Shine, Chapter Two
Oh man this was actually edited more quickly than I thought. I should be doing lit. Blame the cute boy down the hall from me. He's distracting.
Prologue, Chapter One
Chapter Two
"Father?" said the moronic boy.
Father?
"Oh, father, I'm so sorry!" The boy lifted himself up a little, still staring at him, and he was starting to feel a little bit uncomfortable. Clearly the boy had never learned the value of personal space. "Are you all right?"
Was he all right? He resisted the urge to laugh bitterly. "No, I'm not, and I'm not your father, so get off me!"
The boy looked startled, and he actually felt indignant. Did he look old enough to be someone's father? His own father often teased him for looking so youthful.
"You're-you're not my father?"
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Really, the boy was slow. "Do I look like I'm your father?"
It took a second, where the other boy's eyes swept his body and he actually felt something-maybe self consciousness-before the boy's eyes returned to his face and he actually grinned. Grinned. "No."
"Then... get off me?" he said pointedly, gesturing down to his body.
"Well, are you all right? Do you need some help?" the boy asked, getting up off him.
He blew his bangs off his face irritably, because really? "You can help by leaving me alone."
The boy seemed to get the message, pacing away, examining the walls of the crater. He could hear him muttering some words about lighting candles and--
"Think of me," the boy said, and it was impossible to ignore or drown out his voice. It wasn't that he had a bad voice, persay, and-no, no, he wasn't going to go there, he'd been down that road and it never ended well for him. "I did, I thought of my fath-oh, but then Rachel and the star just... popped into my head..."
The boy spun around, and he tried to pretend he hadn't been looking at him. He really was very good looking, even if his hair was slicked back against his skull-no. Stop. Non-magical humans have a very different regard towards these kinds of feelings.
The boy was examining the ground, the walls of the crater around them, with a frantic sort of excitement. "Excuse me, sir, sorry--" he called.
He straightened the sleeves of his silvery shirt and looked up, purposefully projecting an air of impatient superiority.
"This may seem a bit strange, but have you seen a fallen star anywhere?" the boy asked, crouching down beside him.
He let out a little puff of laughter. "Oh, you're funny." Really, quite the comedian.
"No, really," the boy said, earnestly. "We're in a crater, so this must be where it fell."
He cast his eyes around disbelievingly. "Yeah, this is where it fell," he said, letting the full weight of the derision he was holding in sink into his voice. "Oh, if you want to be really specific." He pointed to the sky. "Up there's where this stupid bloody necklace came out of nowhere and knocked it out of the heavens when it was minding its own business." he pointed over to where he'd been lying fifteen minutes prior to their first meeting. "And over there's where it landed. And right here," he paused, fixing the boy with his most menacing of glares, "is where it was hit by a magical, flying moron!"
The boy's reaction was unexpected. His lips parted, his eyes widening in an expression that could only be identified as delight. "You're the star? Really?"
The star gave the boy a slightly sarcastic smile.
"Oh wow, I had no idea you'd be--"
"A boy, instead of a beautiful, pale, blond young woman?" he asked, shrewdly, with a hint of iciness in his voice. "Well. You aren't the only one. I'm a rarity. Lucky me."
"No," said the boy, and the star was once again startled by the earnestness of his voice. "I just had no idea you'd be so... beautiful.""
Don't, he warned himself as he felt his cheeks begin to glow a little. Don't you start that again.
"May I just say, in advance, that I know this is terribly rude and please believe that I wasn't brought up this way. Also, I am sorry."
"Sorry for what?" He asked warily.
"For this," the boy said, winding a silvery chain around his wrist that somehow magically lengthened as he did so. "If I'm not mistaken, this means you have to come with me. See, you're going to be a birthday gift for my Rachel."
He laughed in disdain. "Oh, lovely. Because nothing says romance like the gift of a captured male. Do you realize what message you'll be sending her if you give her another man as a gift?"
"I never claimed to be good at romance," the boy mumbled, clearly a little put out.
"I'm not going anywhere with you," he huffed, turning his back on the boy.
The boy didn't seem all that put out. "My name's Blaine," he offered.
Really? Where was his sense of social normalcy?
"Kurt," he said, after a moment.
The world would be a better place under Lauren's rule.
