He sat on the cold block of stone.

His pale form was naked, his body shivering from the chill, dank air, and he clenched his teeth at realizing that what he sat upon was, in truth, nothing more than a bier. He began to wonder why that was so, but quickly stilled the action, preventing the panic caused from such a line of thought. He couldn't allow himself to think; that was the trick to this whole situation. Ignorance brought peace, and a semblance of calm. Think, and he'd go mad.

He had let himself think only once; before he realized the danger of such an action. It had been at the beginning of what he realized was his own imprisonment, days or hours before; he couldn't tell. He had opened his eyes, and all of the questions had rushed to the forefront. What am I doing here? Why am I cold? How did I get here? Why am I here? And when he had discovered none of the answers to these questions, he had let himself fall a little deeper, asking a more important, more lethal, question.

Who am I?

He shook his head, and started in surprise when long, bronze-gold curls fell across his lap. He did nothing for a moment, trying to discern what, if any, reaction would place him in danger, but he soon picked one of them up, examining the shimmering strand. This, perhaps, was a correct action. He looked harder at the strand. If he couldn't remember the past, then perhaps he could choose to define a new existence, an existence based upon what he now learned. An existence that started with this strand of bright, shimmering hair.

He looked down at himself; he looked around him. It didn't seem to be a very auspicious beginning, the room was bare and very small, nothing to really base his existence upon. But the walls were cold and strong, riddled with tiny cracks that weakened its makeup...and he started at the thought. A simple blow, at a particular spot, would shatter what he now knew was called a 'door'; he knew how to do that. He could shatter the door.

He jumped from the bier, a wary excitement filling him. He looked at the door, and looked down at his fist; it contorted into what he suddenly knew was a correct position. The new information stunned him, left him breathless; he realized that he knew much, much more than how to make a simple fist. If necessary, he could...fight...yes, that was the word...he could fight his way out. He had the knowledge; he had the ability. And if he had the right luck...people could help him. He suddenly understood; if he gave the right orders to the right people, they would help him.

He approached the door. It opened before he could touch it.

Someone stepped in. The other was tall and broad shouldered; he suddenly recognized the word "powerful", and quickly applied that as well. Silver-white hair graced the figure's head, and he stared at it, wondering. New knowledge told him that such a thing was odd, that such a color was unusual, but for the first time, he wondered if his new information was accurate. Silver-white hair was special, certainly...but odd? It didn't seem to be the correct expression.

The other's eyes traveled up and down his body, but he quickly turned around, his pale hair swinging from the motion. "Come, Zoisite," the deep voice commanded, and the figure strode through the doorway.

Zoisite...he smiled, finally. Of course! His name was Zoisite; new information, lots and lots of information, flooded him at that realization. He was in the Dark Kingdom, he was in training under the Lord Kunzite, the Voice of the Dawn Imperial, her majesty Queen Beryl. He had a place, he had a position, he had a duty. He contemplated his situation as he confidently strode through the doorway, following the silver-haired man.

And hidden by the new flood of information, a small, forbidden realization buried unnoticed into his consciousness.

*******

'The minute I walk through that door, the persecution starts.'

Zoisite stood silently, contemplating the doorway to the training room. He didn't want to go in there; he was already late, and anyway, he knew that he would have a hard time of it today. It was his own fault, he knew, but he still couldn't help smiling over the cause of all his trouble-yesterday's training session. He had made Kunzite look the fool in front of the other trainees, a hard won victory to be sure, making Kunzite's prior hate of him grow all the more.

Zoisite didn't really know why the older man hated him, but he really didn't care, either. What he did care about was that his training was made more difficult by the emotion; his tasks were harder, his evaluations both unwarranted and unfair, and his punishments.... Zoisite shuddered. He didn't even want to think about those.

"Well," came a light, amused voice, "Are you just going to look at it?"

Zoisite spun away from the door, rounding on another late trainee. He lifted his eyebrows at Jadeite. "What, you too?" he asked, surprised at the other's tardiness.

Jadeite shrugged. "Of course." He gave a rueful smile, but there was a haunted aspect to his visage. "By extension, everything that happens to you, happens to me."

Zoisite nodded at that, turning back to examine the door. He and Jadeite had been allies from the very beginning, and if he took the time to admit his feelings, he would have called them friends as well. It was more out of a shared persecution than anything, three years ago, when they had met, both of them had been very slight, almost effeminate boys. It had caused something of a fellow feeling between them, and even though Jadeite had filled out during the time that had passed since then, some of that feeling remained between them. It was because of Jadeite's relative closeness to Zoisite that Kunzite had made Jadeite another target of his whims, so much that Jadeite tended to share Zoisite's unfair treatment and punishment.

Zoisite bowed his head. "I'm sorry about that," he told the other softly.

Jadeite reached out to open the door in front of them, edging Zoisite in as he did so. "Don't worry about it," he gruffly told the smaller man, "I choose my own battles."

The room blasted them with heat as they entered, a muggy, overwhelming smell born from the sweat of men's bodies. The mirrors were fogged with dripping moisture, matching the soaked aspects of the other students in the room, slick hair streaking haggard features and the skin over worn, tired muscles. Zoisite gagged from the stench, but then quickly stilled the action as the trainer, none other than Kunzite himself, strode imperiously towards them.

The older man's face was impassive as it stared down at its two delinquents, but Zoisite didn't let the indifferent visage fool him. Kunzite was just as capable of killing them with such a look as he was at letting them go. And since 'letting them go' was something he had never done, Zoisite clenched his teeth under the other's unwavering scrutiny. Here it came...

"You two are very, very late," the deep voice said almost lazily. He then turned away, but not before motioning for them to follow him. They did so silently, watching as he walked to the weapon covered wall and deftly plucked two blades from the smooth surface. He handed one to each of them.

"Since the both of you are obviously too good to attend weapon's practice," Kunzite told them smoothly, eyeing the newly placed swords in their hands, "perhaps you would be so kind as to show all of us your skill." He motioned briefly to the other trainees in the room, and they moved quickly back, hugging the walls as they took their places.

Zoisite looked at Jadeite, found the other man returning his questioning gaze. They had to spar? That was all? It was certainly an easier punishment then they were expecting, and considering the stunt that Zoisite had pulled the day before, a more lenient one as well. It made Zoisite suspicious, and he frowned as he took his place before Jadeite, bowing slightly as the match began.

