Although this fic is set in the same story line continuum as Scepter, this is not a direct sequel, and you could technically read this one first if you wish. This is set several months before the last chapter of Scepter. I am not someone that usually puts song lyrics inside of a fic, but this story sprung nearly full-formed out of these lyrics. This first chapter is a little short, just something to introduce you to the characters, then we will follow a pattern of flashback/present time until we know what's going on.

The song is called Love, Love, Love, by Of Monsters and Men.

Well maybe I'm a crook, for stealing your heart away

Or maybe I'm a crook for not caring for it.

Maybe I'm a bad, bad, bad, bad person, well baby I know.

And these fingertips will never run through your skin

And those bright blue eyes can only meet mine

Across a room filled with people that are less important than you.

Cause you love, love, love, when you know I can't love you.

So I think it's best we both forget before we dwell on it

the way you held me so tight all through the night

till it was near morning.

Cause you love, love, love, when you know I can't love you...

"Say, what's that mark on your face?"

Kalibose unconsciously flattened his damp hair down with his palm, even though thanks to the glamour, the sigil on his forehead would be barely visible to any but the most adept at magic. It always felt like a beacon to him, blaring out a sign to anyone passing by. I am tainted. I am quarantined. I am exiled.

"A scar," he mumbled. The night elf sitting across from him prodded the fire with the tip of a stick, sending several sparks into the air. Her silver hair, an iridescent version of the shade shared by most of his family, hung around her face in lank strands. Her face was youthful, perhaps even more than his own. His eyes had always been so very quick, intensely observant, and the details of her appearance flitted through his mind without a conscious effort. Luminous eyes in a shade of silver, and between them a nose that was broader and more snubbed than was usual for their kind. Simple leather garb adorned her slim form, but she lacked the subtlety and the more obvious brutality of a rogue. Her hands and feet were mostly bare, with only strips of cloth to keep them protected from the elements. She must not be far from home, for her belongings only consisted of a plain wooden staff and the thin cloak. She had immediately taken the sopping wet article off and spread it out beside the brush pile he had been making into a proper fire before she had burst into his found shelter with no warning. He had stared at her open-mouthed, knocked completely speechless as she gave him a friendly glance and then knelt beside him to help him start the fire. Whatever she saw must have given her reason to trust him, because she chatted to him as she stacked twigs in the center of his would-be fire, as if they had met in a tavern, and the torrential downpour that had forced both of them into this tiny cave was nothing more than the roar of the nightly crowd gathered around their ale. When she had asked for a flint, he recovered enough to indignantly snap his fingers and set the spark he created to the brush. She had smiled at him, very prettily, as if he were the most clever being in the world, and all he could do was squint his eyes at her and say nothing at all.

"Did you get it from training?" she asked, gesturing with the blackened stick. It slipped from her fingers at the movement, and she tried to catch it, jerking her hand back from the flames and laughing. Kalibose watched incredulously as she inspected her hand for burns, still with that care-free smile on her face.

"No. Yes. Hold on." Kalibose broke his eyes away from her and rubbed one hand across his face. He had to get it together. Even the lie that came so easily to his lips he often forgot it wasn't the truth, slipped in the presence of this strange creature. He shifted beside the fire, leaning forward and giving her a discerning eye. "Who are you?"

She stopped waving her hand around and looked momentarily contrite. "I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Mae Songwhisper." He was ready for her bright smile this time, and pretended it wasn't at him. He shook his head.

"No, I mean do you know me? Because you have treated me this whole time like an old friend, and if that is your normal behavior, then you will not last long out here." He realized after he said it how rude he sounded, and he spread his arms wide to indicate himself. "I am a dangerous person. I could have attacked you as soon as I saw you. I probably should have," he muttered half to himself.

He watched her face fall through a series of complex emotions, bumping the bottom against shame, then drifting back up into the realm of guarded neutrality. When her luminescent eyes met his again, they were closed off to him. He found it easier to breathe without her overt geniality, and he hated himself a little for it. There were certain emotions he was used to dealing with: disappointment, aversion, outright hatred, or just plain indifference to his presence. Those were safe emotions, normal ones really; those were emotions that could be be ignored, or responded to with his own brand of elevated disdain for most of the rest of the world. Pleasant emotions, acceptance, generosity, friendliness: those all required effort, an expectation to respond in kind. It was a never-ending backlog of debt, and the one thing he wanted to remain free of was owing anyone anything. The fire sparked again, and he turned his attention fully to it so he did not have to see what was on her face anymore.