This, she was certain of. The country didn't need someone untouchable like Quinn, beautiful and cold and falsely benevolent. They didn't need a violent, thinly-veiled lover-of-women like Santana (where would they get an heir, anyway?). They needed someone they could relate to, someone like them, someone that wasn't untouchable.
Like Lauren.
"I know what you're doing."
Quinn's voice echoed through the empty hall, bouncing off the high, ornate walls.
Lauren took her time turning around. She wasn't about to give Quinn the pleasure of knowing that she'd startled her. "And what, exactly, is it that I'm doing?" she asked, plastering a look of polite confusion on her face.
"Don't play stupid with me," Quinn said, her face hardening as she strode forward.
Lauren felt a momentary pang in her chest as she took in the way Quinn's soft blue gown clung to her slight curves and willowy frame, the way her long blond hair cascaded down her back, the way her long eyelashes fluttered over her deep green eyes.
They were sisters by name and technicality only. They may have been biologically related, but nothing in their appearance or personality showed it. Quinn was a statuesque beauty, the very picture of something you might see in the painting of a goddess or angel. Lauren was brown-haired and eyed, with a specific body type that didn't fit in with the conventional idea of "beauty". Lauren never would.
Some part of her knew that Quinn was destined to get the crown, even if she wasn't deserving of it.
"You think you're better suited for the crown than I am," Quinn said, one perfect eyebrow arching in a perfect curve over her eye to show off her displeasure. "But I think we both realize that the Kingdom has already chosen their favorite for queen, no matter who may actually be better suited for the throne. And I think we both know it isn't you."
Her voice was sticky-sweet, prickly in a way that Lauren had learned to recognize. She leaned forward.
"Maybe I'm not the Kingdom's favorite," she said, "but that doesn't mean I won't fight until the very end to make sure that neither you nor Santana are on the receiving end of the crown."
Quinn's face tightened.
"Very well, Lauren," she said, taking a step back, her voice hardening. "I was prepared to make a deal with you, but I see that isn't an option here. All I will do is forewarn you-before, this was solely a business competition. I had nothing against you. But now?" she folded her arms, her scowl deepening. "Now, it just got personal."
"Samuel."
Sam felt himself freeze.
"Don't pretend you didn't hear me," Santana snapped. "Turn around."
He turned slowly, closing his eyes for a moment to offer a quick prayer to the stars. "What is it, Santana?"
"I need your help," she said, without preamble.
This actually gave him pause. "Princess Santana, actually admitting to needing someone's help?" he asked incredulously. "That's something I thought I'd never experience. I must admit, now I'm curious."
"Shut up," Santana snapped, reaching him. "I need that stone."
"In my opinion, you're not exactly the best suited for the throne--" Sam began, but then Santana's eyes glinted in an eerie way in the dim lighting, and Sam was suddenly reminded of exactly what she could do to him.
"I need you to help me get it."
"How exactly am I supposed to help you with that?" Sam asked. "If you don't recall, I backed out of the competition for the throne. And if I accidentally touch the stone before you do, I'll be crowned the next King of Stormhold, whether I like it or not. Is that really a risk you're willing to take?"
"Believe it or not, I trust you more than anyone else I know," Santana said, rolling her eyes to the side the way she always did when she admitted something that she thought made her weak. "And you have the best knowledge of the land-all the shortcuts, all the tricks and traps. And I need someone like that with me. My men are loyal, but idiotic. They have no idea which way is North, let alone anything about the actual topography of the land."
Sam studied her face for a moment. It was hard, determined.
"I don't have a choice, do I?" he finally asked.
For the first time, she cracked a smile. "No," she said. "You don't."
His clothes had to be tightened.
That was the best part, really, that he'd changed so much that his clothes needed to be tightened. It was wonderful to see the jealousy etched in his brothers' faces as they used their meager supply of magic to tailor his clothing until it fit correctly again, both for the changed time and for his body.
He turned away from his brothers as one of them attempted to adjust the sleeve of his robe.
"How have we lived this way all these years?" he asked, peering at the filth that surrounded them. He snapped his fingers once, lighting the long row of chandeliers that lined the enormous hall. His lip curled, and he turned away, holding out a hand. Azimio slid a ruby-encrusted ring onto his middle finger-a method of communication between the two warlocks who would remain here and the one who would venture into the outside world.
