “We failed him.”Allistor started, “Maybe we couldn’t find him in one night, but we’ll keep—”“No.” Emrys said, “I mean we failed Arthur. This whole time. We didn’t take this seriously as a threat. And if whatever it is did take him. That’s on us. We should’ve- We should’ve done something.” The quiet of the room turned suffocating. Seamus pursed his lips, shifting his weight between his feet. Allistor turned away, edging towards the window. He let his head loll against the glass with a limp plick.“We couldn’t have known, Emrys,” Seamus said gently. “We did what we could with the information we had.”“But it wasn’t enough.”This time, Seamus said nothing. Emrys tucked his hands under his arms. It only made him feel smaller.Allistor’s forehead was still pressed against the cool glass of the window. Eventually, he asked, “Do you still feel him?”Emrys shut his eyes. He dared to reach out again, to cast himself towards the personhood of England. Not with arcane magics, but with the unsung nation bond that bound them together as a kingdom united. And where once he could feel his brother’s presence, now he felt the blank stare of nothingness. “No,” he said.Allistor peeled his head back from the window. Still leaning heavily against the sill, he turned his face to the other two. Meeting him eye to eye, Emrys knew Allistor gazed into that same emptiness.Seamus shook his head, incredulous. “Nothing should be able to break a bond of nationhood.” Nothing except death went unspoken. Seamus coughed. “…The last time you did a tracking spell,” he started, obviously keen to curb the discussion, “you said Arthur’s spell didn’t execute either, but he found it anyway. If we’re assuming that this is real, then somehow it must be able to hide itself from spells but reach out in other ways.”“So how did Arthur find it?” Allistor asked.Emrys restrained the urge to shrug. “I don’t know. Probably the same way it could talk inside his head.”“A lotta bloody good that does us,” Allistor grumbled. Again, the conversation lapsed as they hit another dead-end.  “Maybe we should just go out and search some more? We found his phone. Might find some other clues, who knows.” Seamus suggested, stepping towards the door. When neither Allistor nor Emrys leapt at the opportunity, he added, a touch derisively, “Ye got a better idea? Cos we’re clearly not going to anywhere cooped up here.”The other two conceded, letting Seamus lead them out the door.
. . . . .

[Alfred]

By the time Alfred and Matthew had finished the scenic tour of the area, they’d concocted a sort of plan. Something along the lines of “corner the three of em, make em spill,” as Alfred himself had so eloquently put it.But when Seamus emerged from the building, Allistor and Emrys a step behind, naturally any plans they had were immediately forgotten. Alfred paused, Matthew behind him.“How are we supposed to get to them privately out here?” Matthew whispered, eying the clusters of departing nations, bystanders and police officers dotting the scene.Alfred shrugged. “Let’s just see what they do, I guess.”They kept a respectable distance, sticking to the far side of the street. They watched as their three targets talked to an investigator. Presumably, they asked her a question. From the shake of her head they earned in response, Alfred guessed they hadn’t got the answer they sought. The trio then continued down the road, following the route of the investigation.“C’mon,” Alfred waved Matthew forward with a discrete flick of his fingers. Matthew returned a terse nod, shuffling forward.Together, they trekked on in pursuit. Further from the hotel, the recognisable faces amongst bystanders thinned. There were far fewer officers, too. It was mostly city-goers milling about their day. If they were aware of the active crime scene a block away, they didn’t show it.“How long are we going to just follow them?” Matthew asked. “Let’s catch up now.”Alfred gave Matthew an affirming look, picking up his stride.The three brothers turned down a narrow avenue lined with slender trees. Dappled light drifted across the cobbles. But most importantly, there were almost no other people. Allistor paused to kneel at the base of a lamppost, inspecting something. The other two stopped to wait.“Hey!” Alfred shouted when they neared. Like a wound spring, three sets of eyes shot to him. Alfred could’ve sworn Allistor tsked. He promptly ignored that.“Alfred? Matthew?” Emrys greeted, though it presented more like a question. “Can we help you?”It occurred to Alfred that maybe they should’ve made a more detailed plan. He wasn’t sure how to start. “Erm. We can help you search?”“You could go ask the officials if they need help,” Seamus said dully, “I think we can handle ourselves here.”