Even though night had fallen, the market place beyond the House's walls was still bustling. Afterall, moths such as Imite were actually nocturnal, and they outnumbered the butterflies about five to one - but almost all of them were poor, commoners and merchants.

Imite only had a short time to take in the sights of the midnight market as he neared the ground. He beat his wings furiously, but he couldn't rise in altitude, and soon enough, he was gliding towards a building.

There was a loud crashing sound as he made an impromptu landing in the alley behind the building, plowing into a garbage bin and overturning it.

"Ugh..." He groaned, sitting up and rubbing his head, looking himself over. Nothing seemed to be broken, but his clothing was now decorated with peels and rinds. Grimacing, he peeled the garbage off of his coat and stood up, stepping out of the alley and looking around.

The buildings here were run-down and poorly constructed, made out of warped, sea-battered wood. The smell of salt water filled the air, mixing with the strange scents of spices, perfumes, and various foods from the vendors that lined the streets. His oversized boots plodded along on cobblestone, through what remained of muddy snow, and he frowned when he recalled that he didn't have any money - or any experience surviving on the streets.

His anten drooped, and despite the new sights, he cast his eyes to the ground, and started his aimless wandering of the streets. The skills he had learned in the palace had served him well, allowing him to avoid running into anyone. Voices sounded around him and ignored his existence.

Imite's feet took him down the main street of the bazaar, with no destination in mind. He was tired, exhausted, as the night started to drag on - the weight of his books, the weight of all that had happened, made him feel heavy.

Cool, salty sea air tussled his hair as he approached the port. The dark expanse of the sea stretched out before him, moonlight shimmering over the black waters. It was calm and quiet, in sharp contrast to the bustling port. A few sects carrying crates and sacks grunted and shoved past him as he stared at the sea.

He managed to find his way to a long fishing dock, and walked its length, his boots clanking along the creaky wood. Imite soon reached the very end. Water lapped up against the long stilts that kept the dock in place. It was a calm, cool night, and gravity tugged at him gently as he balanced on the edge.

The sea was peaceful - nothing but an expanse of frigid blackness. Most sects didn't like water, especially Lepidians - they couldn't hold their breath, so drowning was a quick and assured fate, and even merely touching water would wash away the beautiful scales that made up the colors of a Lepidian wing. Seafarers were proud, brave, few, and wealthy. But despite the horrors of water, the soft sound of the waves and the night air calmed the young moth.

It gave him a chance to let everything that had happened sink in. He wanted his own peace back, but he knew that was gone. Never again would he live a peaceful, monotonous palace life. He understood now why he had the strange existence there that he did. He was the son of the Reaver - his only son. And even if he had been the illegitimate result of a tryst - or rape, more likely - between master and slave, he was the only rightful heir to Saturni House.

The thought made him dizzy. That he was related to the warlord - the Reaver, Conqueror of the South - was unthinkable. He had always been weak and small - he didn't even seem to have the resilience of his mother. No wonder he was hidden in the House. The warlord must have been hoping for the same thing Imite was - that his son would turn out better after kokuun. That he would become strong, courageous, grow out of his small stature.

No wonder. Imite couldn't say he blamed the warlord - his father - for wanting him dead. He'd be frustrated too - he was frustrated. And now he was lost, without even his mother or his teacher to guide him. He was a failure, and he was alone.

It would've been kinder to let him execute me, thought Imite, mournfully, choking against the knot in his chest. He knew tears were running down his cheeks, but this time, he did nothing to try and hide them. Who would see, afterall?

Imite stared down at the water, down at his reflection. It was distorted by the waves, and even more distorted by the tears in his already impaired eyes.

The sea was peaceful. If he wanted his peace back, he'd have to go to it, wouldn't he?

The pull of gravity seemed even stronger, somehow. Imite stood up shakily and wrapped his four arms around himself, leaning over bit by bit. With every inch, the pull got stronger. He shut his eyes tightly and fought back the instinctual urge in his wing muscles to try take flight. Pretty soon, the swell of gravity pulled him right off the deck -

...but he never hit the water. The wind was almost knocked out of him as a strong set of arms grabbed him from behind and restrained him, pulled him back onto the deck. He coughed and struggled, kicking his legs, but he was no match for the much larger sect that was holding him fast.

"Please," he choked. He was still crying, "L-let me go. I have no home, no family, I'm a failure, it would be dishonorable for me to continue living-"

"I know suicide is a popular past time among you Lepidians, but it goes against my honor to let someone die when it's perfectly preventable." The speaker had a slight accent, and Imite could almost hear the grin in his voice, "And I'm bigger than you."

Imite sagged in the stranger's arms. He was at the larger sect's mercy. The moth hung his head, shaking it back and forth and trying to stop his sobbing. Why do I have to cry so much?

"Now," the stranger continued in a softer tone, "can I put you down, or will you try and jump in again?"

Imite didn't respond, but the stranger set him down gently anyway, though he kept a grip on the moth's shoulders. Imite felt himself being turned around, blinking in surprise when he realized the nature of the hands on his shoulders - they were very long, and wickedly clawed. Fear started to creep into his mind, though it was irrational. What's the worst the stranger could do, kill him?

Imite looked up at his savior. The stranger was dressed in a cloak that disguised his species - in the back of his mind, Imite wondered why he attracted such types as of late - and bright blue eyes shone from the shadows of the cowl, and despite the barbed talons, they looked kind. The cloak disguised the musculature and strength Imite had felt when the stranger detained him.

The stranger wasn't dressed in just any cloak, either - he wore the robes of a monk, the lined symbol of Koto set against a green and white circle. But despite the kind eyes and comforting attire, Imite was still intimidated.

Probably because this was the tallest sect he had ever seen.

The stranger easily stood a head and a half over him - even taller than any of the butterfly nobles he had seen, even taller than the Reaver himself. He glanced down at the sect's feet - he wasn't even wearing boots to raise his height. Imite swallowed and shied away from the stranger, forgetting that they were at the end of the dock. His foot stepped back on to air, and he yelped.

But the stranger's reflexes were lightning fast, and he had quickly pulled Imite back onto the deck. "Mind telling me why you're so intent on going for a swim?" he asked softly, trying to interject a little bit of humor.

"I..." Imite trailed off and mumbled. He was too tired to talk.

The stranger seemed to understand this, and started to lead Imite down the deck. No one bumped into the moth this time - most other sects gave the tall, cloaked figure a wide berth.

"Wh... what's your name?" Imite managed to ask, looking up.

"My name...Well, everyone calls me Vesper. Let's leave it at that. What about you?"

"I'm..." Imite thought for a moment, then realized he now had a last name, unlike most slaves. He could introduce himself properly, surname first. But the name Saturni was just too recognizable... "Just Imite."

"Fair enough."

The two made it to a seaside inn. Before Imite could make any objections, Vesper produced some coins and paid for a room. Imite was embarrassed, but he was too tired to worry much about it.

Once they made it to their room, Imite unbuckled his bag of books and gladly set it down, stretching his back and domen.

"We'll talk in the morning, alright?" Imite knew the stranger was smiling, even though he couldn't see it. He noticed his mysterious benefactor still hadn't removed his cloak.

The Lepidian nodded and sat down on the bed, pulling off his boots. He sank back onto the bed, and swiftly fell asleep.