"While I'm gone, I'm expecting you to clean it up. Make it fit for the Kings we are," Karofsky said, taking a long knife from the selection held before him. "When I return with our prize... all of us will be young again."
He held out his hand, and Strando dropped a handful of runes onto his palm.
"Have no fear, my brothers," said Karofsky, striding for the door, "I will not fail."
Kurt gnawed at the chain around his wrist. He normally didn't like to use his teeth as tools, but this seemed to be a dire situation.
"Do you ever sleep?"
He started, turning around to see Blaine's eyes trained on him. He hadn't even known Blaine was awake.
"Not at night," he huffed, his voice coming out a lot more sharply than he'd intended it to. "It may have escaped your notice, but that's when stars have better things to do. Like coming out, shining."
Coming out. He felt a wry sort of smile twist his lips. He'd leapt that particular obstacle years ago. Magic-based communities were far more accepting than non-magic based ones.
Far more accepting, seeing as in most places in the world, the punishment for homosexuality was death.
"Yeah, well, it might have escaped yours, but you're not in the sky anymore," Blaine said, and his voice was a little snappy, too, a little condescending. "Coming out is... off the agenda."
For you, certainly, Kurt thought, then wondered where on earth that somewhat bitter thought had come from.
"Shining has been... suspended, until further notice."Kurt gritted his teeth. "No danger of that, considering my situation," he muttered, so softly he doubted Blaine heard. He only shined when happy, and he'd certainly shone brightly when he'd been up in the sky; that was when he was at his happiest. He doubted he'd ever shine again, down here on earth. It was a dismal place.
"Sleeping during the day is... O-U-T. Unless you've got some sort of magical ability to sleep while you're walking."
Okay, that was it.
"Have you not got it through your grease-laden head yet?" Kurt said sharply. "I'm not walking anywhere! I'm not going anywhere with you; I don't even know you."
For a moment, Kurt actually felt like he'd kicked a puppy or something to that extent. Blaine's smile fell; he looked crushed.
Kurt could only feel guilty for a short moment, though, because Blaine's face slipped back into a neutral sort of expression-slightly offended, slightly bored, but definitely not kicked-puppy.
"Fine, then," he said, standing up. "Sit in a crater. I've had enough of you, anyway." And suddenly, there was a momentary flare of hurt in Kurt's chest, and where did that come from, anyway? But Blaine was already speaking again. "I was going to put you back in the sky, once I'd brought you to my Rachel, but clearly you'd rather sit here by yourself forever."
Kurt scoffed, even as his heart leapt to his throat hopefully. "And just how were you planning to get me back to the sky?"
Blaine pulled something from his pocket. "I find the fastest way to travel is by candlelight."
Kurt whipped his head around so fast he was surprised he didn't strain something in his neck. "You've got a Babylon candle!"
"Yeah... I've got a babbling candle," Blaine said, grinning crookedly, and his idiocy was actually fairly adorable.
"A Babylon candle," Kurt corrected, but gently.
"That's what I said," Blaine said, but his voice was pouty and childish so Kurt ignored it, reaching for the candle stub. Blaine held it out of reach. "Anyway, I was going to give what was left of it to you."
Kurt thought for a moment, pursing his lips. "Well, that barely has one use left in it," he said, examining the inch or so that was left of the candle.
"You can have it, really," Blaine said. "I was going to use it to get us back to Wall, but we can walk. It can't be further than two week's travel, can it?"
Kurt assumed it was a rhetorical question, and didn't answer.
"Unless you have a better way of getting yourself home," Blaine said, uncertainly.
Kurt didn't, but he wasn't about to give Blaine that kind of satisfaction by admitting it out loud. "Fine," he said, flinging his wrist up, well-aware of the fact that he was acting like a petulant child. He deserved to be a little whiny, with the day he'd been having. "Help me up."
He was surprised when Blaine actually did as he'd demanded, rushing forward to grab Kurt by the elbow and lift him to his feet. He didn't let Kurt go immediately, either, waiting until he was sure Kurt had stable footing before he released his arm.
"We're going to have to walk quickly," Blaine said, smiling gently at Kurt in a way that made something warm start to spread in Kurt's stomach. It evaporated quickly at his next sentence. "Otherwise I'll never get you back to Rachel in two weeks."
"Don't push your luck," Kurt snapped.
