Word Count: 524

In the months after the Calamitous Hollow, Vyn ran.

He ran from the house. He ran from his friends. He ran from the obligations he’d accepted when he’d earned his promotions. He ran as fast as his legs would take him, until his lungs burned and his body ached and he felt, for a moment, something other than dread. He ran through deserted streets at night. He ran through busy parks during the day. He ran uphill, then downhill, then through well worn paths in the forests around the city. He ran until his tears dried and grief grew distant again, wrapped up and tucked away where he wouldn’t have to face it.

It was better that way. He was better, alone and laser-focused. No one had to endure the last of his crying. No one had to suffer his anger. No one had to manage his fear. No one had to weather uncomfortable conversations about morality. There wasn’t much point to any of it anyway, Vyn decided. What mattered was saving Velencya, and the Commodore. What mattered was reclaiming their homeland.

The first problem often felt beyond him. The second might have been achievable.

So he ran, and he searched, and he didn’t let himself care what anyone might think if he found their missing King. The people of Earth had a saying: The end justifies the means. Vyn thought it appropriate enough, to an extent. Once their people were safe, once they revived Velenia, it wouldn't matter what it took to get there.

He scoured the city—the familiar areas, and those he tended to avoid. He picked through trees and undergrowth, searching for hidden spots that might offer suitable shelter. Vyn looked toward the mountains and considered the valleys and caves and other shadowed corners Caedus might hide in, if he was brave enough to stray that far. Then he thought of climbing, and falling, and dying, and whether or not anything he did would make a difference. Sometimes he thought of home and the monotony of life before the Vanguard—the boredom he’d once suffered, when he used to wish for more.

Throughout his hunt, Vyn spoke to whatever Senshi he came across. Most of them were as unhelpful as they’d been since the beginning. They either had no idea who he was talking about or had no intention of giving Caedus up. He spoke to Knights to similar effect. Empty handed, he returned to the Vanguard house only to bathe and sleep, draining the last of his dwindling energy before anyone could corner him, before they could look at him with sad eyes or worried frowns and ask pointless questions with no good answers.

Then he dreamt of home, and of a world he’d never known. He dreamt of death and rebirth. He dreamt of kind eyes and warm hands and proud smiles, and things that were never meant to be.

When he woke again, Vyn would squash his yearning and brush new tears from his eyes. He would leave again without saying anything to anyone, and run until the act of doing so felt like salvation.