Zoisite moved first, lunging into the other man's space with his blade, swiping his sword crosswise in a superficial gesture. It was an easily deflected blow, Jadeite's blade clanging discordantly as the swords met, and Zoisite spoke under the cover of the noise. "This is too easy," he told the other man, moving his sword again, another clash hiding his next words. "What is he up to?"

Jadeite swung around, his arms delivering what appeared to be a powerful blow. In truth, however, Zoisite saw the conjured unbalance, and quickly ducked under the offered opening. As their bodies passed in close proximity, Jadeite whispered back, "I haven't the slightest clue...so..."

Zoisite stepped back, raising his sword into a true position, ready to strike. "We might as well get on with it, then?" he spoke, loud enough for anyone to hear. Fighting with Jadeite was difficult, considering the other man's greater bulk, but it was fun, and made Zoisite test his own limitations without being totally overwhelmed. It also made Jadeite excersize his more creative instincts, a field in which he rather lacked, though Zoisite would never tell him so. It was good practice for the both of them--maybe Kunzite was just trying to help them after all. It was a startling thought.

The battle was quickly on, Zoisite and Jadeite circling each other like hungry wolves, each probing the other's weaknesses. It appeared a fiercesome match, Jadeite's brute strength battering Zoisite's slender body with large bruises every time a hit was landed, and Jadeite's own body was riddled with the bloody streaks that Zoisite had somehow elicited with the practice blade. However, the wide grin on Zoisite's face belied the ferocity of the match, Jadeite's brightly interested eyes matching the younger's grinning visage. And so it was, when Jadeite stumbled, falling to the floor, Zoisite gleefully lunged for the kill, Jadeite acknowledging his mistake with rueful acceptance. The blunted practice blade swung down, Zoisite pushing all of his weight behind it. And Kunzite finally spoke once more.

"You know," the deep voice smoothly interjected, "The loser spends two weeks in the Hole."

Zoisite desperately swung his blade to the side, stumbled from the abrupt change in balance, and fell to the floor beside Jadeite. He looked up at Kunzite, cursing himself for his naiveté. He should have known better than to think Kunzite would so easily discard a grudge. And it was an exceptional punishment, this time, making him choose who he was going to send into the two week Hell. Perfectly executed. Yesterday, Zoisite had distracted Kunzite while Jadeite had trashed the adjoining study. No student would be able to complete a tactics assignment for two weeks. Zoisite had thought that he alone would bear the brunt of that indiscretion, since he was the only visible accomplice to the deed, and he hadn't cared--he was in trouble enough that it didn't bother him. But obviously, Jadeite had left sign of his adventure, and now, he would suffer for Zoisite's "great idea".

Well, Kunzite could be damned. He wasn't about to send Jadeite to the Hole.

He looked at Jadeite as he panted beside him, and made his decision. He stood as Jadeite did, and lowered his blade. He himself would go to the Hole-- it wouldn't be all that bad. After all, because of Kunzite, he was already intimately aquatinted with the place. He didn't really wish to repeat the experience... but... Jadeite was the only person who he could really call a friend. He wasn't about to allow his only friend to go to Hell on his behalf. If he did, he was pretty sure the guilt alone would kill him.

Of course, that was probably the idea. Kunzite's punishments were never the merely physical.

Zoisite spread his arms wide, urging Jadeite to strike him. He ignored the other students' disbelieving gasps; he ignored Kunzite's own intense stare. He merely gazed into Jadeite's eyes, waiting for the blow to strike, waiting for the sign which would place him into the small, five foot cage, groping blindly in the darkness. He waited for the touch that would send him to the Hole, and for two long weeks.

But Jadeite only stared back at him, only once flicking his eyes in Kunzite's direction. Zoisite understood, and nodded slightly, acknowledging Jadeite's idea. They would share the punishment, then. And before they did so... Zoisite levered his blade.

As one, they attacked Kunzite.

For a while, it was their greatest triumph. For a moment, it was the most fulfilling fun. But Kunzite was much stronger, much faster, and much more skilled... and after all, they had only attacked with practice blades...

* * *

"Are you awake?"

Zoisite groped blindly, trying to feel for the other. It wasn't hard, considering the both of them were sharing five feet of space, and he quickly found Jadeite's shoulders, shaking them hard. He spoke again, his voice laced with panic. "Are you awake?"

Jadeite slapped his hands aside, pushing back into his corner. His breath exploded outward as he exhaled, and he testily answered the smaller man. "Yes, I'm awake. What do you want?"

Zoisite shrunk back into his corner. "I'm sorry," he whispered back, leaning tiredly against the wall. He longed to stretch his legs, but he would have to lie all over Jadeite to do so, and considering the other's present state of mind, it wasn't the best thing to do. Well, he could wait until Jadeite wanted to stretch, then. "I was just worried," he answered the other man. "You stopped breathing for a while, there."

"I was holding my breath," Jadeite answered shortly.

Zoisite understood. It was easiest if you played games with yourself; it helped distract from the claustrophobia. And the claustrophobia this time was really, really bad. The Hole was mindnumbing when there was only himself; with the two of them, half of the trick was to avoid becoming irritated enough to kill one another.

"Get some sleep," Jadeite voice was tired, resigned, as he spoke once more.

Zoisite nodded.

* * *

"I won't be able to sleep ever again."

Zoisite snorted at the other's statement, but unfortunately, it was true. He himself hadn't been able to sleep for quite a while. His body wasn't tired any longer; it hadn't moved in days, though the stress from being unable to escape with sleep was enough for him to wish for a coma. He tried to stretch his legs; they were entangled somewhere with Jadeite's prone form. Jadeite grunted, and fisted him hard.

Zoisite rubbed his thigh as he tightly clenched his jaw, and tried to not kick the other in response. They could NOT fight; it would make the Hole even more unbearable than it already was. He focused his mind on Kunzite as he rubbed the pain from his legs, trying to induce circulation in the unmoving limbs. "I'm going to kill the bastard," he spat through grinding teeth.

Jadeite didn't ask who Zoisite was speaking of. He already knew.

"You and me both," he replied angrily.

* * *

The fist landed squarely in his stomach; he gaped like a grounded fish as air exploded from his lungs. Jadeite's body was pinning him to the ground; Zoisite rolled over, trying to regain his position on top. It wasn't to be; Jadeite pushed him back down, slamming another fist into him, this one to his face.

