Rough, rasping breaths escaped him, his lungs yearning for air to keep him going. Endless pavement stretched out like a maze whose walls were tall buildings of gray and even darker black. Clashing shoe clad feet against the concrete beneath him sent trills up his spine, shocking him to his core. Winding left, he came close to hitting the ground, his pace struggling to keep up with how fast he urged himself to go. 

Because if he stopped, they'd catch up to him. 

Because if he stopped, he'd be forced to face them for the umpteenth time.

Because if he stopped, then he'd be driven into a corner. 

He had a set of limitations imposed upon him before undertaking his task. He was not to overexert himself, especially on those he was, by unwritten law, supposed to protect. He was not to engage in a deboggle of any kind, avoidance of pushing others to exert themselves his priority. He was not to do anything but observe, take mental notes, and return to the others when night came.

The sun was setting now, casting its spectrum of reds, oranges, and yellows, upon the decrepit sector. His shadow, fearful of the approaching darkness, grew smaller and smaller with each step he took deeper and deeper into unknown territory, reaches far from where he's ventured before. Shut doors and boarded windows greeted him at each and every corner, a way out anything but comprehensible.

He was at a loss of what to do. He was too far out of range of Sector A to call for help. He was too far gone to do anything but run. He was too sick of running, his legs bringing him to a stop for a moment; allowing him to breath for a moment. He was too misguided to believe he had gotten away so easily, the parts that were unknown to him called “home” by those who chased him.

Hand-to-hand combat was what he was promptly engaged in, a plan to flank him clearly having served its purpose. He dodged the right hook thrown his way by a man in burning, bright red, resisting the instinctual response that almost erupted from him, his legs twitching to counter-react as he rounded the man and continued his stride. A taller man in navy blue sprung forth from the shrinking shadows, landing a well-aimed kick to his rib cage, his lungs shaking in the confines of his chest as a result. He stumbled, running ever on as he bared the pain of the, if he was keeping count correctly, fifth hit he had endured since this all began.

His body was battered. 

His mind was tired. 

He no longer had the will nor the strength to continue this race. 

He had no choice in the matter coming to an end as he reached his wall, both metaphorically and literally. As he reached the stone obstacle in front of him, the alleyway coming to an unpleasant and unwanted end. The one way out being where he came from, echoing footsteps blocking it before he could even begin to turn around.

They faced him with stone faces, grim looks hardened by their past struggles and experiences. They watched him with knowing eyes, knowing full well the range of his capabilities. They stood without fear, believing whole-heartedly in the cause they claimed as just. They closed in on him; miniscule weapons of mass destruction, that could end another’s life within the blink of an eye, produced from the side’s of one after the other.

What means to an end were they trying to achieve?

He could only ponder it as his mind continued the race his body ceased.

He wasn’t supposed to fight back. He wasn’t supposed to have to fight at all. He wasn’t supposed to experience the full force of their scorn, blue lights gleaming from those machines they held in their hands, directed towards him with a dreadful purpose.

And a single one of them stepped forward with the means to speak, cracked lips parting before his words were forgotten in the face of the thunderous infantry that swarmed them all, descending upon the blocked off alley like ants on weakened prey.

And Tao overexerted himself.

And time slowed, bullets flew, blood fell, and a deafening silence followed.

And the wall was witness to it all, unable to aid his plight as it shed bundled tears of cement from its newly formed eyes.

The day started like any other. Morning came, and she rolled out of bed, prepping herself in order to venture to the surface once more. She had not gone outside the day before, the overexertion of her mind throughout the night in which Kai held tight onto her hand caused her to fall into a bout of weakness. But, today, she was determined to go. No matter how bedridden her body was mere hours before, she pushed herself for the Sun and the Moon. For the Tree of Life. For the Guardians. For all Exotians.

She would not withhold from them her presence, no matter what ill-fated sickness struck her.

As a new pillar of strength for Exo planet, she would stand without a single fault. Without cracking under the pressure of that which she held high on its pedestal. Understanding not nearly as much as she should have, the consciousness that lingered in the recesses of her mind warned her against such thoughts. Still, she pushed on.

Still, she conducted her ritual visit to the surface, smiling and greeting and not once faltering in each and every gesture she made.

Lay and Sehun accompanied her today. Originally, it was only Sehun whose duties entailed looking after her today. He had been shirking his responsibilities lately, the reason Kris and Suho chose him this particular morning. However, she asked Lay, with the utmost of seriousness, unwilling to take no for an answer, to accompany her as well. He accepted, albeit he found himself unable to stand by her side, his short strides keeping him a foot behind her at all times.

