Clear Skies:

A wise man once said that snow provokes responses that reach back to childhood. Through his arduous hike through the mountains, he'd grown just a bit sentimental. It wasn't mawkish adoration necessarily, he genuinely thought it was gorgeous out.

Breath pale against the numbing air, he blinked thoughtfully as the frost patiently kissed his face, captivated by the soft, dusty illusions of light that sat heavy on his eyelashes. If he could blush, his cheeks would be ruby red. He had grown to adore the snow, more so when it was falling. It was like a choreographed ballet conducted by the gentle wind. As Xion watched, his eyes grew that tiny bit wider, as the land had become as a fresh new page awaiting his timid feet and gloved hands. Sure he'd seen snow, though it never fell this relentlessly back at home.

It was a shame his destination was just south. Wayward, the ice and snow would melt. Leaving behind a lingering mist that turned the forest into an absent silhouette of what it was. Or so he'd been told.

'What men [desire], they will move worlds to keep or obtain, yes?" Ḧ̨̧̛̛̩̻̱̭̘̯̗̱̪̺̳͕̣̤́̇͒͂̋̏̎͐͗́͛̉͐̍͘͟ẹ̩̦̔̈̐asked. Ḧ̨̧̛̛̩̻̱̭̘̯̗̱̪̺̳͕̣̤́̇͒͂̋̏̎͐͗́͛̉͐̍͘͟ẹ̩̦̔̈̐ had manifested, walking parallel to Xion. Ḧ̨̧̛̛̩̻̱̭̘̯̗̱̪̺̳͕̣̤́̇͒͂̋̏̎͐͗́͛̉͐̍͘͟is footfalls had no sound, nor did they leave any imprints in the snow. Xion grinned at his unwanted company.

'If this design is correct, and it is, it will be difficult for you to interpret the move of your opponent wholly. But do challenges not [entice] your appetite?'

"How dare you?" Xion tittered. He knew himself too well. "Whoever they are. I know what they want. But I value my life just the same. I just have to be careful."

'O' brother mine, the void [devours desire]. It shapes [desire] into reality.'
Xion looked his silhouette over. He would think they had nothing in common, other than a will for the right result in the end. Xion could admit that he was the one lead by emotion and Ḧ̨̧̛̛̩̻̱̭̘̯̗̱̪̺̳͕̣̤́̇͒͂̋̏̎͐͗́͛̉͐̍͘͟im, by cool logic. "--You want me to deceive people. But those are your thoughts, not mine."


Ḧ̨̧̛̛̩̻̱̭̘̯̗̱̪̺̳͕̣̤́̇͒͂̋̏̎͐͗́͛̉͐̍͘͟ẹ̩̦̔̈̐ grinned. 'Deceive? [Guile] is just cunning, Xion. To devour their [desires], you must use cunning. Did you forget? Are you not worldly? Would you consume [desire] with your hands? No, no. There is a knife in front of you, Xion. It is shaped like [your guile]. Even in battle you must give the enemy their [desires], your hunger is your greatest weakness and strength and must only become a strength.'

He was hit with the relief that comes from exposure to heat, complete opposite of bitter cold. The evergreens were no longer swathed in a layer of ice, and an eery fog hung high in the grew, moonlit canopy. Blocking what he remembered to be a clear night. The moonlight struggled through the murky cloud. The air was of course cold, but Xion hadn't expected the same dampness that comes before rain. Again, in taking in the scenery, Ḧ̨̧̛̛̩̻̱̭̘̯̗̱̪̺̳͕̣̤́̇͒͂̋̏̎͐͗́͛̉͐̍͘͟ẹ̩̦̔̈̐ made his exit. Ḧ̨̧̛̛̩̻̱̭̘̯̗̱̪̺̳͕̣̤́̇͒͂̋̏̎͐͗́͛̉͐̍͘͟ẹ̩̦̔̈̐ came and went as he pleased. Slipping back into the void of his mind. 

In the forest, the little semblance of sky, vanishes almost completely, only a few fragments of stars remain- like scattered pieces of an impossible jigsaw puzzle. The air is rich with the fragrance of pine and loam. He continued forward.

The path ahead was suddenly alive with the hopping of small brown frogs no bigger than a candy bar, the brook of some river heard beyond the way. Xion grinned. He would think that he would never have a chance of catching one but there were so many of them, how could he miss? Xion crouched down and as he scooped one up he felt it's cold, subtle struggle against his skin. "Funny," he thought. He hadn't considered himself to be particularly warm but to this frog's cool and delicate skin he must feel like he had a heater inside of him.