"I am going to kill you!" Zoisite screamed up at him.

The hard ground pressed unpityingly against his back, preventing any type of escape, but Zoisite didn't care. He had had enough. Ignoring the blows raining down on him, he grabbed the other's shoulders, holding the larger man on top of him, and swiftly slammed his knee between the other man's legs.

Jadeite cried out, and collapsed against Zoisite, contorting against the smaller man in an effort to protect his vital parts. Zoisite only laughed insanely as he continued to injure the man on top of him.

After a moment, Jadeite's desperate laughter joined his.

* * *

"I can't take much more of this," Jadeite told him, his voice unsteady and shaking with desperation.

Zoisite didn't say anything as he found the other man's hands, pressing into them the bread and cheese that he had found at the 'doorway' sometime before. He waited silently as he listened to the sounds of the other man eating, and after a moment, pressed his own rations into the other man's hands as well.

The first time was always the hardest when in the Hole, and Jadeite was finally beginning to show the effects of that. If Zoisite wasn't careful, Jadeite would break; the first time was also the telling time. Some people were more effected by claustrophobia than others, and just because Zoisite could survive time and time again in the Hole, it didn't mean that Jadeite could do the same.

On the other hand, Zoisite knew that Jadeite's weakness was the only thing keeping him aware. He felt as if he had been in this hell for much longer than two weeks, and the time of uselessness was driving him crazy; it was only Jadeite's need of him that kept him sensible. He was grateful that Kunzite hadn't discovered (or exploited, he wasn't sure which) his true weakness, and left him alone in the pit by himself, otherwise, he would have been a gibbering mess on the floor. Just like the other times.

Jadeite suddenly shuddered next to him, and Zoisite tried to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. He was shoved away roughly, and he listened as the Hole filled with Jadeite's quiet cries.

"Just a few more days," he told the other man quietly. "Hold on just a little longer."

Jadeite didn't respond.

* * *

The light that shown as the door opened above them was heaven-sent and glorious. The golden rays hurt his eyes, but Zoisite didn't care. He drank in sight as his eyes were finally released from their darkness, memorizing the lines that composed his first vision. It didn't matter that his first gift from the light was a terrible one, a view Kunzite's face; his sight-starved mind took in the hated features and cherished them.

Kunzite reached down, offering a hand to help him out, but Zoisite turned around and grabbed Jadeite instead. Jadeite still hadn't moved, which worried Zoisite greatly, and he tugged on the other man's jacket, trying to break him out of his insensibility. It took awhile; after long minutes of prodding, Zoisite finally convinced Jadeite to look at the light.

The look on Jadeite's face was heartbreaking, Zoisite thought, watching as the other grasped Kunzite's hands. At first, Jadeite's face was filled with disbelieving despair, hope only briefly flickering through his visage, but as he was pulled towards the opening, a smile broke on his face, a smile so filled with unthinking joy and boundless relief that it made Zoisite weep inside.

Kunzite didn't share the tender feelings. "You really are a weak one," he told the man in disgust, sneering down at Jadeite even as he helped him out.

Words broke from Zoisite's lips before he could stop them. "Oh, just stop it, Kunzite-sensei," he roughly spat, "Leave Jadeite alone."

Kunzite stiffened. Jadeite stilled.

Zoisite cursed himself.

Kunzite spoke languidly, his voice almost kind. "It seems that two weeks weren't sufficient to break you of your insolence, Zoisite." He shook Jadeite out of his deathgrip, watching silently as the blonde man fell back to the floor below. "Perhaps another two weeks will do the trick."

Zoisite leaped at him, grabbing his hands as he stared at him in horror. He quickly got to his knees, pleading desperately into the other man's eyes. "Please," he begged Kunzite, "Don't do this!" He motioned to Jadeite, watching as the other took in the broken man's form. It probably wasn't a smart thing, bringing attention to Jadeite's weakness, but if Kunzite was going to leave him anyway... "Please, Kunzite-sensei," he pleaded with the man, "At least let Jadeite go."

Kunzite smiled kindly at him; Zoisite quailed at the gesture, knowing nothing good would ever come from such an action. His hands were silently brushed aside, Kunzite reaching above him to push at the trap door. It slammed above him with frightful finality, once again shutting away all light.

"Kunzite!" Zoisite screamed in the darkness. "Don't leave us like this! Kunzite!"

Nobody replied.

* * *

"Talk to me," Jadeite whispered.

Zoisite cautiously turned to him, aware that this was the first time the other man had spoken since Kunzite had left them behind. Jadeite's voice was strangely calm, making Zoisite wonder if the calm merely sheltered resignation, but the request gave him hope that such wasn't the case. Surely Jadeite wouldn't ask for anything if he had truly given up.

"What about?" Zoisite answered carefully. When Jadeite offered no response, Zoisite quickly launched into conversation. "You know what this reminds me of?" he continued, not waiting for a response. "When I woke up. Everything was dark and cold...but nothing scared me," he grimaced ruefully. "I guess that's a difference."

Jadeite's clothing rustled; Zoisite visualized him looking up. "You weren't scared?" Jadeite asked him.

"When I woke up?" Zoisite answered. "No. It was a bit strange, I'll admit, not being able to remember anything, but I wasn't scared." He looked at the other man, or tried to. "Why? Were you?"

There was a long silence. "Yes," Jadeite finally answered him. "I was. Having no past..." Zoisite felt the other man shudder beside him. "I kept wondering what was going on, who I was...all that. And nothing came." Another shudder. "Nothing came...nothing at all."

"Oh," Zoisite whispered. "That." He paused for a moment, and then continued softly. "I had forgotten about that."

Jadeite's voice was incredulous. "How could you possibly forget?"

Zoisite shrugged, trying to forget the feeling all over again. Not knowing who he really was bothered him if he stared at it too harshly, and he wasn't really anxious to find out why. It was so much easier to relive the period of innocent wonder, when he had been discovering what he did remember. But Jadeite brought up an excellent point. Who had they been before being Dark General trainees? "I wonder if I left anyone behind," he murmured to Jadeite.

"Left behind?" Jadeite repeated, and then his voice fell ominously silent.

Zoisite frowned at him. "Yeah, left behind. We must have, you know. I can't imagine us having a whole other life and not..."