"Don't take less than a florin for him, Jacob, do you understand me?"
Jacob winced, tying a rope around the neck of the goat he was going to attempt to sell when he went to town. "Yes, mother."
"No dilly-dallying! And don't even think of stopping at the tavern, Jacob, or you'll be sorry!"
Jacob sighed, rubbing a hand over his bushy hair, and turned. He started. There was a man there-large, bulky, but with a warm smile.
"A florin for your goat, boy," he said, in a kind voice.
"Um--" he said, then cast his eyes to the side, where a cart he didn't recognize sat. "Oh-he's a bit small to pull your cart."
"Hmm," said the man, the smile still on his face. "You're quite right."
And he pointed a finger at Jacob, who watched in strange fascination as it began to glow green. He found he couldn't move as the man got closer and closer to Jacob. He was shrinking, he realized in a misty, far-off sort of way, because now the man was towering over him. And then he remembered nothing, and thought of nothing.
Karofsky looked down in satisfaction at the small brown goat that now stood before him, beside the other goat the poor boy had been trying to sell. He may have felt more remorse (but he doubted that) if he hadn't heard the boy's mother yelling at him from inside the house moments before. He was doing him a favor this way-the boy was actually probably somewhat relieved.
He glanced at his hand, and was horrified to see age spots reappear on it-he was losing the little youth the remains of the last star had given him.
It took only a second to hitch the two goats to his cart, and in a moment, he was on his way.
As he drove away, he thought he might've heard the boy's mother calling after him, but he didn't look back to see.
It wasn't his concern, anyway.
Santana had considered making Sam go on foot, just to be cruel.
But it would have been useless, considering they needed to get to the shores of Lima as quickly as they could.
Instead, she gave Sam the most uncomfortable saddle, and watched him squirm. It was an enjoyable way to pass the time.
Quinn moved in an opposite direction from her Santana-she was clever. She had hired the soothsayer Santana was using, telling him to give her directions in completely the opposite direction than she should be traveling.
Lauren followed close behind, just out of sight of her sister. She knew that when it came to it, she could outfight Santana. She just needed to wait, and bide her time until her sister found the stone.
Each were certain that they would be the one to find the stone and win the crown.
There was an interesting-looking yellow caravan along the path, with a woman sitting outside of it. She was cooking something over a fire-not unusual around these parts, but Karofsky knew that she wasn't simply a poor old woman when he saw the other various dead animals and herbs hanging from the front of the van.
She was a witch.
Karofsky let a smile curve across his face as he stopped the cart, approaching the woman.
"Who goes there?" the woman's voice was not timid or cowardly, as he'd expected, but strong, confident, arrogant. "I know three different forms of self-defense and I can do things that would make your head spin, boy."
"Oh, shut up, I know what you are," Karofsky said, indifferently. "I'm the same. But I swear by the rules of the fellowship to which we both belong that I mean no harm. I just want to share your meal. I'm hungry."
"One can never be too careful," the woman said, her eyes calculating. "Sit down. I'll get you a seat, assuming you can't provide one for yourself."
Karofsky's lip curled. He'd heard of this woman-mean, rude, condescending. Cocky and egotistical.
Ditchwater Sue.
Sue snapped her fingers, and a canary that had been sitting quietly on a perch by the caravan door burst into a yellow smoke, which quickly evaporated to reveal a young, good-looking Asian man. Karofsky allowed himself to admire his form for a moment as the boy set a stool down by the fire for him, then turned to Sue. "Anything else?"
Karofsky could hear the resentment dripping from his voice.
"Not right now, waltzing Matilda," Sue said, snapping her fingers once more, and a canary fluttered on a chain by the door.
Show off, Karofsky thought, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes.
There was silence as the meat cooked-Sue was sizing him up, he could tell, and he let her. He didn't have to reveal his identity to her unless it was completely necessary-if he needed her cooperation, or her slaveboy.
If there was such a thing as royalty amongst magical beings, then Karofsky and his two brothers were considered the Kings. They reigned over the world of magic with iron fists, controlling not only the witches and the warlocks of the land, but the soothsayers, wizards, seers, and all sorts of other magical creatures. Any sort of power that was possible to be had, they had it. They could use magic in the same way as witches and warlocks, and tell the future like soothsayers and seers. They could create enchantments and potions like wizards. They could transform like shape-shifters.