As a result, they were quite the spectacle today. As she was traveling with not one, but two Guardians – or “Protectors,” as Exotians called them – today, endless murmuring and hushed conversation met them at every turn. Though, this was only half of it. The expected reason behind the attention they attracted this morning was only a mere fraction of why every set of eyes laid upon them today, watching. Waiting.

Waiting for this moment, as the brilliant colors of the afternoon fell upon the city.

Watching for if the rumors they had heard would be proven correct. For when mere mumblings would become reality. For when, as Cera had read amongst Exotian thoughts as soon as she laid eyes upon them, Sector E would challenge the authority of the Seeress of Exo.

Thus, she had known for hours now that it would come to this.

That a young woman would approach her on the sidewalk, blocking her path as she did, eyes lined in deep black circles, a heavy burden weighing on thin shoulders that Cera couldn’t presently read to discover the root of. She greeted her, as she would any Exotian, without a hint of malice or suspicion coating her voice, “Good afternoon—”

And, while she would not lie and say she did not expect the woman’s words, she would also, admittedly, say she did not expect the woman’s sudden action then: a swift palm striking her beneath her right eye.

Immediately, pain cackled through her like electricity, burning brightly, a sudden rush of embarrassment and scorn accompanying the harsh, searing mark she felt on her cheek. Immediately, Sehun and Lay rushed to Cera’s side; Sehun out of pure instinct towards the person whose body she occupied and Lay out of reflex towards a wound being afflicted right before his eyes. Almost immediately, she lifted her right hand, gesturing them to remain as they were – a silent message the two followed despite the antsy look in either’s worried eyes. Almost immediately, the pain of that which felt like it had pierced through both skin and bone subsided, the virtue which remained in the rush of emotions that had swept over her being fortitude.

The woman, with eyes as fiery as burning flames, scorned her in a voice meant for all to hear, “How dare you act so high and mighty when you’re just a tool being used by the Council to pacify us.”

And although the insult was slight, it was also concise. It did what it set out to do. It sent waves of silence washing over all Exotians who watched around them. It sent questions floating through their heads and doubt flowing through their thoughts.

Cera remained unabashed, taking in each weighty stare rather than ignoring it, addressing the woman’s words with sensible truths rather than placating them with falsities, “The Seeress of Exo, along with her twelve Guardians, all of whom are chosen by the Tree of Life which breathes vitality into this planet, is the representative body of the people, socially and politically reinstituted as of exactly twelve days ago, that operates separate from the governing body of the Council. We neither have ties with nor work in tandem with one another. We neither use nor are used by one another. A tool, by definition, is a device or implement held in one’s possession that is used to carry out a specific function. As we do not function nor are we influenced by the Council in any way, shape, or form, categorizing us under the label of a “tool” is clearly a misconception that has been derived from some misconstrued understanding of my title on your part. If time allows you, I’m willing to sit down with you and discuss the matter further.”

The woman’s eyes continued their blaze, their intensity doubled as her hand lifted and came crashing down for the second time on that same place, faster than the first, with much more anger than the first, her ability to control herself coming loose at the seams. Gasps reverberated through the gathered crowd around them, questions and doubts replaced with an eerie absence of sound, both inward and outward.

And this time, Cera didn’t need to stop Sehun and Lay with a gesture, her following words immediate, her tone one of stern yet pleading confusion, "I cannot apologize without knowing what it is that I've done. I can neither feel guilty nor the need to repent should you simply slap me and be on your way.” She took a step forward, the woman retreating back as a result, her eyes no longer burning so brightly, her gaze no longer locked on Cera’s own, “Is your anger so slight that it can be relieved with this alone?"

It could not. Cera knew this to be true. She knew the woman knew this to be true. And yet, still, the woman turned, disappearing through the crowd, molding with those like her, and yet, they parted, allowing her through them, wanting nothing to do with her. Throwing her hateful looks. Judging glances. Insulting whispers that grew louder and louder, reaching their peak as her presence faded into the gray.

This is what prompted Cera’s next words. This, as well as that voice in the back of her head. That voice whose words were less colloquial. Less lengthy. Less elegant. That voice whose message was the same as the one Cera uttered then, her eyes moving from one Exotian to the next, speaking to one to the next, her words holding weight heavier than any that could have been conceived from any of them right then and there.

"I will not ask you to look on at your fellow Exotian with scorn while holding hatred in your hearts. I will not ask of you to feel pity or sorrow. I ask that you instead understand that everyone holds within them pain no one else can fully comprehend. Do not speak ill of your fellow Exotian's actions in the future. Try to understand that which you cannot fully, and do not let loathing grip your hearts and your minds."

And she bowed, her body bruised but her id not. Her ego humbled due to the subconscious voice that warned her beforehand. That allowed her to be greeted with a sea of faces who slowly began to think, to attempt, even if they did not succeed, in understanding that woman who burned with the passion of her own, personal experiences.

