As Precious as Honey

There is a voice that comes to me as I sleep and captures my dreams.

There is always a man, this voice belongs to him, and it holds such a warmth I regret waking.
It's like a memory replaying in short bursts, never allowing me to fully grasp the figure.
Never allowing me to see his face, or feel his breath when he comes close.

These dreams have come to me ever since I could remember, and replayed countless times.

They always vary between that of bliss and a nightmare;
Between the realm of a fairy tale and of a horror story meant to frighten children.
... I always wake with a fluttering heart and a pain so thick in my gut I double over.

That voice; that kind, protective, voice I've come to yearn for as the night comes ...
It never fails that just before I wake it is trembling with such a sadness that I never thought could exist in this world.

Three Years and Three Months Later

How long had it been daylight?

A pair of large, barely lucid, brown eyes lifted to gaze from the window to the bright sun overhead. It had slipped up on him much like a thief in the night, waking him from another dream; the same dream that had plagued him for eighteen years. Leon Dwyer shifted, finally pulling his large form upwards into a sitting position before swinging his legs out of the bed he'd taken over the night before. The 28 year old never aged, never changed save for the growth of his hair and fingernails; he remained still, in naught but a pair of lounge pants, as he attempted to banish the deep sleep from the drink he'd had the night before. No he never changed, the scars from being at the center of much blood shed and of being opened and closed for countless operations when he was young remained. They were reminders that littered his chest and back, his neck and forearms ... reminders of what he was and what he'd done. Proof of the guilt that still weighed on his mind even now. "I need to get up ..."

His voice was groggy, a yawn pulling through his being as if the hand he'd lifted to run through his bed ridden hair were comforting. This, it seemed, was all that had changed about the man for the locks were much longer and had grown to tickle his neckline. They poked out in places as if they were permanently styled by his rough sleeping; his bangs had grown to litter his eyes and agitate his nose every now and then. Yet somehow the style was fitting despite its length and countless layers; it framed his squared jaw and accentuated his handsome face more than it ever had in his past. Cael would scold him, for he'd always made the brute cut it short. As if the thought of the old drake stirred something inside of him the brunette stood finally, stretching his torso before allowing another yawn to escape. "Baines, you awake?!"

No, despite his usually rowdy demeanor and overbearing presence ... something else had seemed to change. The man that once selfishly buried himself in a pit of despair ... a warmth seemed to have developed around his rough edges. It seemed that the years had finally worn away his crass nature and given a bit of life back into his bones.

"Yeah I've been up an hour or so. Tried to wake you but you were out cold." The voice was casual, holding its usual uninterested baritone laced with wit and sarcastic humor. Osmond Baines sat at an iron table on the balcony of the hotel they'd stayed in the night before; unlike the male he'd been traveling with he seemed to have changed. The now 26 year old's shoulders had broadened and his black hair had grown out to a length that would reach his pectoral muscles if worn down; it was not however and was pulled up into a loose pony tail. His bangs had grown and nearly blended into the mass of night atop his head. They were just short enough to fall down and hang around his face to frame it, drawing a bit of dramatic attention to the calm grey eyes that were watching the city below them. He'd appeared to have dressed already for he sported a pair of black slacks, polished military style boots, and a dark blue silk button down with its sleeves rolled partially up. He never dressed like a blacksmith, and upon stating his profession caused many to look at him with a strange eye. Placing the cup of coffee he'd been enjoying down the 26 year old looked up, quirking a brow at the still yawning brunette. "Why didn't we simply stay at the bar last night instead of this hotel?" The years seemed to have matured him more.

Leon sighed, looking down to the already bustling city below: Jelena. They hadn't been here in three years and it looked just as it had, never sleeping and constantly improving as the reconstruction crews finished their upgrades of buildings. He'd left his home here, closed up his bar and all way to that sanctuary that lay between the two. "If I stayed there I wouldn't have wanted to leave. Besides we'd have had a line thinking the bar was reopening." They were simply passing through, headed for Mihal to cross the sea; they had plans to meet up with Cael and Kaiyo in Akeno in four days and were already a bit behind schedule. They'd been followed part of the way, and ended up having to make a slight detour to get rid of the three pests that watched them without end.