He saw no need to inform Sue of this, however. He found her antics amusing - she was clearly trying to impress him with her ability to transform the slave boy into a bird and back again (child's play, in comparison to what he could do). He let her try.
"What's it to be?" Sue asked, rapping on the carcass of the roasting rabbit with a long stick. "Heads? Or tails? You seem to me like the kind of man who'd enjoy head, if I may."
He ignored the slight jab in her thinly-veiled double entendre, and nodded tersely. "Heads."
Sue cut the rabbit open without another word, rolling both halves in a seasoning before passing the plate with the head of the rabbit over to Karofsky. He bit into it gratefully, reveling in the taste. Oh... it'd been too long since he'd had fresh meat like this.
"So, stranger," Sue started. "Where you headed off to on a day like this? Off to Wall, for a boy of fancy?" Her eyebrows raised in a decidedly condescending sort of smirk.
"I seek a fallen star," Karofsky said, purposefully ignoring the second part of her question. "It fell not far from here. And when I find it, I will take my great knife and cut out its heart while it still lives. And the glory of our youth... will be... restored."
Why couldn't he stop talking? He hadn't meant to share that much with her-especially not what, exactly, it was that he was seeking.
He lifted the plate to his face, sniffing at the herbs she'd used to season the meat with. It only took a moment, and then-there. There it was.
"I could do with losing a few years myself, although that might put me back into my teenage years," the ridiculous woman was saying, and Karofsky threw down his plate.
"Limbus grass!" he cried, standing. "You dared to sneak answers out of me by giving me limbus grass!"
He'd perhaps have forgiven her, had she had the decency to look even the slightest bit ashamed. As it was, she only rolled her eyes and made an impatient huffing noise.
"Do you have any idea what you've done, Ditchwater Sue?" he asked, softly.
The sky darkened-thunder rumbled overhead. He was angry. Furious.
"How do you know my--" Sue started, then stopped, wary. "Who are you?"
"Look again," he said, and for a moment, the age took over his face, the years and the power and the corruption took over his face and his eyes became black and sunken and decrepit. His eyes became recognizable as those of a dark King.
Sue fell to her knees immediately-a humiliating stance for one who thought so highly of herself. "I shall not seek the star, your Dark Majesty," she gasped, reaching out with one hand to clutch at Karofsky's robes.
Karofsky wrenched them away, pointing one glowing finger at her. He was shaking with rage-lightning crackled in the sky overhead. "Seek all you wish," he growled, and the blast from the force of his enchantment blew her hair backwards. "You will not see the star, touch it, smell, or hear it. You will not perceive it even if it stands before you."
The air settled around them as he glanced at his unmarked hand, slight horror coloring his face as it grew age spots to match the other. He was already aging-soon, he would be back in the same situation as he had been in before the star. Magic aged him-he had to remember that, and only use it for truly necessary things.
But this was necessary, he argued with himself, before remembering that Ditchwater Sue was still kneeling before him, looking at him with terrified eyes.
"Pray you never meet me again, Ditchwater Sue," he said. His voice, which had been cruel before, only came out as tired as he turned away.
“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Kurt said, sarcasm oozing from his voice. “You think we're going the right way because, and I quote, 'I just do'?"
“I do, though,” Blaine said, only a hint of exasperation coloring his voice. “I don't know, maybe it's my... love... for Rachel guiding me in the right direction. Kurt, whether you like it or not--"
“Would you please slow down,” Kurt pleaded, stumbling a little on his injured leg. He looked upset with himself, that he'd had to ask.
Blaine slowed immediately. “Yes, of course,” he said, flashing a smile at the star. “I had no idea I was going too quickly for you. My apologies."
Kurt sighed, leaning heavily on his good leg, staring balefully down the path ahead of them.
“Look, we're going North, right?” Blaine said, in a reassuring tone. “The Wall's North. And if you look up in the sky, even during the day, you can see the-the North Star--” his eyebrows furrowed. “That's-that's odd--"
“Hilarious. My sides are splitting,” Kurt said, dryly, pacing away from him.
“That was you,” Blaine said, a smile creeping up on his face. “You're the North Star? Isn't that kind of an... important position?"
“Very important, all things considered,” Kurt snapped, dropping down to the ground to lean up against a tree.