“No, no. I mean – We need to talk.” Alfred’s voice dropped low, serious. He stepped forward to close the distance between them. “We know about Arthur.”Allistor’s attention whipped to Alfred in full-force. “What, exactly, do ye know?”Alfred’s gaze darted to Matthew by his side, hinging on his reaffirming look. Matthew himself stayed quiet. Alfred went on, “We know he was seeing things, that you were the only ones who knew—““And how do you know that?” Allistor demanded.“Arthur told us.”“When?”“The night before he vanished.”“But why?”“Why?” Alfred repeated.For a moment, Allistor looked genuinely perplexed. “Why tell ye, when ye know nothing of these matters.”Alfred’s lips twisted distastefully. “Well maybe because you weren’t helping.”This time Allistor was the one to step closer. The distance between them dwindled. “Do you think we weren’t trying?” Allistor asked frostily, “The only reason we came to this god-damned summit is to help that idiot.”Alfred stiffed as Allistor’s icy words washed over him. “You weren’t helping him. You didn’t even believe him! You were just breathing down his neck—” Matthew gripped Alfred’s arm.Emrys appeared in the space between Allistor and Alfred, hands raised. “Now, let’s all just cool off a little, ok?”Allistor ignored him, his eyes fixed solely on Alfred. “Did he tell you that? Did he-?”“Yeah,” he answered brusquely. “His words.”Allistor took a steady step back. His anger dulled, replaced with something quieter. Emrys lowered his hands, as if they were suddenly heavy.Finally, Matthew spoke up, ever the diplomat where Alfred could never be. “Please, we just want to help find him. That’s the only thing that matters now.” He shifted in front of Alfred. “Arthur trusted us enough to talk to us, so we’re a part of this now.” Whether you like it or not, went unsaid.Seamus strutted closer, arms folded. “What exactly do you know about the thing he was seeing?”“Uh, he was a bit vague,” Matthew said, “Something about it following him. He saw it in reflections?”“And do ye believe?” Seamus asked, a brow poised.Matthew hesitated.Alfred’s brows drew together. “I—” he started, when Matthew still looked to be finding his words. He swallowed, then started again. “I believe him.”“But do you believe in it?” Seamus probed.Alfred opened his mouth. No words came out. I don’t know. How can it be real? One look at Matthew and Alfred saw the same thoughts mirrored back.At their lack of a response, Allistor sighed. “We always believed him. But when we couldn’t see or hear the thing, well, we had other doubts.”Alfred lowered his eyes. They were the same, then. “And what do you think now that he’s gone?” “The theory goes that it somehow hurt him, and then hid him.”“But how - how is any of this possible?” Alfred asked before his brain could catch up to his mouth.  They were silent for a long moment. Then, in an uncharacteristically weak voice, Allistor said, “We don’t know.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

[Alfred]
 With a begrudging sigh from Allistor, they resolved to keep searching as a group. Together, they wandered the stretch of streets between the conference hall and the final park with the river. For the most part, they walked in silence, observing with open eyes and open ears. Allistor and Seamus took the lead. (Alfred suspected Allistor didn’t feel like dealing with him after all that.)  But increasingly, their hunt seemed more and more futile. These paths were all being scoured by cops with search and rescue dogs. Cops, who very much did not appreciate nosy intrusions into their meticulously cordoned areas.On the winding route back, Matthew struck up a conversation with Emrys. Alfred listened in from two steps behind, his hands stuffed lazily into the pockets of his bomber jacket. Emrys shared, Matthew offering empathetic comments at all the right times. But Alfred found himself content to walk in silence. (Truly, these were strange times.)With Matthew’s careful questions, Emrys pried open more fully until his words were flowing freely. He seemed… relieved if anything. To discuss ‘magic’ more openly. Matthew remained a paragon of attentiveness. But Alfred found his head spiralling.Emrys hesitantly explained their attempt at a tracking spell, throwing around details of esoteric mumbo jumbo. That had been when something short-circuited in Alfred’s brain. Matthew showed only a brief flash of confusion. But to Alfred, this was all getting a bit too weird, a bit too fast. This is some real X-files level shit, he thought sardonically. And yet—The sun was waning by the time they’d looped their way back. If they hadn’t stopped for food – twice – Alfred would’ve been ravenous by now.Whatever conversation Emrys and Matthew had had going had subsided. The sky darkened with the cusp of evening as they mounted the stone steps up into the building.As the group entered the doors, they passed Laura and Toby on their way out. Seeing them hauling their travel bags in tow, Alfred frowned. Hadn’t they both been part of a search party just earlier today?