Retaking his cup of coffee Osmond sighed, "I suppose you have a point. Hurry up and get dressed we need to leave soon, it's already noon, and I doubt you'll leave without popping in. Right?"

"I'm going." Leon spoke leisurely, reaching out to give the man's head a light shove as he turned and headed back inside the hotel.

Oz simply ignored it, familiar with the brute's ways after three years of traveling with him. He had to admit though, he'd been a different type of man than he'd assumed him from simply interacting with him in Sith. Osmond had always thought Leon to be the brutish, overbearing type who wouldn't listen to reason; one that acted on impulse and made rash decisions because he based everything on instinct. In ways that man was like this, but he'd ended up being a lot more laid back and a hell of a lot more reliable than he'd anticipated the demon to be. In honesty, he'd learned a lot from the brunette over the last three years: be it from the stories he'd told him of the first war or the sparring they'd done on a regular basis. Sipping his coffee the blacksmith laughed, "You ended up being the mildly manic, innately over protective, big brother type. I was surprised honestly."

"Well with your smarter than thou, analytical, easily embarrassed, loner type a*s ... how could I not be?" Leon smirked, poking his head from the hotel as he yanked a shirt over his shoulders. In the end he'd pulled on a pair of faded jeans, a black t-shirt, and a pair of well-worn combat boots before returning to the smith. He'd brought both of their coats and was pulling on the dark green cargo jacket in his left arm before tossing the other man his usual military styled covering. "Someone has to look after you."

"You still piss me off." Glaring lightly the black head snatched his coat and struggled into it before nudging around the larger male to find his crossbow. After a moment he growled and piped up from within the room, "At least make up your bed!"

Leo sighed, hands stuffed in his pockets as he returned into the room and aimed straight for the front door. "There's no point they'll be changing the sheets anyway." Wasn't it easier on the person cleaning if he left it unmade so they didn't have to go through the trouble of unmaking it just to remake it with new sheets? Hearing Osmond's silence the brunette smirked to himself, he'd been right and the jackass was avoiding it. As if giving the older man more momentum to this conclusion Oz wrenched the door open and shoved past him, barely missing the older man's face as he slung the crossbow onto his back.

He wouldn't own up to such nonsense. "Come on."

"Oi, I'm grabbing some coffee from the cafe down stairs. Wait for me in the lobby, hammerhead." Leon called out and received a rude gesture, highly held, from the blacksmith. He smirked as they reached the first floor and aimed himself to the left, leaving his partner to go right to check them out. If he hadn't wanted to wait for him, there should have been coffee left over in the pot this morning; it was simple enough logic that he found Osmond should have clued into it. The brunette paused, looking over the pastries lining a display case for a moment. He wasn't the type for sweets and it didn't look as if they had any meat buns either ... coffee it was then.

"How can I help you sir?" The woman behind the counter spoke softly, forcing a radiant smile as she watched the man before her. He gave off an intimidating presence.

"One large black coffee and a small with 1/4 cream and five scoops of sugar." Leo spoke nonchalantly and remained the nearly emotionless expression that had pulled over his features. He still didn't trust other easy, and with the way things had been the last year especially ... even this woman could poison his drink. He watched her carefully, minding to note the ingredients she added to the small coffee before she filled the larger cup. After she'd completed the task he nodded lightly, allowing a gruff thanks to escape as he handed over a few coins of gold and copper. "Keep the rest." Without waiting for a reply he lifted his large cup and sniffed it, praying his eyes hadn't deceived him as it had been made. Rounding the corner he happened upon the black headed male, waiting impatiently beside the front door with a sour expression.

