Bishoujo Senshi Sailormoon is the property of Naoko Takeuchi, Kodansha Comics, and Toei Animation.

The moon was beginning to fade in the sky, stars going out one by one, invisible in the dim light of the still-hidden sun. But at least there was a sun.

Jadeite put Zoisite down for the seventh time. The little king would wake up from time to time, but pass out just as soon. Useless. Jadeite had tried his magic; a transport, levitation, anything to help him on his way, but no power flowed from his fingertips. No power at all. But, instead of sitting with his head in his hands as he'd projected himself to do, he had hauled Zoisite's body over his shoulder, and stumbled out of the clearing.

Since then, he'd had been carrying Zoisite, trudging along what he dearly hoped was a trail. Better yet, a trail to someplace warm. The night itself was not terribly cold, but there was a chill, perhaps left over from his stupor, that slowed him down to a dismal plod.

The narrow path cut its way through the bushes and the trees, revealing a clean, white run. Jadeite stared at it, wondering whether the pristine snow through which he tramped was a sign that nobody had ever walked here before.

The farther he got, the more he found himself hoping that some more of his comrades would be scattered nearby. Kunzite, Nephrite, even some of the lower officers. Zoisite was hardly company in his current state, and when he was awake, all he asked for was Kunzite-sama, Kunzite-sama, Kunzite-sama. Perhaps what Jadeite had heard about them did have some element of truth therein....

But surely, if Zoisite had stumbled upon Jadeite without even intending to do so, the others must be lying somewhere, just out of sight. Jadeite had pondered calling out to them, but the forest leered at this, its shadows roiling with God-knows-what preparing to descend upon him, dare he make a sound.

Now his arms were rested, and he gathered up the snowy bundle, preparing to march again. They were still clad in their uniforms, the same ones they'd donned for that so seemingly distant battle. The material had come through with so few scuffs, only a small tear here and there. Though it was proof enough of where they had been.

Zoisite had said one word of sense, Jadeite thought as he stared at the paling sky. This was a curse.

He stopped suddenly, feeling the weight over his shoulder begin to squirm. Hurriedly, Jadeite cast Zoisite down to the ground, hopeful that the young king would acquiesce to being more than dead weight. Zoisite was deposited in the snow, where he sat, looking about.

"Are you able to walk now?" Jadeite asked in a mock-huff.

Zoisite glared up at him from his shiners, purple and cadaverous, cheeks and lips matching the snow. His mouth opened, but all that came out was a cloud of breath. Unsteadily, he began to rise, his legs jointless and stilted. Succeeding, he straightened his back and puffed out his chest, an action that though silly due to his size, was impressive due to his circumstances.

Yet he did not speak, merely skewing his face in a petulant method. Jadeite passed this off as tiredness, for it was not like Zoisite to be so silent in adverse situations. Instead, Jadeite broke the calm.

"We need to find somewhere to stay- with food, no less," he said.

No answer.

"I know you want to look for Kunzite, but if we don't find somewhere to stay, we will die." The statement sounded a bit sensational, but in the long run, it would most certainly come true.

Still Zoisite glowered at him, some vile mood boiling in his eyes. Jadeite looked into them and saw the young king thinking, thinking, thinking what to do. He wasn't well. He hadn't been, even from the moment when he'd come crashing through the trees. It was unsettling, seeing such a dark silence in someone so vital as Zoisite.

All of a sudden the boy turned, and with an unforeseen vigour, began to march down the path ahead of Jadeite. The latter watched him, eyes wide and mouth open. It was only when Zoisite halted a short distance away, that Jadeite realized that the young king had conceded to remain with him.

Curiously pleased, Jadeite followed him down the trail.

"I think... I need to rest a moment," Jadeite muttered, seating himself down in the snow.

Zoisite stopped and turned. The colour was bleeding back into his cheeks, though perhaps only from the brisk air. They'd been traveling for almost an hour, and the sun still had not yet risen, merely filling the path with predawn green.

Jadeite, on the other hand, had paled. Carrying Zoisite had spent him, and now he didn't even wish to stand. When was the last time he'd eaten something? Why, before the attack on Serenity's kingdom. Even in his faint condition, Jadeite found that absolutely hilarious.

He lifted his head, acknowledging Zoisite who stood over him. The little sakura's eyes glittered, and his mouth... his mouth was moving, soundless. But still he wasn't speaking. He'd said something earlier, about the ginzuishou's curse, but now he didn't talk at all. His expression was no longer black and irascible, just blank.

He's hungry, that's all.

"What's that?" Jadeite asked, suddenly curious. He noticed that Zoisite had lifted something with the tip of his black leather boot.

As he watched, his interest grew. From the snow, guided by Zoisite's boot, was lifted a flat, splintered piece of wood. Though rough and rotten, it was a doubtless display of human craftsmanship. For, on the bottom side of the plank, scrawled in almost indistinguishable lettering, was a title. Graenone.

"What language...." Jadeite breathed, turning the board over and over, brushing the snow from it.

Zoisite studied it too. Jadeite noticed that the boy's lips were moving again, silently. But here was something even more interesting.

"I think it's a sign," Jadeite declared, suddenly excited. "There must be a house or a village or something nearby! People made this, Zoisite!"

And then Jadeite was off, trotting up the path, the snow growing lighter in the morning glow. "Come on, come on!" he called to Zoisite, as he disappeared farther down the run.