“On yer way home?” Seamus asked, offering an amiable smile.Toby nodded. “Finally being summoned home. Can’t dodge em forever, I guess.” The two of them shared a look, seeming to linger on the edge of an apology, or maybe just not sure what to add.“Get home safe then,” Allistor said. Then he turned and stalked deeper into the lobby. Toby and Emma waved again, before taking their final exit.The rest of them followed further in, straight towards the stairs. Compared to this morning, it seemed the entire building was devoid of nations. The rooms were dimmer. Evidently, the staff hadn’t bothered with all the lights now that the facilities were closed indefinitely. To Alfred, it looked all the more depressing.They crested the main stairs. Ludwig and Gilbert were exchanging hurried words nearby. They were quick to hush when they noticed their approach.“Anything new?” Allistor asked them.Gilbert leant back languidly against the wall, clearly pawning the responsibility to answer onto Ludwig, who said, “The police said they couldn’t revive the phone after you handed it over. So they sent it away to be properly analyzed. There’s also no one in any local hospitals that might fit his description. I did search.” He blew out a breath. “But, the police did find a few witnesses from going door to door.”“And?” Allistor pressed.“And they haven’t been properly interviewed yet. Or, if they have, they haven’t told me.” A weighted sigh. “To be frank, I’m not sure there’s much more I can do here. Or, any of us for that matter.”Allistor stayed silent, rooted on the spot. But Alfred didn’t miss the way he bristled.“I think,” Ludwig said cautiously, “It’s time to hand the case to the experts. They seem to be getting annoyed at our interference anyway.”“We aren’t interfering,” Seamus protested. “We have a common goal here.”Finally, Gilbert stepped forth, peeling himself off the wall. “I think we’ve all realized at this point that we aren’t going to solve this ourselves. They have bloodhounds and search warrants. But us – we’ve played our part.”Allistor stayed silent, his mouth a taut line. His eyes narrowed in challenge, ever so slightly. Gilbert squared his hands on his hips in return. “Oh, come on. Don’t look at us like that. We’ve done all that we can.” Emrys slotted himself smoothly in front of Allistor. “You’ve been called home too, haven’t you?”Ludwig nodded at that. “Mhm. We depart later tonight.”Emrys inclined his head respectfully. “I see. Then we all wish you safe travels.”“And I wish you luck,” Ludwig replied. Gilbert nodded in kind, though he did not deign a reply. Then the pair of them drifted down the hall, resuming their hushed conversation from earlier.Once they’d disappeared from their line of sight, Allistor released a breath. “I hate that they’re right. The bastards.”“Maybe it’s for the best?” Seamus ventured, though it sounded more like a question than anything else. “It’s true that we aren’t achieving anything here.”Allistor eyed him. “Did yer boss call ye home too?”Seamus raised his hands in a pseudo-surrender. “…Yeah, he did. But it’s not until tomorrow, at least,” he admitted.   Allistor sighed again, before addressing Alfred and Matthew. “And how about ye?”Matthew readjusted his glasses glumly. “I got an email while we were out. I’m actually leaving tomorrow as well.”Alfred fished his phone from one of his pant pockets. Sure enough, glaring at him from the home screen were notifications for 6 missed calls and 2 emails to his work address. He knew his luck in staying wouldn’t last once congress got its act together. “I’ll probably be forced to go soon too,” he admitted, slipping his phone into a random pocket. He’d deal with the details later.“But what about ye?” Seamus asked to Allistor and Emrys. “Have ye not got orders from yer bosses, then?”Emrys and Allistor shared an almost sheepish glance. Emrys coughed into his fist. “We, uh. We haven’t checked out phones all day,” he explained. “They’re switched off, up in our room.”“Wait – seriously? I suppose that’s one way to avoid going home.” Seamus near-laughed, though it was not quite enough to pierce his weariness. “You probably have a bazillion missed calls by now. If you keep ignoring them, I’d love to see the dastardly retribution they’ll unleash.”Emrys cringed. “Yeah, yeah. We know.”“C’mon. We have to face it at some point,” Allistor conceded, edging towards the lift. “I suppose we’ll see the rest of you off tomorrow morning then?”They received a series of nods from Seamus, Matthew and Alfred, before Emrys and Allistor entered the nearby lift. The doors slid shut and they disappeared from view. Seamus too, left after a few more moments, promising to catch them the next day before he left.And then it was just Alfred and Matthew. Matthew and Alfred. Alone in the hallway.