Jeez he acted like it took a year to get a cup of damn java; he was regretting getting the son of a b***h a cup as well. "Here."

Osmond took the small cup that had been thrust into his hands, grey eyes accusing. "What did you do to it?"

"You'll just have to be a brave boy." Leon retorted before heading out the front door and aiming straight for his old abode a few blocks down.

Osmond remained in his spot, expression sour as he sniffed at the liquid he'd been presented with; when was the last time that b*****d had put something in his drink? Five months ago sounded about right ... and it had been in the middle of a bar; his whiskey had been spiked with an aphrodisiac and the son of a b***h had thrust him into a room with three women. Merely thinking of the humiliation the male's face turned red, eyes slits of hostility as he tested the beverage. It seemed normal enough ... "F*****g prick." Wandering from the front door he followed after his traveling partner leisurely; he knew this city well for he'd grown up within it. He'd take his time before he managed upon Sith, and probably look through the market on the street over from it a while. He wasn't the sentimental type, and that idiot probably wanted a bit of time alone with that damn tree. At the thought the blacksmith sighed, "Let it go already, man ..."

In the end, Leon had wandered ahead despite him realizing; his legs had slowly increased their pace as if instinctively and brought him to his front door before he'd thought to look behind him. Here he remained staring at the locked door with its covered windows, strangely surprised it was as it had been when he'd left; then again that beast's den was hidden away in this place so it would make sense if Cael had a charm on the f*****g building. The 28 year old fumbled with his keys and attempted to steady his shaking hands; he was excited and terrified of entering this place for how long it had been. Turning the lock he thrust the door open with a mild creak before slamming it behind him instantly and switching the cast iron bolt back into position. If Osmond showed up he could wait outside as punishment for lagging behind.

It looked just as it had, mildly dusty, but the same place he'd returned to time after time through his life. It had been rebuilt after the city was destroyed several years before, but it had been restored to its former glory by that damn drake. Returned to how it had been when he was younger, growing up, years before he'd received his cursed blood and been frozen in time. "I wonder if it’s rained lately." Mumbling to himself the barkeep wandered through the empty tables and passed the bar towards the back door; he'd already set his sights on that place. He paused before turning the iron lock and pushing open the mahogany door carefully; he was met with a breeze, stronger than it had ever been that forced his eyes close from abuse. Jeez she was that mad at him, huh? Stepping forward the brunette lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight that enveloped him, this place had no roof and always had the best view of the sky in the city. At least in his opinion.

For a moment his vision was splotchy, filled with light before it began to adjust. He'd simply wandered forward, body remembering this place even without his eyes as another harsh wind began and whipped at his cheeks. It burned, like a cold steel that was meant to wake him from his daze and draw his gaze forward. That's when he saw it, and froze on the spot; his eyes had grown wide with confusion and a growing anger he had not felt in years. The sanctuary was empty, silent save for the sound of the cup that had once been in the male's hand falling to the ground. Its contents spilled out and soaked the soil, this action completely unaccounted for by its owner. Leon shuddered, his shoulders shaking as another emotion swelled within his chest; why? Why had he left this place and allowed such as this to happen?

Before him was a withered tree, it's bark twisted and dried as if the sun had baked it for many months beyond this day. The once beautiful blossoms that had clung to its limbs year round were scattered, pruned, and decaying across the ground. As if something had been conveyed, the wind all but stopped and left a hollow void in the suddenly eerie haven. It smelled of death, and emptiness; both were scents he knew well.

A chill ran down the man's spine, shaking him to his core at the realization of the stillness that surrounded him.

"Why?" All he could muster was to stand and stare at the patch of hidden grass he'd once slept upon every night; the very spot he'd been forced to forget by drowning himself in vodka night after night simply to lie in a bed. Why was he to relive this anxiety, this terror, of her slipping through his fingers again? "Damn it!" The words had spewed forth and he'd rammed his head into his hands, sinking into a squat in frustration. The fingers gripped at his skull, as if trying to crush it, and forced the droplets of water that had pooled from the corners of his eyes. How many times must he go through this cycle before it ended? How many times must it remain the same before changing? The guilt that usually lurked in the shadows, following him about like an assailant, finally reared its ugly head and crept upon him like a wolf yearning for blood. Why had he been unable to protect it?