And Sehun spoke to her as they continued on through towards the place they called home, Lay’s help regarding the bruise below her eye deemed unnecessary, “A few of them may grow to hate you now."

And she smiled, figuring she’d let another message through again, finding no need to change the phrasing of the words that subconscious voice had chosen, "I never expected anyone to not."

Dinner was a quiet affair, especially after the events which occurred earlier this afternoon. Events which had made it as the top story on EXON, Exo planet's News station. "A Role Model for all of Humanity" and the embodiment of "Heaven on Exo" were what they were calling her. "Pious grace and beauty" is how they described her. Video recordings of the entire scene involving the Seeress and the young woman were played and replayed like a broken record, and while there were an influx of negative responses – many taking up unnamed woman's plight –, there were ten times as many positive ones. 

To put it simply, in Sehun's words, rephrased just slightly: in the capital city alone, Cera had allocated a total of 1 million enemies. 

Resentment had risen for the Seeress of Exo. However, in return, those who remained in favor of her position grew stronger in their support. The benefits of the event as a whole outweighed the negative feedback received. 

And, as Lay had heard her say to Sehun, she never expected everyone to love her unconditionally. She never expected them to even like her in the least. She was taking it all in stride, criticism only seeming to harden her resolve. With a single sentence made up of six words, she gave him even more reason to be both content and happy with his current position as a Guardian of the Moon.

And, for some reason, those words sounded like they came from a place different than the ones he had been hearing for the past month. 

And, that's what caused Lay to enter her highness's room, without hesitation, at Cera's call this night. 

And, that's what led himself and her to where they were now. With him, standing with his hands clenched together in front of him, his shoulders pushed back. With her, sitting on her bed in front of him, explaining to him the reason she asked for his presence tonight.

"Regarding me?" He questioned as she concluded herself, only when he was sure she had, with slow blinks of his eyelashes over confusion coated eyes. 

"That is correct," she affirmed with a nod of her head. 

As he understood it, she had had a vision yesterday morning when her hand incidentally touched his own. She had seen, briefly, images of him leaning over a table, eyes concentrated on a task his hands were conducting. A low echo reverberated against her eardrums, unintelligible due to the haze which clouded her sight. She would explain no more regarding it, despite it seeming as though there was something she was leaving out. 

He had no clue as to what it meant. 

He could not even begin to wonder upon it, the future full of endless possibilities he could never, and would never, have the ability to comprehend. 

He, thus, did not know why she had called for him. 

Or, rather, he did not wish to acknowledge the reason for it: his nerves upset and his body made uncomfortable by the obvious answer.

"I have attempted and failed, for your own sake, to stimulate the vision with the aid of another Guardian." She explained, exasperated, as though tired. Tired of walking on eggshells with him. Tired from forcing herself out of the realm of dreams into reality, seeking out her vision with endless fervor and tenacity. Stubbornness that had given in at this point, the nearness of what she sought seemingly at the tip of her tongue, "So, I ask you to understand why I must touch you." 

She reached out, holding her palms to him, empty and harmless, not wanting to scare him away a second time, "It must be you, Lay." 

Had it been yesterday or the day before, had it been this morning, had it been in any other instance in which the proceeding events had not occurred, had she not still had a faint red mar on her cheek that she wore proudly and unashamed like a badge of honor, he would have thought twice about the proposition. Of course, either way, he would have listened to her plea. But, he wouldn’t have been so straight-forward, so willing, as he was then; sitting at her side before she could even ask him to do so.

He sat by her side and turned his body towards her, releasing his left hand from his right’s grip, placing both in front of himself on his thighs, his shoulders still squared tightly, "I understand."

She nodded, though she did not begin without warning him of the conditions he had just agreed to, giving him a chance to say no, "You cannot pull away." 

He cleared his throat, his frame stiff, his breath hitched, "I understand."

She scooted closer, her knee touching his own, giving him a second chance to say no, "You cannot blot me out."

He felt his muscles tighten as her hands reached out, hovering over his own, to the point in which it pained him to even sit there, "I understand." 

He expected her to grab onto his hands. To gently take one after the other, to hold them as she held a knife and fork: with the utmost appreciation of said tools, the deepest respect for their purpose displayed through the way her forefinger the length of each, providing pressure only when needed, not allowing the two pieces of metal to work harder than they had to. That’s what he expected. And yet, as though she were someone else, she became unpredictable.

She became sarcastic, her hands reaching out to pat his shoulders instead, "And for Pete's sake, loosen up your shoulders, Lay. I don't bite."

He was sure of it now. The change she exhibited earlier today, the way her words seemed so unlike her, made sense. Because, it wasn’t her at all.

