Sitting still, his thoughts spoke only to the wind blowing between his ears. The night was watching the world silently, as it always seemed to, but Sakeya felt different than usual.Kneeling before the lake again, he thought of his mood, and of the anger he had hidden in him.

He thought he knew himself, but that night, he was blatantly confronted with his lack of self-control. I should have never trusted him with my fate- these humans, their eyes can only see their own reflections.

He thought, too, of he and Douglas staring over this very lake, and how they shared moments as comrades, not as enemies. Is that what he was seeing on these waters? Himself? Can these humans not find the sunrise in the very morning?

Betrayed. That was how he felt. Betrayed- by his gods, his people, and in the end, his own discipline. But most of all, he felt betrayed by the man who he thought had brought him life. He remembered clearly how Douglas had only knocked him out, how he had hit him with the blunt edge of his blade. He seemed, then, to be different. He thought he even saw sadness in his eyes as he ran to slash him. He could see pain in them. But all that was apparently forgotten in him.

When he awoke, he found himself aboard a large vessel. He lay stashed amongst the armaments and vestiges of his people in a cargo hold below deck. Douglas met him down there and apologized for striking him. He said that he had saved him, since the village would surely fall, and that they were on way to his country. What luck, Sakeya thought, as he prayed to his gods.

It was clever of him, he realized, to hide him in the cargo hold. Since it was a place not usually accessed by the soldiers, he was able to sneak into the refrigerated crates and barrels filled with Fafnirn fruits and meats, enjoying the comforts of home onboard the enemy ship.

He remembered he thought the general was different from the others, but this, it seems, was not so. He was the same as all the other soldiers. All he wanted was his cut of the pie- he didn't care about Sakeya's people. He was there to get something and would enjoy himself while doing so. No doubt, along with the fame he already held under his belt, he would be receiving special benefits for being so ruthless in combat, if the stories he heard were true.

Sixty-four men in two minutes. That was the record Sakeya had heard Douglas established. Although he had never seen him fight, he could imagine it being possible. It was really just a matter of how fast he could move his arms, and how many people were gathered in one area.

He didn't know why exactly, but the people in his village did not truly defend themselves against the enemy. Did they, like Sakeya, believe their gods would save them? Did they truly trust so blindly in their fates? He could not understand, as the scouts reported soldiers drawing closer each day, how his people could do the same daily rituals in apparent ignorance of their impending death. He had even been asked to work the fields, as if they would ever taste the bounty of their yields. No one seemed to realize what was happening.