The other's response was unexpected, and frightening in its intensity. "Don't talk about that!" Jadeite almost screamed at him, his voice suddenly panting with desperation. "I don't want to talk about that!"

Zoisite said nothing, realizing Jadeite was falling into insensibility once more. The man was just too close to the edge. Silently, he damned Kunzite for leaving Jadeite in the darkness, but then he lowered his head in shame. If it wasn't for his own flippant tongue, Jadeite would have been out long ago. If Jadeite lost his mind to the darkness, it would be his fault. He was the one who had started it all. If he had never tried to pull a trick on Kunzite, Jadeite would never have gotten involved in the first place. And if he had just made Jadeite stab him with the practice blade during their sparring, Zoisite would have been alone in the Hole, and Jadeite would still be safe and sane.

"I'm sorry," he told Jadeite quietly.

But Jadeite was beyond all hearing.

* * *

It was actually four more weeks until they were released. The second time Kunzite had come, he had taken one look at Zoisite's face, and again left them in the darkness. Zoisite didn't understand why; he had done his best to be polite, subservient, anything that Kunzite might require...but it didn't matter anymore. By the time they finally were released, it was too late for Jadeite.

Oh, he was alive; Zoisite wasn't worried about that. Nobody could die in the Hole, well, not only after six weeks, anyway. But Jadeite was broken. The second refusal had been too much for him, and as he had laid in the darkness for the last two weeks, Zoisite hadn't heard him say a single word. Even when he had been helped from the Hole (the muscles in his legs had deteriorated too much for him to move by himself), he hadn't said a word. Zoisite had watched sadly as Jadeite was dragged away, and then he had allowed Kunzite to drag him to his own room.

He hadn't said anything to Kunzite. He couldn't bring himself to even look at the older man, let alone speak to him. He was too angry, and too fearful; he was afraid that even now, if he said a wrong word, Kunzite would throw Jadeite back into the pit.

For that was the true punishment, Zoisite now realized. Kunzite hadn't thrown him in the Hole in the hopes of breaking his mind; Zoisite had been there many times, and it had never had that effect. No, Kunzite had thrown him in the Hole to watch Jadeite's breakdown. He had been made to witness his friend's downfall; that was the punishment, and he knew that even as he knew that Kunzite had succeeded.

Kunzite had won--the lesson had been learned.

And Zoisite's only friend was lost because of it.

* * *

Zoisite toyed with his food as he sat alone at his table, trying his best to ignore the isolation. He understood why no one sat with him, yet it didn't help diminish the ache in his heart. But he understood; that, at least, was something. It might have been much worse if he didn't know why he was avoided like the plague.

He glanced up, surveying the tables around him. Wherever his gaze landed, the people fell silent, and looked away. Zoisite sighed. Yes, he understood. Even before Kunzite's stunt with the Hole, everybody had been wary around him, afraid that anyone associated with him would invite Kunzite's wrath, but after the Hole...after Jadeite...it was confirmed. Anyone with Zoisite was fair game. Even though Zoisite was now the Fourth King, outranking mostly everybody in the Dark Kingdom; the interdict didn't fail--no one opposed the First King. No one.

How he hated Kunzite.

Zoisite finally worked up the courage to seek another table, his eyes resting on the sole occupant there. It was Jadeite, of course; he, too, sat alone at a table. The others didn't have the sense to realize that being with Jadeite was safe (well, as safe as it was with any King)--they put him in the same boat as Zoisite, not realizing that Jadeite had been nothing more than a pawn, and not necessarily dangerous company himself. At any rate, he was alone, and Zoisite didn't dare sit with him.

Jadeite looked up, as if aware of the scrutiny, and briefly, their eyes met. They looked away at the same time.

Jadeite was different now, but that was to be expected after everything he had gone through. He was colder, and a bit harder; he no longer smiled, or was friendly to anyone. Zoisite knew that if he had dared, he could have broken Jadeite out of his shell, but he couldn't. Jadeite was safer that way; as long as he was away from Zoisite, he would never again be used as Kunzite's pawn.

That was the worst of it, Zoisite thought. He could no longer speak to his friend, or at least, he couldn't be nice to his friend. He had to create a distance between them, he had to be sure that Jadeite would never again suffer for his mistakes. Jadeite, in his new state of mind, probably didn't understand that; he probably took it to mean that Zoisite didn't care. That hurt; Zoisite knew that in Jadeite's state of mind, the confusion would probably turn to hatred.

And he would truly be alone.

Damn Kunzite.

He turned back to his food, fiddling restlessly with the rice and beans. The stuff tasted awful, but again, that was to be expected. It was cooked by youma-- that said it all. He raised a forkful to his mouth, determined to shovel some of it down (he needed his strength), when a voice spoke beside him.

"You've got to want revenge."

Zoisite choked, and started coughing, rice and beans spraying the tray before him. He glanced up as he caught his breath, and winced at the man in front of him. "What do you want, Nephrite?" he addressed the other man sourly.

Nephrite smiled lazily down at him, ignoring his question; Zoisite was suddenly reminded of a cat assessing it's prey. It didn't help that Nephrite, years ago, had been nothing more than a bully; the knowledge did nothing to dissuade the illusion. But it figured that Nephrite would be the only one to brave Kunzite's interdict; the red-haired fool never did know when to take a clue and back down.

"I said," Zoisite ground out, "What do you want?"

"Gently, gently," Nephrite murmured, pushing Zoisite's tray over as he sat beside him. Blue eyes regarded him with amusement, making him distinctly uneasy. "I merely have a proposal to make, young one. And I'm sure you'll be interested in what I have to say."

Zoisite glared at him. "And that would be why...?"

Nephrite leaned closer, his lips close to Zoisite's ear; Zoisite scowled at him, but listened despite the irritation. "I'm going to kill Kunzite," the other whispered into his ear.

Zoisite jerked away from him, his jaw dropping open as he stared at the other man. "Yeah, sure you are," he scoffed incredulously. The idea was by no means a new one; to be sure, he had dreamed about it often enough, but Nephrite was mad. There was no way he could possibly get close enough to the First King. "You'll go right up to him, and..." he snorted. "Oh, please."

"Oh please, indeed." Nephrite edged back, his eyes slightly narrowing as he observed the younger man. "We don't need him anymore, don't you see that?" he persuaded. "We're both Kings in our own rights, now. The First King has outlived his usefulness."