But Zoisite didn't come. The sun was rising, and it lit the trees from behind. It's white light struck Zoisite in the face, causing the headache he'd been nursing to roar back in painful red throbs. It had overtaken him once already, when he'd run into Jadeite. He thought his unconsciousness would cure it, but upon awakening, it remained, dull and irritable.

Jadeite's form had blurred into the distance, the path's sparkling snow swallowing him up in its golden light. The trees were going too, everything being whited out by the dominant, dawning sun.

It was only Jadeite's voice, frantic and strident, that made him walk again. "A house!" he was yelling. "A house! A great house!"

Zoisite trundled forward, finding it difficult to discern the path from all this light. He skittered around a bend curbed by leaning tree-trunks, their icicled branched obscuring his view even more, creating a network of glass that flashed maddeningly.

Yet, as he cleared this obstruction, he realized that there was no mistake in Jadeite's acclamations. Rising up from the trees, standing black against the sky, was a magnificent pointed spire.

Zoisite found Jadeite, as he remained staring upwards with undisguised fascination.

From where they stood, the rest of the building was brought into view. Indeed, it was a house. A great house, no less. The spire was flanked by twin gabled roofs, below them extending three or four stories, the glass in the windows all marvelously intact. The entire place, it seemed, was fashioned out of stone and wood, a wondrous jigsaw of varying browns. The windows, stretched and melancholy, were dark, belying the entire place as empty. For now, at least.

In normal circumstances, it would be hard to decide what to make of such a discovery. But Jadeite, poor, exhausted Jadeite, knew exactly what to think.

"This is fantastic," he whispered, duly ignoring Zoisite for the time being, and taking excited steps forward. "I'm going to see if I can get in."

He began to jog, boldly enough, towards the house's twin front doors. However, his nervous glances at the uppermost windows were shamefully obvious.

Zoisite stared at the house's silhouette, blinking rapidly as the headache quavered and flourished. What was a building like this doing here? So beautiful, so well kept. Perhaps, if the ginzuishou had decided this fate for them, the house he was looking at was as unfathomable as the crystal's magic itself.

Oh well. Perhaps he should be thankful that he had at least found Jadeite. His companionship was better than none. But now, as he watched Jadeite approaching the doors of this fanciful mansion, he felt the anxiety within him, the one that stoked his headache, begin to grow again. It was a peculiar feeling, like a dream, always knowing he was forgetting something.

He wasn't surprised when he saw Jadeite swing the house's doors open, calling on Zoisite triumphantly to come and see what he had done.

But as he stepped forward, the pain in his brow doubled, then tripled with each move he made. He was aware of Jadeite, watching him with what began as irritation, but then developed into a puzzled frown.

Zoisite stopped, lifting two fingers to his hairline, breath hissing through his teeth as they came back bright red. He could hear Jadeite saying something, drawing nearer. His shadow was blocking the sun, and for a moment, Zoisite's vision went clear.

And he could see them. Tracks in the snow. Not his, not Jadeite's, but someone else's boot prints, winding past the house, back into the trees. Someone else's boot prints, and Zoisite knew whose.

"Kunzite-sama!"

Jadeite leaped back as Zoisite bolted from his previous stoop, not towards the house, but back into the fringe of trees. He was running like he had been when they'd first chanced upon each other here, jumping into the bushes with the same blind ferocity.

"Come back!" Jadeite shouted after him. Zoisite's forehead had been bleeding, oh God, he really was ill!

He had no choice but to follow, leaving behind his beckoning discovery to follow the broken twigs and stomped bushes trailing his fellow king. It wouldn't be hard; he'd retrieve Zoisite, and get back to the house. With any luck, the little king will have passed out again, as he seemed to do after such an episode, making it ironically much easier to transport him.

Zoisite hadn't gone far. After all, he didn't have to. He had stopped in a sheltered hollow, untouched by the fresh snow, in the shade of a tree's massive roots. And there Jadeite found Zoisite, kneeling, crooning over the fallen body of Kunzite.

Jadeite's eyes went wide as he saw this, and he bent down to sit at Zoisite's side. The boy was crouched over the silver king's head, tangling his fingers in the long white hair, murmuring something almost coherent. Blood from Zoisite's brow had ran into his eye, then dripped down onto Kunzite's cheek.

Slowly, Jadeite found he could decipher Zoisite's words, his ears becoming tuned to such a soft tone. "He's alive, Jadeite; he is warm...."

So he was. And for this, Zoisite sounded so happy, murmuring merrily as he pulled the unconscious king into an awkward embrace.

Jadeite wasn't sure it was mannerly to watch this, for Zoisite had now grown quite oblivious to his presence. Instead, he turned his attention to Kunzite's cloak, which half-covered what he had assumed to be a particularly large root.

Jadeite reached over and tugged at the grey cloth, revealing not a root--

"They're both here!" Jadeite exclaimed, beholding the curled form. "We've found them both!"

Lying against a rise in the earth was Nephrite. Auburn haired and uniform clad, he was exactly as he had been the night of the Dark Kingdom's attack. Jadeite clapped his hands impulsively. At last, three fellow kings! The forest, the house, everything unfamiliar now seemed so much less threatening. And in the gentle light of dawn, Jadeite was happy.

Nephrite's body was warm, too, and in his precariously curled position, the rise and fall of his side was plain to see.

Jadeite took it on himself to wake him, leaning over to tug at the king's arm. But as he did so, the arm, balanced as it was on Nephrite's leg, uncurled and fell to the side, exposing yet another surprise.

For there, curled on Nephrite's lap, a tiny black cat was sleeping. Marked on its forehead, glinting in the morning sun, was a golden crescent moon.