“Are you ok?” Matthew asked.Alfred had not been on guard for that question. He blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m doing great! Just – Great.”Matthew arched a pointed brow. He knew he didn’t have to say anything more.“Ok, ok. Fine,” Alfred spilled. “Do you find it all… sudden? I dunno.” Alfred waved a hand carelessly. “A few days ago, Arthur told us he was seeing things and now we’re discussing supernatural abductions, and Emrys is talking about his spells. Like as in literal fucking witchcraft. And—” To be honest, he had no clue what most words Emrys had used had meant. “And how are you taking this so well?”Matthew inched closer. A slow step, then another. “I’m not going to pretend I understand half of anything that’s happened in the last few days – or what he said. But…”“But what?”“But I’m trying, I suppose. Fake it till you make it, and all that.” Matthew shrugged. “I think Emrys just wanted someone new to vent to other than those two blockheads, in the end. I didn’t really need to understand the details.”Of course. That was such a quintessentially Matthew thing to do.“Though, I must admit. It does feel like we’ve been pushed into the deep end a little bit—”“Gone off the deep end, more like.” Alfred laughed, though it was sapped of humour.“Yeah. That too.” Matthew chuckled, equally as dry.Then their voices fell away. A moment of silence passed between them.“But really, Alfred,” Matthew began, his tone softened, “We’ll work it out.”Alfred’s gaze rose to his. Sky blue meeting misty violet. “I know. There has to be an explanation.”“You still don’t accept their theories?”Alfred had spent his long day of walking and wondering to decide whether or not he believed in it. In the end, he decided he just… couldn’t. He wanted to. He really did. If only for the sake of the promise he’d made. Otherwise, every part of him squirmed away from the idea of Arthur being stolen away by apparitions in mirrors. (Though maybe his discomfort abounded from the puritan roots still hiding somewhere deep inside him). Eventually, Alfred said, “I need more evidence. I need to know it’s the only explanation.”Matthew’s eyes lost their focus, falling onto something in the unseeable distance. “...Is it so crazy?”“What do you mean?”"Do you ever think about how young we are, Alfred? Sure, we may have endured a number of mortal lifespans, but how much is that in the grand scheme of things. Civilization goes back thousands of years. And in the scale of time, we live in the final blink.”“What’s your point?”“...I suppose my point is that I just feel small.” Matthew cupped his elbows. “This whole thing has made me realize that I have no idea what’s out there.” Matthew took a long, steadying breath. “And compared to us, Arthur is ancient. He’s what – pushing sixteen hundred? And his brothers are even older.”Alfred swallowed. He could sense where Matthew was headed, but he asked all the same, “Mattie – what are you getting at?”“What if it does exist? What if it all exists? They’ve been here for so long – you’d think they’d know a thing or two.”Alfred cocked his head to the side. “If it’s some ancient, arcane knowledge, then why don’t the other oldies talk about it?”“But they do! We just pass it off as old customs, or cultural quirks. Like how Kiku still visits his shrines.” Matthew explained, “Or, we pass it off as religion or plain old superstition, or we find some other explanation. Like how Yao still mixes potions, but we call them herbal remedies now.”Alfred huffed. “That is hardly the same as talking to ghost-things or drawing circles to get visions.”“No,” Matthew conceded, “But if others did do that stuff, would they talk about it openly? To get those three to spill, Arthur had to disappear, and then we had to confront them. They’re desperate – that’s the only reason. We have no idea what others might know.”Alfred paused, a frown spreading between his brows. “Even if that is the case, it's not evidence for anything. You’ve seen the way the ancients cling to tradition. It’s only harder to let go when they’ve been ingrained over centuries. It doesn’t mean their archaic practices hold true. It doesn’t mean anything.”  Matthew was subdued for a moment. Alfred could almost see the cogs of his mind turning over. “But that’s just it. We think we know best because we’re young and enlightened, and–”“Mattie – do you really think—?”“I don’t know what I think!” Matthew’s voice rose sharply. He threw his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t know. But maybe.” Alfred found he had no response to that. His tongue was dry. “I’m going to have an early night. I need to get up early anyway.” Matthew stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, his shoulders curling in on themselves. Before stepping into the lift, he glanced back. “Good night,” he muttered.The steel doors slid shut in Matthew’s wake, and Alfred was alone. 
. . . . .