Zoisite leaned back, sardonically examining the Second King, his eyes snapping with barely contained mirth. "Oh, I'm sure," he drawled easily, "You're just too willing to take his place." Zoisite watched as the barb hit home, but Nephrite denied nothing, and Zoisite didn't expect him to. Nephrite's avarice for power was all too obvious, and though Zoisite wasn't sure that he would make a very good First King (especially since the war with Serenity was still ongoing), he really didn't care if it meant that Kunzite was dead. However... "I'm not sure you can do it," he told Nephrite bluntly. "I'm not sure you're capable of it."

Nephrite's eyes blazed for a second, but to Zoisite's surprise, he calmed almost immediately. "A worthy concern," the tall man said smoothly, "but I assure you, I have it under control." At Zoisite's skeptical glance, he indicated the room with a finger. "Everyone in this room has agreed to help me."

Zoisite didn't turn away, keeping his eyes squarely on Nephrite's face. "A bunch of children," he drawled out, "A bunch of sheep." His gaze hardened, became malicious. "If that's all you can muster, you can be going now."

Nephrite rose to his feet, and gazed at him with hard eyes. "You won't help us, then?" he asked quietly, his voice menacing.

"No," Zoisite told him, not allowing himself to be intimidated. "But neither will I hinder you." Nephrite was a slippery one, Zoisite knew, and was actually quite capable of causing Kunzite's downfall; however, Zoisite didn't trust the man. For all he knew, this was just another trap to place him in Kunzite's hands. Not that Kunzite needed an excuse; King though Zoisite was, he had no illusions that he could hold very long against the First King, and he wanted more assurances before he even started to lift his hands in rebellion. Zoisite shook his head, still looking into Nephrite's eyes. "I wish you luck...but I'm not willing to place my survival in your dubious hands."

Nephrite regarded him scornfully. "Quite the little coward, aren't you?"

Zoisite sprung to his feet, stung by the insult. "For not trusting you?" he ground out through clenched teeth. "But you're a little fool!" And he spun away, striding angrily towards his own rooms. At any other time, he would have immediately attacked...but there was always the possibility that Nephrite could succeed. Kunzite could die, and Zoisite wouldn't even have to raise a hand for his downfall. It was perfect. It could be absolutely perfect.

That's what he told himself, anyway. Which is why he didn't understand himself when, creeping by darkness to Nephrite's rooms, he later joined the rebellion.

* * *

The plan seemed perfect. It was seemingly a simple arrangement; the assassination attempt would take place during the day, in the time when everything was busy, and an armed man could slip unnoticed through a crowd. Kunzite's rooms were in a very public area; his position as First King demanded that he be easily accessible to a great number of people, and thus, his quarter's physical defenses were rather easily overcome. The walls were a joke; any minor trainee could scale them, and as to the youma guard--Nephrite had suavely dealt with them. Any one of them that would not be bribed was either rerouted to a different location or just dispatched altogether, leaving Kunzite's personal guards rather lacking. It wasn't his fault; from what Zoisite could tell he treated all of them exceptionally well, but they were a greedy lot, and eager to rise in the tails of Nephrite's advancement. Had Zoisite any inclination to save the First King, he would have told the guards to stay with their master, warning them of Nephrite's own malicious nature, but since he didn't, the guard went on unaware, blithely thinking that Nephrite would reward them for their actions. They were fools. Zoisite knew Nephrite would only have them executed; they were untrustworthy--once a betrayer, always a betrayer.

The magical defenses to Kunzite's home were something altogether different. The boundary was lined with a simple identification spell--Kunzite knew each and every person that stepped unto his wing. His personal quarters were even more heavily barricaded; the spells not only identified, but if the trespasser had no right to be where he was found, the spells would incinerate as well. What was worse, the spells themselves were warded, changing their patterns and natures every few minutes; usually, such behavior would cause great unstability in the spell's weaves, but the spell had been designed to take advantage the weakness. The unstability only allowed an intruder a window of a few seconds for entry; if it took any longer, the man would be destroyed. It was a devastatingly simple arrangement, and Zoisite could only shake his head at the genius required to conceptualize it, let alone create it.

And that was where he and Jadeite came in--they were to counter the magical barrier. Zoisite had at first been surprised to see Jadeite within the organization, but when he took the time to think on it, it was obvious that Jadeite would take part. Of all the people who hated Kunzite, Jadeite had first rights, even though the man shook every time he saw the First King. It was astoundingly brave of him, Zoisite thought, to be able to brush off the fear and take hold of revenge.

But still, Jadeite never spoke to him. Zoisite promised himself that when this was over, when Kunzite was dead and they could be safe, he would repair his friendship with the Third King. But for now, there was work to be done. He set his sights on Kunzite's weaves, feeling Jadeite join him in the effort, and waited for Nephrite, the actual assassin, to make his move.

At first, Zoisite had thought Nephrite was crazy for wanting to perform the assassination personally; he had thought it much safer to send an agent, in such a way that the attempt would never be traceable to any of them. But Nephrite had insisted, and Zoisite, after much persuasion, had agreed. After all, the assassin would have to be able to fight Kunzite should the 'safer methods'--poison and the like--fail, and beyond all that, they would have to be able to hide from Kunzite's own mind, requiring a skill in telepathy that not many people could match. When seen on those terms, only Nephrite stood much of a chance. Kunzite was an almost unbeatable opponent.

"Is everything ready?" he asked Jadeite, and when the other nodded, he asked the same question of Nephrite's "informers". Nephrite hadn't been lying when he said he had most of the denizens of the Dark Kingdom under his command; he had men tracing Kunzite's whereabouts, men who did nothing but record the weaves of Kunzite's spells, and men who delayed Kunzite's next interview so that the assassination attempt was made possible.

The report came back affirmative, and Zoisite started bending the weaves that would allow Nephrite not only entry, but make him completely undetectable as well. And as he wrestled with Kunzite's weaves, he started counting, making sure that Nephrite would exit as planned. It would be a mishap of the worst magnitude if Nephrite's disguise dissolved during the moment he needed it most.