"You really should be kinder to trees; they're the closest link we have to those who pass on, you know."

Leon's eyes thrust open and his shoulders tensed in anticipation for something; this voice didn't match the hostile intent that caused the hairs on his neck to stand on end. The voice was female and held a calm, even, tone; it sounded almost sad for the plant in question. Despite its medium pitch and far less energetic spikes, the words were familiar and ones that made his hands shake and heartbeat increase. The brute looked up finally, brown eyes large mirrors that reflected the image of the young woman that sat atop a tree branch and leisurely gazed down at him. He had never seen her before, and the presences that was edging closer smelled of blood; yet those eyes, the ones that passed through his body and judged his soul caused him to remain still. He'd seen these eyes before many times; more than he could count.

The woman in question was lovely, built small like a ballerina and looking to weigh no more than 100 pounds; she looked as if she would be no more than 5'3" if she stood up and was young, barely 22 years. Her skin was a light peach in color that brought out the strange, bright, moss green of her large eyes that remained fixed on the man below her. Her hair was like a crow, as black and danced around her high cheek bones as if it had been tousled by the wind. It was cut into a bob that lay around her jawline delicately with bangs that parted on the left of her head and curled around to frame her watchful gaze. She was bathed in the colors of the night by the square necked dress that exposed her arms and hugged her small frame like a flower; it began in a pitch black before descending around her body and melding into colors that varied from a deep blue to an almost sheer purple as it reached her knees. The fabric flared at her hips, turning from satin to an overlay of chiffon that danced all on its own. Her legs were covered in a pair of black tights that led down to a pair of chunky, tightly laced, black combat boots.

The oddest thing about this woman was the blade that lay across her lap as if the blood lust were singing from it like a lullaby. It held a short, intricate hilt that flared out into the blade by means of a carved oriental styled dragon; it's blade was as long as the woman's arm and grew in width as it stretched out. The sharpened end arched upwards into an artfully cut point before taking on a jagged edge littered with iron rings across its blunt end. Leon watched the blade, barely familiar with the style of a Dadao; he'd seen such a thing only once and it had been when Kaiyo had been escorting him through a country in the East. Why was this feeling hostile?

Standing finally the brown orbs remained fixated upon the greens that returned their gaze with mild confusion. He swallowed, forcing the words that wanted to spill from his lips back like they were impudent children. Such a thing was as impossible as he reaching out to catch a star. "Why are you on my tree?" His tone was harsher than he'd intended yet such a realization had occurred to him: maybe this woman had done something to this tree. If that were the case, those eyes or not, he wouldn't allow her to leave without being punished.

She tilted her head, "It was like this when I came here last night, and has not changed since my arrival today."

So she'd come here last night then? Leon swallowed again, "Why are you here?" He knew better than to ask how she entered, for the bar may be enchanted but all one had to do was climb over the wall and rooftop to enter this hollow. He felt his blood boil, the animal that had been breathing down his neck from his own form pulling at his legs again. How could he have left this place knowing it was wide open, no matter how he tried to close off the walls that surrounded it?

As if growing tired of the questions she stood, lifting the blade to toss it casually over her shoulder. "He told me you would be here today, so I came to look at you."

What?

Leon had been unable to think further for the lithe girl had vanished for a moment before reappearing before him and slamming down with a strength that far exceeded her small frame. He lifted his arms, crossing them to block the downward slash from the humming dadao with a grimace; even though he'd gotten Osmond to line this coat with chain mail it still stung when a blade impacted it. As if not waiting for him to react the young woman lifted her right leg and swung her knee round, trying to catch the male in the ribs. This action alone caused his breath to catch, and lower arm to fly out to block the blow as if it were a rehearsed tango. These movements ... he'd countered these movements before! Pushing off from the woman he slid back, brows knit in frustration as she landed a few feet away and tilted her head yet again in thought.

