[h3]The Citadel[/h3]

[color=#FF4500]“Goodness.”[/color] The word slipped out almost subconsciously as Madison slumped in his chair, watching as Commander Botrelle and two of the several Knights escorted Mr. Sairan out of the room. [color=#FF4500]“That was...certainly one way to start the meeting, wasn’t it?”[/color] He smiled tentatively. It didn’t seem like it was a joke. Nobody had behaved like it was one. But, on the positive side, it seemed as if the matter was taken with the same uttermost gravity that it deserved. 

The smile grew a bit as he glanced over at his fellow Commander, ducking his head gratefully. [color=#FF4500]“It’s alright. I’m just pleased to hear that the Alchemist won’t be getting away with...well. You heard him as well as I did, I suppose.”[/color] Madison ran a hand through his hair, sighing, then swiftly recomposed himself in the way Commanders were supposed to in stressful circumstances. 

[color=#FF4500]“Well, Commander, I was wondering where you might suggest I should first visit- department-wise, that is. I was originally going to be visiting Gift Research first, but in the light of recent events, I think it might be...best to take a trip to others, first.”[/color] Madison wrung his hands. 

Much to his surprise, not long after Botrelle had left, another Alchemist slipped out the door without a single word. A serf went in around him, quietly taking out the trash, but Madison was more focus on the sudden disappearance. [color=#FF4500]“That’s fine,”[/color] he replied pleasantly. Then his brow furrowed, and he turned back to Green.

[color=#FF4500]“Is it normal at the Citadel to leave a meeting so suddenly?”[/color] Madison spoke with genuine confusion. At the Caer Guinevere, leaving in the middle of a meeting like that was unheard of, to say the least. Perhaps the customs of the main base differed, but it seemed best to ask before assuming, lest he make a fool of himself. 

[hr]

[h3]Outskirts of Ranch House[/h3]

Gale liked many things. 

He liked games and candy, in the way other boys his age might. He liked poetry and fine clothing. He liked ribbons, he liked sunshine. He liked the scent of aged libraries, of the feeling of a pulse slowly drumming to a still beneath his fingers, the spark it brought to life in his own, hungry chest. He liked classical music, piano in particular, and plays. Most of all, however, Gale liked the freedom granted to him out in the ashlands.

Gale disliked far less things than he enjoyed, but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. For one, he disliked the restrictions placed upon him by the Wanderers. They complained incessantly when he fed into that needling urge that followed him. They kept him away from the prisoners, when all he wanted to do was help. It was quite the annoyance, really, but since they offered him freedom and security, he “behaved” for them. He was “good”. He kept his distance from the prisoners, and, instead of playing with the unfortunate strangers he stumbled upon, he made do with the local wildlife. It wasn’t the most fulfilling of lifestyles, but he was content- if not a bit bored at times.

Today, he found himself strolling back to the ranch, hands bloodied and that nagging itch satisfied for the time being. Gale sang as he walked- humming the bars from some orchestra he heard back in his Erubescian days- the bag in his hand swinging with every step. He had been thoughtful enough to collect the mangled bodies from his latest expedition for the group’s dinner. Perhaps he’d give some to Miss Reith. He enjoyed watching her eat.

Gale paused in his trek at the scent of oranges, and a sudden...strange feeling. His movements felt sluggish, his limbs weak. Surprised, he took a few steps back, and the feeling was gone.

A few steps forward, and it was back.

Odd.

As an experiment, he attempted to release his claws, but found him unable to do so. Shifting held the same results. His powers, for whatever reason, were completely gone. Overcome with a sudden curiosity, Gale rolled up his sleeve, brought his arm to his mouth, and bit down. It was a bit difficult- his human teeth were far less easier to work with than fangs- but he eventually managed to tear away a patch of flesh. No pain, however. That was disappointing. 

Frowning, Gale spat the skin onto the ground, wiping his face clean of the mess. He moved on. 

It took only a short while longer of walking to discover what was likely the source of this phenomenon. In the distance, he could quite clearly see an armored vehicle loitering in front of the ranch house, along with a collection of men armed to the teeth. There was a struggle, a fight, although his view from there on was blocked by a cloud of fog. Gale watched in silence for a few moments, adjusting the bag at his side. 

Then, he turned and walked away to hide himself.

Without his powers, he was, in essence, a regular child. A fight against a group of armed men would end poorly, to say the least. He didn’t delude himself of otherwise.

Gale liked conflict. 

But he liked his freedom even more.