Zoisite had once read that all plans went awry the moment they were put into action, and this one was no different. Thirty minutes passed, the deadline for Nephrite's reentry, and still, he did not reappear. Fifty minutes, and still no sign. Zoisite glanced at Jadeite, whose face was sweating from the strain of holding the First King's weaves. How long could they hold them, till Kunzite finally noticed that something was wrong and traced the disturbance back to their sources? An hour passed, and Zoisite could no longer take the suspense.

"I'm going in after him," he told the Third King. Jadeite tried to protest, but he recognized the necessity. If Nephrite were caught...everything could be traced back to them. Zoisite broke into Kunzite's quarters without another word.

The scene he found upon discovering Nephrite was not a heartening one. Nephrite sat bound to a chair in Kunzite's private audience chamber, his face defiant as Kunzite interrogated him. It seemed he had been wrong, or at least overconfident; Kunzite was obviously two steps ahead of them, the assassination attempt coming to nothing. Nephrite's eyes grazed over Zoisite as the younger man slowly entered the room, but gave no sign that he had seen him. Zoisite was glad; Kunzite didn't know he was there. They still had a chance. He still had a chance.

Suddenly, vengeance became a very personal thing.

He drew a knife slowly from his belt, being sure that no sound of sliding metal or whispering leather gave away his presence, and with a feline stealth, made his way towards the First King. Kunzite's back was to him, Nephrite's struggles quickly increasing in tempo and attracting the older man's attention; Zoisite raised his hand carefully, positioning the knife precisely over Kunzite's back. With the correct thrust, the knife would pierce through to his heart.

He would be free. Jadeite would be free.

With a growl, he brought down the knife.

He never knew what happened. One moment, he was seething with a fatal violence, his every movement and desire pulsing with murder. The next, Kunzite was spinning around, a surprised and unusual look of helplessness on his face, and Zoisite's dagger was falling towards the other man's chest.

And his fist twisted, turning the knife sideways so that only his knuckles struck the other man's flesh.

Zoisite couldn't believe it. He tried again to stab the other man, Kunzite still too slow to stop the attempt, and again, his fist twisted, the knife never touching Kunzite's skin. His mouth dropped in horror as he regarded the hand that had betrayed him, and he tossed the knife to the ground in shock. He couldn't believe it. Finally, he had a chance to rid himself of Kunzite, and he couldn't do it. He couldn't do it.

Kunzite chuckled down at him, grabbing Zoisite's fists in his hands. "Good job," the deep voice commended the younger man. "You deftly carried out my orders."

Zoisite's eyes shot to Kunzite's; he said nothing. He couldn't bring himself to say a word.

"Damn you!" Nephrite screamed at him, and Zoisite turned to look, surprised to see the tall man lever himself from his chair. Upon second glance, he noticed his own knife in the other man's hands; Nephrite must have grabbed it when it dropped from his hands, and set himself free. The other man continued to yell at him even as he made his escape. "You sold us out!"

It was all going wrong. All of it. He watched as Nephrite ran from the room; he couldn't follow. He was stunned, frozen where he stood, his mind desperately trying to make sense of it all. Nephrite had failed, he had followed...and he had spared Kunzite. He had spared him. Kunzite lived because of him.

"What...?" he gasped out, at the limits of his strained intelligence.

Kunzite finally released him, the silver eyes narrowing as he examined the younger man. "Interesting," he commented almost absentmindedly, "I hadn't realized that you still possessed that instinct." A gloved hand reached up to gently smooth Zoisite's hair; Zoisite shrank from the touch, and Kunzite laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. "Things are going to be so much more difficult for you now," his amused voice told the younger man, the musical tones lilting with a smug possessiveness.

Zoisite jerked back, appalled at the older man's words. "I don't know what you're talking about," he slowly said as he backed away, trying his best to edge towards the door, "and I'm sure I don't want to." He spun quickly around, attempting a mad dash for the exit, but Kunzite was faster, holding him firmly as he thrashed at the grip.

"You have no choice, you know," Kunzite told him lazily, seemingly ignoring the squirming of the man in his arms. He turned Zoisite around to face him, languidly staring into the younger man's eyes. "You're sworn to me, now, whether you originally willed it or no."

Zoisite stopped his struggling just long enough to spit in Kunzite's face. "You're crazy," he snapped.

Kunzite smoothly wiped the spittle from his eyes, his expression not showing the slightest annoyance. "You think so?" he questioned easily instead, and let Zoisite go. An amused smile actually graced his features as he stared down at the younger man. "What, precisely, do you think is going to happen to you the moment you leave my quarters? Please, before you go, think on that."

Indeed, that was the question, and Zoisite knew it. Nephrite thought him a traitor, and if Zoisite left Kunzite's chamber's unharmed, as he intuitively knew he would, that would only confirm his suspicions. He was trapped; Kunzite had trapped him. His own inability to kill the older man had merely determined his own incompetence; it was Kunzite's quick thinking that had damned him. Kunzite had called him his servant; Nephrite had heard, and the Second King had no reason to disbelieve the information.

"Oh hell," Zoisite muttered to himself, and then turned half-frightened, half-defiant eyes upon the older King. Kunzite obviously had some use for him; his life wouldn't have been spared otherwise--in the very least he would have been bound to the chair Nephrite had so recently vacated. He glared into the First King's eyes, wondering what would be required of him. "So...now what?" he spat.

Kunzite regarded him calmly. "First of all, I want the names of every person in Nephrite's organization."

Zoisite snorted at him. "Oh, is that all?" he snarled sarcastically. If Kunzite thought he would easily betray his comrades, no matter how much he personally disliked them, the man had another thing coming. "You are insane. I'm not giving you shit."

Kunzite's voice was abruptly cold. "I see you are not understanding my point." Silver eyes leaned forward, stopping inches from Zoisite's own. "You have no choice. Nephrite, and thus everybody in his organization, thinks you betrayed him. Tomorrow afternoon, they will be sure of it when I publicly commend you. Most of Nephrite's supporters are already known to me--you didn't think that you would be my only source of information, did you--and their deaths will also be considered your doing. Fourth King or no, you will be marked for execution, and I doubt you have the ability or the resources to stave off such an experience. Your only protection, should I choose to grant it, is me." Kunzite leaned back, his face stony. "So, if I were you, I would quickly rethink my position."

Zoisite glared at him. "So, what? I'm to be another one of your eyes and ears? Is that all?"