[Allistor]

Emrys had always wondered whether nations still had to follow their boss’s commandments if they couldn’t receive them. It seemed an odd quirk in their design, a loophole of sorts. Yet it never seemed to work for long.Emrys and Allistor had returned to their rooms to find their phones erupting with missed messages, and the pull of their boss to answer them.Emrys remained standing as he hit the call button, while Allistor plunked himself on the bed. They both agreed it was best if Emrys handled this one. Almost immediately, one of their boss’s representatives picked up the line. They exchanged a back-and-forth. But in the end, it was an unceremoniously short call. A curt thing. Despite Emrys’s objections, the message was unrelenting. “Get your arses home immediately, or so help me,” the voice barked. Then beep. The call ended.Allistor nostrils flared. “Prick.” Almost immediately, two plane tickets appeared in their inboxes. Tickets for 10 pm, mere hours away. And they would be escorted all the way. “God damn it, they’ve barely given us a day to search,” Allistor groused. He collapsed backwards into the duvet of the hotel bed. “Why is it that they bother to remember we exist now, just so they can get in our bloody way–?” He dragged his hands through his tangled hair. His breath trailed out wearily. “So, what now?”He heard sheets rustle from the other bed as Emrys sat down. Allistor couldn’t see Emrys from where he lay, but he could picture the thoughtful expression. The way his brows would pull together ever so gently, the absent way he’d bite his lip. “I think… I think we’ve done all we can here.”“Really?” Allistor sat up, blinking at Emrys.“If we were going to find something here, don’t you think we would have?” Emrys’s lips were pressed together grimly. “If there’s anything we’ve missed, the special ops will catch it.”“What if they don’t know what to look for?” Allistor countered. “What if they can’t see it?”“If there were some sign like that, we have to believe we would’ve seen it by now.”“So what?” Allistor asked, incredulous. “Ye think we should just pack up and leave, no complaints?”“What I’m saying is that our efforts might be more use at home.”Allistor let himself fall backwards again. He let the conversation sink into his mind as he himself sank into the mattress, the folds of the duvet pooling around him.“If he—” Emrys’s voice cracked. It fell soft. “If he really was taken away, then we’re not going to find him here anyway, right?”“…I suppose not.” It was a nice way to pretend that they were leaving of their own volition. But they both knew that whether they willed it or not, they would find themselves on that plane tomorrow morning at the inescapable beck of their boss.Allistor heard the other bed jostle under Emrys as he also sagged backwards into its blankets. Eventually he said, half-musingly, “I bet they don’t actually believe he’s missing. I reckon they’re expecting a ransom fee to appear any day now.”“Yeah. Probably. And they don’t want us to get caught so they don’t have to pay extra.” Allistor snickered blandly. “Damn cheapskates.”Emrys huffed with humour but offered no further comment.And slowly, they moved to gather their things. The solemn silence was broken only when the gathering clouds outside broke into rain. Droplets pittered against the window as they packed.“How much time do we have left?” Allistor asked, hefting his bag from the bed.Emrys glanced at his watch. “Should be here any time,” he answered, equally as monotone.Allistor grunted his acknowledgement. Together, they descended through the floors of the building.“Should we tell the others before we go?” Emrys asked, voice quiet.Allistor opened his mouth to respond when his phone buzzed. A notification. Apparently, their escort had arrived.Allistor sighed, his shoulders caving. “We’ll tell em tomorrow. Makes no difference now.”And sure enough, through the great windows in the entrance hall, they glimpsed an innocuous black hatchback parked on the road outside.A dour look passed between them. Regardless of certain practicalities, it felt like a surrender. Like a loss made true by their retreat.Wordlessly, Emrys passed through the entrance hall doors. With one hand he dragged his bag down the steps behind, and with the other he shielded his eyes from the prevailing downpour.Allistor made to follow when a new voice halted him. “Wait.”Allistor turned, leaving the door ajar to the rain. It misted him as he hovered on the threshold. A figure approached. It was…“Lukas?”“You are leaving? So soon?” If Lukas was surprised, he gave little away. His expressions were as muted as ever. “Boss’s orders,” Allistor said, bitterly.Lukas made a considering noise. “A pity.” His tone might’ve been mistaken for vacant by someone who didn’t know him. But Allistor did – he caught the underlying sincerity.Allistor peered out towards the awaiting vehicle. Emrys was packing his bags in the back. “Is there something else? Because I do have to go.”“Actually…” Lukas seemed to think twice about whatever words were on his tongue. He closed his mouth, opened it again, before saying, “Peter wishes you luck.”“Oh.” Allistor blinked slowly. The last words he’d said with Peter were a curse before he’d bolted after Arthur. In the heat of it all, Peter had entirely slipped his mind. Guilt festered in his stomach. “How is he doing, with it all?” he dared to ask.In the quiet, the echoes of falling rain fluttered around the dim hall. “You should ask him yourself if you want a truthful answer. I know he’d want to hear you ask it, even if he’d rather eat a slug than say so.”Allistor shook his head resolutely. He didn’t have time. And it was better to keep his distance anyway, he reasoned, lest he mess up another one. Even to him, that sounded hollow. “…Just keep an eye on him, will ye?”Lukas dipped his head, a gentle motion. “Always.”“Thank you.”Without a further word, Allistor turned and stepped out the door and into the drizzling rain. Emrys was already seated, staring at him quizzically. The driver paid him no heed. Allistor wasted no time in dumping his bag in the back and climbing in beside Emrys. Then they drove towards the airport, homebound.