“Wait-no-what're you doing?” Blaine asked, the grin sliding off his face.
“What does it look like I'm doing?” Kurt snapped, crossing his arms across his chest in a petulant way that was still somehow adorable. “I'm sitting down. I'm tired."
“Please, Kurt, we agreed we'd stop over in the next town. I hate to rush you, I know you're in pain, but we're on a bit of a tight schedule--"
“Come on Blaine,” Kurt said. He seemed on the verge of tears. “It's midday. I'm never up this late. Please, just let me sleep!"
“Okay,” Blaine said, softly, feeling his heart melt a little. Kurt looked vulnerable-not like some otherworldly creature, more like a young boy. “Okay, you sleep. I'll go and get something to eat. Are you sure you'll be all right on your own?"
“There's nobody out here,” Kurt said, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “I'll be fine."
“I'm really sorry about this,” Blaine said, crouching down beside him and winding the silvery chain around the tree. “I don't like to do this, but I really have to make sure you don't run away. You're my only chance with Rachel."
Kurt sighed, and his eyes slid shut. “Do what you must,” he said, in a resigned sort of tone.
“Who the hell hired this soothsayer?” Santana whispered furiously to Sam. He shrugged.
“It wasn't me."
“Well, whoever it was ought to be fired on the spot,” Santana growled, “then devoured by hungry animals. The man's a lunatic! I've half a mind he works for Lauren or Quinn."
She froze.
“Quinn,” she breathed, her eyes narrowing.
“Quinn wouldn't--” Sam began to protest, but Santana threw up a hand, cutting him off.
“Oh yes, she would,” she said, tugging at the reigns of her horse. They'd reached the shores of the ocean at the far side of Stormhold-they could go no further. She slid gracefully from her horse-Sam tried to follow suit and got tangled in the stirrups-and approached the wizened soothsayer, who was clambering off his own cross-eyed mule.
“Your highness,” crackled the old man, who was rather cross-eyed himself.
“South, you said,” said Santana, her eyes dark as she scanned the sea before her. She could hear his nervous shuffling from where he stood behind her. “And South we went. Still no stone. Do you now propose we start swimming?"
“Madam,” said the man, “I only relate what the runes tell me. I can do no more."
“Well, consult them again,” Santana said, removing her slim leather gloves and tossing them at Sam, before spinning around. “Wait."
Her face was deceptively friendly, open. Sam wouldn't have trusted it in a second, but the soothsayer seemed to. He met her smile with a toothless one of his own.
“Before we seek the stone,” Santana continued, taking a step forward, “I have another question. Am I the seventh heir?"
The soothsayer shook his runes in his hand, then tossed them into the shallow bowl formed in the top of the large block of ice that stood between them. He looked up from the runes, which had all landed, symbol-side up. “Yes,” he said, his grin widening.
“Another question,” Santana said, her smirk widening. “Is my favorite color red?"
The soothsayer shook the carved bones again, tossing them into the ice bowl. “Yes,” he said.
“Has excessive begging or pleading ever convinced me to spare the life of a traitor?” Santana asked, and her grin was wider than Sam had ever seen it.
The soothsayer's smile fell, and his hand shook slightly as he tossed the stones again. They all landed blank-side up.
“What does that mean?” Santana asked, the smile still fixed on her face.
“That means 'no', your majesty,” the soothsayer said, and his face was petrified.
“Good,” Santana said, delightedly. “Now, throw the stones again. Throw them high this time."
The soothsayer did as she asked.
“Do you work for my sister?” Santana asked, her eyes cold, the wind whipping her dark hair across her face.
She didn't need the runes. She didn't need to see what they'd say when they landed- she knew they'd land on yes. She could tell by the look in his eyes.
She had her knife buried in his stomach before the runes touched the bowl again.
“Clean that up,” she muttered in disgust. She didn't seem to be talking to Sam, so he decided to let one of the other men take care of him.
She turned her gaze to him, arching one eyebrow. She scooped up the runes with one hand. “So,” she said, tossing them in the air. “Do we continue West?"
Karofsky caught his runes in one fist, unfurling his fingers to examine the symbols carved onto the shards of bone.
He must have liked what he saw, because a slow grin crept across his face before he swept away again, the sound of a whip cracking the air.
Chapter Three