"You're skilled." Yet again her voice held its calm, even, tone and her eyes remained as if drilling through the man before her's skull.

Leon had readied a retort yet not been allowed. She'd moved quickly, flipping the blade in her right hand before advancing forwards to slash towards her opponent's torso. The brunette dodged, barely, and watched as the front of his coat was slit; brown eyes large they waited, as if analyzing her next movement. She'd try to catch his chin with the hilt next! As if reading his mind the young woman grasped the blade with both hands and thrust the hilt upwards; she was left to stare in mild shock when he'd yanked his chin back and turned to ram the elbow of his right arm into her side. The sound of bone impacting steel caused him to cringe, the pain that shot up from his limb making him bite his lip. "You." Brown eyes large a mix of frustration and agony seemed to well within them, "We've done this before."

This seemed to stir an emotion, however which he couldn't place his finger on, within the green orbs. The young woman stared, shocked into inaction before finally snapping herself into her senses and darting backwards out of self-preservation. There had been a spike there of hostility that caused her knees to shake and somewhere in her chest she felt something tighten, as if his voice or his words had tugged at a string. Glaring harshly she hissed out, agitation finally blazing through her words, "I've never fought you before unfortunately, you must have mistaken me with someone else." As if in response the man before her vanished and caused the young woman to spin on her heel, lifting the wide blade to parry the forceful blow that had been aimed for her chest. She felt her arms shake, the sheer force causing her eyes to narrow in more frustration. Why was this man so damn strong?! "If you punch into a blade you'll chop off your hands, idiot!"

"Sorry, my bones are a bit harder to break than that." Without waiting for a response Leon swung his knee, catching the young woman in the side and wincing when he heard the breath forced from her lung. He'd held back but he'd still hit her with that much force? Damn it. Brown eyes muddled he watched as she was shot to the left and slammed her blade into the soil to prevent her from toppling over. This was going as it had last time, and if she kept this up he'd have her pinned to the ground in two more rounds. He grit his teeth, "Why don't you remember?"

This voice. A string tightened in her chest once more, green eyes fixed on the soil below her as she attempted to catch her breath. Finally the 22 year old looked up, meeting something she hadn't expected that cemented her feet to the ground. Why was this man looking at her like that? He looked near tears, and the emotion in his words just now ... had he been begging? She felt rage roll within her, building until the words were flying from her mouth as if they were locusts. "Stop f*****g around!" How dare he look at her like that? How dare he beg her for anything?! She felt tears brimming and forced them back and she stood on shaking knees, "Do you remember him screaming out, covered in blood, in that large room?!" This was his fault!

Leon swallowed, confusion pulling over his features like a sheet. What? The hostility that had risen and tainted her eyes was enough to silence him and force his shoulders down like a scolded dog. What was she talking about? Even in such a situation seeing tears ready to fall in those damn eyes made his heart ache. "Why?"

There it was again, the tightening that made her catch her breath and force her gaze to the ground. Why, of all people in this world, did this man before her make her chest heavy? Why did he cause a faint warmth to rise in her cheeks and make her breath catch in her throat? He was nothing like that voice, nothing like the man that spoke to her endlessly and caused her to wake up in terror from the images that flashed through her dreams. So why? Why the man that had killed that one ... why was he acting as if he were in pain before her? This name that was there, that she knew without a doubt: it was his fault he'd been taken away. "Leon Dwyer ..."

Leon froze, the name that slipped from her lips causing a shiver to pass down his spine. His name. She knew his name and yet she was saying such things. The green eyes that looked up this time held a burden he wish he'd never seen; an anger that he felt grip at his throat as clearly as the blood lust that seeped from her blade.