"Perhaps," Kunzite told him. "If you are loyal, you can become something more. But you will be publicly known as part of my organization, no matter what you decide; let me make that clear. After I'm through, no one else will dare trust you--I'm your only choice. So, whether you destroy yourself or choose to advance in my organization is entirely up to you."

"Damn you," Zoisite cursed softly, but it was a mere reflex; no true strength supported the sentiment. Kunzite was right; that was the full horror of the situation. Leaving Kunzite was suicide; his own former allies would kill him without any help from the First King, and defying him... it was political suicide. Zoisite hadn't trained for so long only to be relegated to the background, and that would be exactly where he would find himself if he defied the First King. It was join Kunzite or die--in one way or the other. For Zoisite, that wasn't any type of choice. He bowed his head, and nodded sullenly.

"Good." The voice paused for a second, but then continued strongly. "If it's any consolation, your precious Jadeite is safe. As is Nephrite. If a King were killed for every rebellion staged, Beryl's kingdom would be very sparse indeed." Kunzite regarded his younger companion solemnly. "At any rate, I have something more interesting planned. As you can see..."

Zoisite listened carefully, but other words swam through his head. He was trapped. Trapped.

And it was his own fault...

* * *

Zoisite listed off the names of the damned, disciplining his voice to calmness. It wasn't very effective, he thought, but he doubted anybody noticed such a triviality. Most of the people listening were probably too busy wondering if they would die that day. Kunzite's audience chamber was filled to overflowing; Nephrite and his supporters were bundled in the room, and Zoisite stood above them all, doling out their sentences. Kunzite had spoken the truth--he really had known who composed the rebellion. And today, one in three of them would die.

Zoisite tried to avoid Jadeite's eyes as he delivered the message, but he couldn't. The cold blue eyes were too compelling with their judgment; damnation flowed through the air between them. The feeling made Zoisite weep inwardly, but he quickly stilled the emotion. He couldn't allow himself to feel; he couldn't allow himself to think. When one was a slave, it was the best course of action.

He had tried, a final time, to make an end of Kunzite. The First King's orders had made him so furious...

Kunzite had merely handed him the knife, the next time Zoisite had tried to end his life. Zoisite hadn't stopped to think about the action, and had quickly swung at the older man, his face contorted in absolute fury. Kunzite hadn't moved to stop him, and had merely observed the events with an almost bored expression; as Kunzite had obviously expected, Zoisite's fist twisted, only his knuckles making contact with the First King's flesh.

Zoisite had spat at the other man, his teeth grinding with frustration. "I could just let you die, you know," he had snarled, "I could just watch while I got someone else to kill you!"

But Kunzite had only regarded him blandly, an almost innocent expression of interest on his face. "Is that so?" he had asked, and he had deliberately reached for a pitcher of wine, a pitcher that Zoisite knew had been poisoned. According to the plan, Nephrite's first order of business was to poison the First King, in the hopes of that succeeding if a more direct attempt failed.

Kunzite had brought the cup slowly to his lips, his intent eyes never leaving Zoisite's for a second. Zoisite had desperately wanted him to drink the poison, but as the cup traveled closer and closer to the First King's lips, an unexplainable panic had grew within him. Somehow, he knew that he couldn't allow Kunzite to die--and Zoisite had jerked the cup away from the other man.

Kunzite had merely smiled at the gesture.

The entire situation made Zoisite feel sick. Taking much longer than he would have liked, he finally finished reading Kunzite's list to the walking dead, spun on his heel, and approached Kunzite's table. "Happy now?" he snapped as he fell into an adjoining chair, twisting the scroll in his palms.

Kunzite deftly plucked the list from Zoisite's hands, and handed it to a guard. After directing the man to oversee the coming executions, he turned back to regard Zoisite. "Yes," he drawled slowly, his voice filled with droll amusement, "I am very pleased. Thank you for asking." He smirked at the sour look that spread across the younger man's face, but then continued seriously. "Now. Since that trifle has been dealt with, we can focus on more important matters--namely, the war against Serenity."

He stood smoothly, motioning for Zoisite to do the same. "If you will follow me..."

* * *

When Zoisite saw the prisoner, his world stopped abruptly.

Lying on a table, her fists bound above her head and her feet tightly shackled beneath her, a short, petite girl was gasping, her oddly colored, blue hair mussed as she struggled to be free. It was a hopeless battle, he knew, and judging from the despair he saw in her intelligent eyes, she obviously knew as well, but she never stopped fighting. However, it wasn't her hopeless determination that shook him, but the look of recognition in her eyes when she first looked at him.

He stepped over to the bench, his mind suddenly screaming with knowledge of the girl. He knew she was the Princess of Mercury; the information somehow placed in his brain told him that much, but he suddenly knew much, much more, and the knowledge tried to devastate him.

"Ami," he suddenly whispered, his voice full of disbelief. He didn't know how he knew her name, her informal, personal name, the name that he knew only her closest friends should know. But he understood, suddenly, that she was a link to his past. She was one of those whom "he had left behind", and one of the people of whom Jadeite couldn't bear to speak. She knew his secrets. She knew who he had been. She knew who he was.

Ami stilled as he touched her face wonderingly, her eyes filling with tears as she looked into him. "I thought you were dead," she whispered, and his heart jumped at the confirmation. She really did know who he was; surely, she would tell him if he asked! He eagerly rounded on her, questions building on his tongue, when Kunzite's voice halted him.

"She has information we need, Zoisite," the First King told him, his voice low and menacing, the tones a subtle warning.

Zoisite stared at him for a moment, and then looked back down at Ami. She was an enemy; he knew that, he had been trained to deal with her type. It was possible that she contained information that could win the war, but.... She remained silent under his scrutiny, her eyes slightly confused, and his heart quailed. She was his only link to the past; he couldn't bear to give her pain. "She'll talk to us, Kunzite-san," he told the other man quietly. "We don't need to hurt her."

Kunzite rounded the table to stand close beside him, looking over his shoulder at the girl below. "If you can do that," he told the younger King solemnly, "you're more talented than I gave you credit for. Thus far, she hasn't answered a single question." Kunzite lifted the blanket covering the slight form, and Zoisite closed his eyes at the injuries he found there. "And as you can see," the First King continued, "my agents have been quite persuasive."

"I see," Zoisite said faintly.