Other than that, the only movement is the occasional bird, startling in a tree or a nocturnal animal dashing up a nearby trunk. It seemed like, so far  this "mission" was really just a trip out of his own life, a visit to somewhere the measuring of time is done only by the rising and setting of the sun. Maybe he would have to go on more missions. He didn't expect to like the fresh air, or the sweetness of the evergreen's huckleberries. He quite liked this.

The clearing came into view within a matter of minutes. Obviously man made. A path paved for convenience, trees scarce. Palisade walls. Perfect for throwing up flares and signals, even in this low hanging fog. Approaching unnoticed would be difficult. 

But with the cover of night, perhaps he could move slowly and use it to his advantage.

About forty-five meters close, and he noticed, or at least it seemed to him, that it might be vacant. Maybe all available personnel were all hands-on-deck with that buccaneer, or whatever had worked up that blaze. He could see embers less than a mile away, the smell of smoke and a sulfur brume making it's way here. This place would be ashes in mere minutes. Whatever the case may be, it was less stress for his efforts. That worked for him. A peaceful resolution to a peaceful day. For him at least. Once he made sure none were in there, he could do the part of destroying the outpost, and calling it a day.

He approached, hand firm on the snaith of Desire's Burden. He'd be ready should his intuition prove short-sighted.

Coming Storm:

By the time the male would reach the clearing, he would be almost giddy with joy, blue eyes lighting up the darkness beneath his hooded cloak. Around him, it would seem that dawn was fast approaching, if one were to judge the sky solely by appearances; whatever set the earth ablaze in the distance had to have been sufficiently powerful. The swirling winds carried the scents of burning flora and that of human flesh, vaporized in an instant. There would be no time to mourn those whose ashes the winds scattered on this night just yet; it would seem that there was more to come.

At least, that was what instinct told him.

Ahead, in the midst of the clearing there would seem to be an outpost of kinds; the high flying banners spoke of a nation that ruled the from within the clouds, led by a persona whom many considered a shadow of lightning, whatever that meant. Was this some kind of trading outpost? While Sora himself had never been to this nation before, he knew much of its history through schooling. Word in the taverns was that it was currently ruled by a tyrant that considered himself a god, or rather, God’s gift to the world.

Sora had no recollection of sending such a gift.

A quick jump would send the male from the edge of the clearing to the edge of the first line of trenches some fifteen meters away.. Those blue eyes looked about, memorizing the sights of this places as best he could in the darkness; the low light from the fires in the distance would not be much help here. As the Keybearer stared at the landscape before him, a few realizations would dawn on him; while he had initially thought that this place was a trading outpost, a real trading outpost would have no need for trenches surrounding it. Additionally, the walls were much too high for a simple trader’s outpost; perhaps this a military outpost?

In either case, it would seem that this outpost was nearly empty, save for the echoes of the banners waving in the winds. A small laugh would leave the male as he drew nearer, unaware that on the other side of the outpost, someone else was approaching. Not that he would care in many senses of the word: he was here merely by chance, a simple spectre passing through these woods and now this outpost on his way to kami knows where. Perhaps, there were some supplies about that he could scavenge for his journey.

Another leap would have him clear the set of trenches to the base of the wall; one more would see the Keybearer to the top. Now able to see into the outposting properly, the Keybearer could properly judge the situation; this outpost indeed had to be devoid of human life barring his own, or else he would have never made it the top of the wall, let alone across the multiple lines of trenches without being attacked by someone. But that just raised even more questions, with the primary being: why exactly was this place empty at this time?

Looking about, the walls and ground all showed signs of recent usage and proper upkeep; the ground was paved stone and well worn while the walls were all sound. Did everyone evacuate for some reason? Perhaps those fires in the distance had something to do with it; did the people of the base leave to assist with them? If so, why not leave a few shinobi behind to stand guard? This was battle tactics 101: set a distraction, wait for your opponent to investigate before attacking your real target.

….

But if that was the case, then was this outpost the real target? With that thought came a sudden shift in the Keybearer’s stance; he would leap from the wall down into the outpost, into a wide open courtyard located within the center of the outpost. He looked about, almost as if waiting for someone or something. It this place was to be attacked, it would have to happen soon. It had only been a few minutes since the male had seen the sky light up initially, if this outpost was indeed the target…. he would have company very soon.

If not, he was going to raid the larder and make himself a sandwich.