The young woman glared, her voice pure venom as the words rolled off her tongue as if she'd recited them many times, "You are the one man I will never forgive." She pulled herself together, hands gripping the blade to yank it from the soil and point it forward. "The next time this weapon touches that hide of yours it will kill you." She'd been ready to launch herself forward, shoulders braced for the impact that she felt would come when ... a sound so faint she barely heard it caught her ear. A whistling that made her jerk backwards with a clenched jaw as an arrow lodged itself into the ground where she'd been standing moments before. She looked around, finally spotting the archer that had taken position on the roof top; s**t this b*****d wasn't alone, then.

"Oz stay out of it!" Leon roared out, hearing the familiar winding as another arrow was lined up.

As if cornered by a beast Osmond froze, grey eyes large from panic at the hostility that was thrown towards him. He watched his companion a moment, brows knit in frustration and confusion at the browns that were watching him like a rabid dog. Sighing the man lowered his weapon in agitation, "Don't bite me for doing my job."

Leo tore his gaze around for in the seconds he'd looked away the woman and vanished. Where did she go?! Taking a breath in through his nose he noticed the smell, one that shook him to his core and baffled his brain as to how it had gone unnoticed. His mind seemed to be running in slow motion as he found her looking down from the opposite rooftop, a soured expression on her face. She looked confused, and as if somewhere she were second guessing something. The smell hit him again like a wind, making the brute swallow the lump that had risen in his throat. Honey. How many times had this scent lulled him to sleep as if it were a music box? "You ..."

"Zhen." She spoke, her voice barely a whisper. It seemed something had pressed a nerve for the hostility that had been present was replaced by an emptiness. "Xiao Zhen. Remember it, for I'll be the one to carve that heart of yours out." Despite her words she seemed to be having a difficult time maintaining the scowl on her face. Why? Why did it tear at her heart to see such a man as he look at her this way? Why did he look as if he were trying to convey something? "Don't die before then."

Leon remained still, simply watching as the young woman jumped over the rooftop and vanished from his sight like a bird. Something in her words seemed to have immobilized him for he continued to watch the spot as if she were going to return. The faint smell of honey still pulled at his nose, finally dragging his eyes to the withered tree in thought. That was why, huh; why this place was empty and had no warmth to show him. The man felt a wave rush over him and he forced down the tears that had risen in his being yet again; he couldn't make such a fuss now. It was ridiculous really ... why did he suddenly feel this light?

"Dwyer!" Osmond had finally called out in frustration, worry tinting at his words as he watched the man below. That b*****d was acting strangely. His eyes grew, mildly caught off guard by the emotion that the brute had presented him with. A pure smile, filled with relief, and a warmth he'd never seen on his traveling companions face in their years knowing one another. He felt a shiver run down his spine, as if he'd witnessed something he shouldn't have. Then, as if trying to throw him further for a loop the brunette laughed lightly and spoke with a voice so full of life the blacksmith thought he was dreaming. Where the hell had the Leon he knew gone off to?

"Thank you, Oz." Leon let his eyes wander back to the empty rooftop where the woman had roosted moments before. "Zhen. I'll make you remember; I promise."

There is a voice that comes to me as I sleep and captures my dreams.

There is always a man, this voice belongs to him, and it holds such a warmth I regret waking.
It's like a memory replaying in short bursts, never allowing me to fully grasp the figure.
Never allowing me to see his face, or feel his breath when he comes close.

These dreams have come to me ever since I could remember, and replayed countless times.

But ...

That voice, something I find far more precious than silver or gold ... was taken from me.
How many times have I wondered over the reason I wake in tears at the sound of him screaming?
How many times have I vowed to remember, to find out, why someone I care for so sounded agonized?

That was when I met the man who gazed at me as if he were merely a doll of something much more.
The man that told me the name of the one who took that voice from me; who opened this void in my chest and memory.

Zane, I will forever be in your debt for this information.