It wasn’t Cera at all who pulled him to her, wrapping her arms around his neck, embracing him without another word. Sheltering him in between her thin arms, in her slim frame which held upon it the entire world. Overwhelming feelings of contentment flooded him all at once. Seeking to sink further down, until all he could see was the deep blue, he sought refuge within her, deeper and closer, his arms wrapping around her waist. His breath steadying. His eyelashes fluttering closed as his fingers clutched onto her clothes, never wanting to let go.

And he uttered words he hadn’t said in so long, too long, that he couldn’t help but question if this was truly reality.

“Your highness.”

She was there with him. She was there with him. She was there with him. He could think no other thoughts as he felt the ocean foliage tickling at the tips of his toes. He had reached rock bottom. He had fallen with just two sentences. With just one gesture. With nothing else after.

And she?

As his muscles relaxed into her, his hands grasping onto her as though she were an anchor, she saw it. She saw it through the blue haze. It came to her, effortlessly, his cooperation all she needed in the end.

She saw him.

Lay, leaning over a table, two metal tools in his hands. A winder and a file. Both working in tandem as he labored over the pieces of an old wrist watch. Black leather straps connected to a cracked glass casing. Gears jammed by miniscule pieces of bronze colored metal. Sweat dripped down his temple as he bit down on his lips, his eyes lidded, his exhaustion obvious. It seemed endless, the time he spent picking and winding and plucking and stringing the clock together.

But, as the haze began to enter from either side, threatening to cut her off once more, she heard a loud gong. Six times, the sound vibrated against her eardrums.

Six times, before the sound of metal hitting wood replaced it.

Lay had placed his tools down.

A solemn look of regret and sadness and incomprehensible fear whirling through his eyes.

That blue haze whirled around him, engulfing him until it became so thick, so hard to breath, that she couldn’t stand it.

Her eyes snapped open, the moon devoid of its usual, brilliant golden color shining throw the windowpanes.

And in an instant, she understood the meaning of her vision. In an instant, she supplied her with the answer. 

"Where is he?" She questioned, pulling away from Lay abruptly, eyes darting left and right, shaking in their sockets, as though the person in question would be there. Because, he should have been. Because, she didn’t know where else he would be.

She was panicking, her nerves burning from the inside out. Something vile threatened to expel itself from her lungs, the haze that clouded her vision weighing heavy on her body, weighing light on her mind. She was delirious as she quickly stood, her legs lifting her from her bed, the trauma of her vision causing her to go stumbling forward. Lay caught her, not understanding what was happening. Her instinctual response was to push him away, to run through the halls shouting his name. But, instead, she stayed still. She held to him, finding him to currently act as an anchor to her thoughts; their roles from moments ago reversed in an instant.

And it didn’t take her long to gather herself, her sanity returning along with her aptitude when it came to quick thinking – though, perhaps, she had only done half the work on that front.

She turned her eyes to the ceiling, yelling his name in urgency, “Luhan!” He didn’t answer immediately, or it could have been that because she no longer had any time to wait, she felt he was responding at a snail’s pace, “Luhan!”

“Cera.” He addressed her, that familiar translucent orb gliding downwards ignorantly from the ceiling. He would have said more, he would have questioned her necessity, what she needed so desperately that she had lost her patience, had she not interrupted him before a single syllable could pass from him to her.

"Where is Tao?" 

Luhan’s hand stilled where he stood in his black room, the images projected in those glass spheres floating in front of him his only light source. He had an answer to her question. He had anticipated that she would find out sooner or later. He simply didn’t think the issue would come up so quickly. That’d he have to explain the actions of himself and the others so prematurely. That she wasn’t in the least referring to what he thought she was. He responded naturally, his tone settled, his words slipping from him with the simplest of means, "Tao is currently in Sector E, conducting a reconnaissance mission on the Rebel forces." 

“How long?” She demanded next, her eyes looking on at him sternly through that which he saw her through, annoyance evident through her tone. She was upset at him, the look on her face causing him to question all of the actions he had committed up until this point, searching for flaws in the tiniest of corners, overlooking the large open spaces that were too obvious. She was upset at him, for whatever reason, as she reiterated herself, “How long has he been gone?”

And Luhan didn’t understand, as Lay had not understood.

And he couldn’t have known, as almost no one knew.

“Over five hours now.” Was his reply.

Six times.

Six times, the gong had rung.

Her hesitance had almost caused a mistake she could never take back.

That she could never redeem herself from.

That she apologized to both him and her for for many times after the fact. 

A/N: 

I'm sick. So, hopefully this update made sense. I have the tendency to not make sense when I'm sick.
Off to bed I go now. May EXO greet me in my dreams.

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