Kunzite lifted a knife from his belt, and placed it in Zoisite's hands. "You'll try to get the information," he ordered, and at the younger man's silence, he turned Zoisite around, looking deeply into the smaller man's eyes. His voice hardened. "Do this well, Zoisite," he spoke harshly, "Or you'll be beside her in an instant. Do I make myself clear?"

Zoisite looked to the floor, and nodded slightly. He didn't look up as Kunzite exited the room, leaving him to his gruesome work.

"Oh Ami," he murmured silently, moving to sit beside her on the table. "Please," he begged quietly, his voice very soft, "Tell me what I need to know." He shook his head, and looked down at the knife. It's cold surface shimmered with fearsome intent, or so it seemed to him, blatantly mocking what was left of his humanity. He closed his eyes. "Don't make me do this."

"You betrayed us," her voice was flat, unforgiving, and yet filled with an inner pain. "All this time, I thought you were dead...I mourned your death!...and you betrayed us." A small whimper escaped her throat, but it was quickly silenced, strangled by her own determination. "You betrayed me."

Zoisite looked at her then, and debated telling her the truth. After a moment, he decided it couldn't hurt anything; she was slated to die. "I'm sorry," he told her, his voice surprisingly shaky; he didn't understand why that should be so. "But I don't know what you're talking about."

He continued after a long moment, wondering if she would believe what he had to say; after all, for all he knew, his odd circumstance was unheard of in Serenity's kingdom, though it seemed common enough in his own. "My memories of this life end three years ago," he told her solemnly. "I'm not the only one in the Kingdom with this experience, either; there are many of us whose pasts abruptly end. "

Her eyes softened. "Oh, Zoisite," she mourned quietly, but he interrupted her.

"Don't pity me," he warned. His voice was gentle and sad, but he held tightly to his resolve. He had to survive, that was what this was all about. If he set her free, or if he was too lenient, it would mean his life. And nothing was worth that, especially not some stranger, no matter how familiar she seemed to him. Zoisite closed his eyes, refusing to look at Ami's face, and spoke softly. "I have to do what I have to do, and if you won't tell me what I need to know, I will take it from you.'

He paused, and spoke even more softly. "If you can, save your strength for that ordeal. The more you hate me, the more you'll be able to keep from me."

Her bonds strained as she tried to move her hands; he looked down at her as she tried to do so. "It doesn't have to be this way," she pleaded with him quietly. "You can let me go and come with me, and I'll tell you everything you need to know. I'll tell you who you used to be. I'll tell you who you are."

Zoisite clenched his eyes tightly shut, the effort contorting his face into a gruesome grimace. It was so very tempting; he briefly allowed himself to think of being a free man, in a new and unknown kingdom, and for a fleeting second, he was willing to risk it. But then he remembered Kunzite; more than that, he remembered Kunzite's knife. Kunzite would never let him go. Knowing the First King, they were both being watched that very second; Zoisite didn't put it beyond the older man for the whole setup to be nothing more than another test of loyalty. He shook his head, and answered her solemnly. "I can't," he told her. "Lord Kunzite has a noose around my neck so tight that I'll never escape him."

"You're not even willing to try?" Her voice was incredulous.

He shook his head.

Her voice hardened, became flat with disgust. "Then you're nothing more than his slave," she told him. "Bound to him by your own fear."

Zoisite nodded; looking down at her, he accepted her words as truth. "You're right," he answered her quietly. "I am a slave. Your offer came too late for me--maybe it was always too late." He brought out his knife, and once again stared at its edge. "Let's get started."

She continued speaking even as he cut into her, her voice scornful and mocking, and yet, it was filled with a despairing sadness. "You don't even know," she wept to him, "Don't you want to find out? About yourself, about our kingdom... about Kunzite?"

He shook his head. "I know all I want to know about Kunzite," he told her grimly, "and I don't want to hear the rest." And he didn't. At first, he would have given anything to know, but now, it would only mock him with what he could never have. If he had learned in any other way, if Ami had never been captured, the knowledge would have helped him; he could have bided his time and waited for escape. He could have waited, and returned to Serenity's kingdom, to the place he now realized he belonged. But now... he had reached the turning point; there was no going back. Serenity would never accept him, not when he had killed the Mercurian princess to spare his own life. He had made his choice, and it was not a noble one; the Dark Kingdom owned him in more than name, now. Zoisite was a Tennou in truth.

When Ami finally died, having told Zoisite all he needed to know about the unimportant details--strategy, defenses, and the like--he put down his knife, and stared at her. Of their own accord, his hands went to her hair, now damp with her own blood, and he collapsed beside her, gathering her broken form into his arms. He wept for her; he wept for the strength that had failed and betrayed her, he wept for her accusing, disbelieving eyes, and he wept for her offer of hope that he had refused. It was all gone, now; she had taken with her his last link to the past, the last link to his freedom.

"Goodbye," he whispered in her hair, and it was, in every way, a final farewell.

* * *

Sometime later, Kunzite returned.

Zoisite looked up, his eyes bloodshot and defeated. He didn't release Ami's broken form, but only spoke softly, respectfully, to his master. "I did it," he told the First King, his voice hoarse from weeping, "I did as you ordered."

"So you did," Kunzite replied, and his voice was pleased.

Zoisite didn't move as the other approached him, but he did stir somewhat when Kunzite tugged the body away from him. However, it wasn't a long struggle; Zoisite quickly let Ami go, realizing that nothing he did would ever bring her back. Her body was now nothing more than a bundle of flesh; the proud spirit had departed it long since. Both she and his freedom were long gone, and he was in no mood to fight his master.

"And you will be rewarded," Kunzite spoke again, continuing his prior thought as he knelt beside the younger man.

Zoisite remained motionless as Kunzite reached for him, though he did jerk as Kunzite dipped his hands in Ami's blood. He shook silently, doing nothing, and allowed Kunzite to move closer and smear the blood on his quivering lips, leaving them a ghastly shade of red. Kunzite kissed him then, softly, lingeringly, as he licked the blood from his gaping mouth.

Zoisite began to struggle. Kunzite brought out his knife.

That night, Zoisite wished he had listened to Ami. As he screamed in the darkness, Kunzite playing games with both his soul and body, he realized that he was wrong: there was more to life than mere survival. He realized that he should have taken his chances, that things could always get worse if he didn't actively make them better. And he learned that sometimes, chances didn't come twice. That night, he experienced a new type of sensation:

For the first time in his life, he wished he would die.