---

733 | 1557/5000

His eyebrows furrowed as he negotiated the narrow channels. If this had been daytime, and if anyone were here, he would have been caught by now. He had a less than graceful gait. One good look at Xion, and despite his odd exterior, one could tell he was not used to these sorts of tasks.

When he finally approached the gate, he noticed it was somewhat rickety. Sure the steel looked whetted and the spikes atop, sharp with proper upkeep. It had surely been sturdy when it was made, it was solid cedar wood and held together with great iron nails. But it had not been varnished for many years and the rot had set in. That came with the elements as well. The hinges and nails had become rusted and he would expect the palisade to hang at a jaunty angle. But it was perfectly upright. It gave the impression that one good gust of wind could finish it off while also baring little semblance of weakness in the same breath. This place was worn, but it showed signs of frequent use and many more years. Xion opened it with the same care he peeled back pages in an aged-book, bringing it to a soft, noiseless close behind him.

He was impressed at the precinct that was at the heart of the enclosure. There were shacks, probably for things such as weapons, food, and all the menial work or anything else that lacked prestige. Upon first glance, he could probably estimate that the courtyard was one-hundred and forty meters long and wide. Almost perfectly square from the outside.

He entered one of the shacks. The door whined on its amber hinges as Xion's palm pressed gingerly against its cold frame. Papers were sprawled. The ground was splintered from ravenous, recent foot-fall. They hadn't only left in a hurry, they left in panic. Windows were freshly shattered, and taking on a soot-ish color from the flames in the distance. If this place were to be standing by tomorrow, ivory would probably grow. Making its way through broken windows, tangling its leathery shape throughout the wistful abode. The definable source of darkness, night, draped over the walls like a tapestry as Xion took a wary step over the chipped floors. He approached a broom closet and forced it open with the heel of his scythe.

"Hmph. No one." He said. "I wonder--if that fire came from our side?"

Off a desk, he could see Kumogakure paraphernalia, and pictures among co-workers. Some were pictures of the Cloud Country itself, taken high in the mountains, in the sky. Among the strongholds they build for themselves in the stone. They were a long way from home. Xion was wide eyed as he juggled through the pictures. He thought, that the world was quite astonishing, when one claws their way out of the mire of dysfunction. When one first peeks over the horizon and sees nature without the haze of discontent. Without any filter, with the naked eye and the brain open to the beauty of reality, amazement comes. Reality was the finest flesh afterall, and he was hungry.

More photographs. They had become worn, sun bleached and damaged. Looking at the pictures, Xion felt a tinge of sympathy sting his heart. These are just conduits to the best memories of strangers, the ones that are not fantastic enough or traumatic enough to leave a permanent mark on their own. He thought his own recollections were quite the opposite of these celluloid stills, and he never really felt the need to capture them.

A glance out the window, and Xion's face fell faster than a corpse in cement boots. In that instant his hairs stood on his neck, his mouth hung with lips slightly parted and his eyes were as wide as they could stretch. Someone was out there. The world falls through his feet. He must have been someone lucky enough to survive the fire. Good for him is likely bad for Xion, however. Very bad. He quickly stuffed the pictures in his pocket and wondered if he should confront them. He tried to shake off his fears but this anticipation was a nervous kind of energy. It tingled through him like electrical sparks on the way to the ground, gathering in his toes.

'Do you not have orders?' Ḧ̨̧̛̛̩̻̱̭̘̯̗̱̪̺̳͕̣̤́̇͒͂̋̏̎͐͗́͛̉͐̍͘͟ẹ̩̦̔̈̐ smiled.

Xion answered in a thin voice "I do."

'Then--what is your [judgement]?'

Xion opened the door, a prodigious courage pushing inside him, demanding his fortitude. If Ḧ̨̧̛̛̩̻̱̭̘̯̗̱̪̺̳͕̣̤́̇͒͂̋̏̎͐͗́͛̉͐̍͘͟ẹ̩̦̔̈̐ wasn't purposing dangerous ideas, Ḧ̨̧̛̛̩̻̱̭̘̯̗̱̪̺̳͕̣̤́̇͒͂̋̏̎͐͗́͛̉͐̍͘͟ẹ̩̦̔̈̐ was administering Xion dangerous batches of courage. Xion pushed the door open, allowing it to creak and yell without fear. He raised his voice to the silhouette. Who's dark hair and boyish frame had barely come into view. The boy's head turned from left to right as if he were some vagabond.

Xion gripped his weapon, projecting himself. "You sure look lost. Do you need something from here?"