"You looked okay to me." Her voice had turned quietly sulky. He used the tip of the stick to shift the wood in the fire until it settled into a neat, tight flame. Fire was something he understood very well. It was a living creature that only knew one thing: hunger. It consumed and consumed until it burnt itself out. It would gleefully destroy everything in its path, which is why it had to be carefully tended. A fire was fierce and powerful, but only as far as the master who controlled it. Although he did not have the manipulative talents of the more flamboyant members of the magi, he did like to keep his fire tamed and precise.

"You are very good at that."

He cast his eyes across the fire. Mae was sitting quietly, her arms wrapped around her legs and her chin on her knees. She was watching him shape the flame with rapt attention. In spite of his previous words, and everything inside of him that pulled him away from human contact, he couldn't help but show off a bit, spinning the flame into a tight ribbon before releasing it back into the neat upside down tear drop that was its base shape. She clapped in delight, and once again Kalibose was struck by how young her face looked. His scowl deepened. He had assumed that it was because of her naivete, but maybe she really was a lot younger than he was.

"What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere? There's nothing in this swamp for...non-magic users."

Here he floundered a bit, and waved a hand dismissively at her simple leather attire. As far as he was concerned, there were only two kinds of people in the world: ones that studied the arcane, like he did, and everyone else, and she was definitely of the latter. She glanced down at her clothes, confusion wrinkling her brow momentarily before she responded.

"Oh! I'm training to be a monk. You might not have heard of them before, it is a new skill that has been brought over from Pandaria." She got to her feet and Kalibose watched with blatant disinterest as she brought her hands together in front of her in a praying motion, and carefully balanced on one foot. He supposed that she was trying to look skillful, but to him she just looked awkward. Her voice was smooth with concentration as she took a step back, leaning her weight on her back foot and bringing her hands up in a fighting stance.

"Monks are a master of balance, taking no more and no less than what they need from the world. They are expert warriors, preferring to use only their hands and feet or a simple staff as weapons. We take a vow of poverty once we start on our path, and exist only off of what we can forage ourselves or the kindness of strangers."

She ended her speech with a solemn bow, and Kalibose's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. As she raised back up, she seemed to realize his outright derision, and for a moment the serene look on her face faltered. She pulled herself up straighter, and to his amusement lifted her chin and crossed her arms over her chest. His mouth twisted in a sardonic smirk. Little monk girl had a stubborn streak.

"The way of the monk might not be that exciting to a mage like you, but it is a noble calling."

She took that moment to scrub both of her hands through her still-wet hair and try to dry it in the fire. Water droplets fell hissing into the flames and he rolled his eyes as he prodded the campfire with his stick to form it back into an orderly shape.

"Okay, whatever. Look, I really don't have time to babysit right now, I'm trying to liberate a dangerous magical artifact from the ogre camp in the ruins to the south of here. So you can just-"

"I can help!" There it was again, that bright smile, and it caught him in a moment of distraction, and he found he had nothing to say at all. She leaned forward from trying to tame her still-damp hair and he leaned back the same amount. She seemed to sense his reluctance, and she paused, her smile drooping.

"Look, I know I don't have a lot of experience, and you probably don't really need my help, seeing as you are such a powerful mage, but it would really benefit me to help you."

She settled back and locked her hands around her knees again. She ducked her eyes to the side as she spoke. "I'm not really a full-fledged monk yet." Kalibose did everything in his power to bite back a sarcastic remark. "I'm supposed to be on a journey of self-discovery, for my final trial, and I can't find anyone that will let me help them. No one will take me seriously."

Kalibose turned his head so he couldn't see the tears brimming in her eyes, couldn't see her bite her lip in disappointment. He spoke to the fire instead. "I'm sorry, but where I'm headed is going to be dangerous enough to myself. I can't bring some...apprentice along for the ride. We'll both get killed."

"Oh please take me with you." To his horror she got up and knelt in front of him, got in his personal space, and he nearly blinked outside the cave to escape the intoxicating nearness of her. She tried to grab his hand, but he pulled away just in time and leaned back from her as far as he could. She didn't seem to mind how much he was averse to her presence. "I won't get in the way. I will follow whatever you tell me to do. And I can fight, I have been in training for years, I'm not just some girl that picked up a stick and started to hit things. This is my final trial, and I can't pass it until I help someone else achieve their quest."

Her eyes were silver starlight and he couldn't even think. "Fine, alright, you can come, but for fuck's sake just back off a little."

She ignored his request and threw her arms around him in excitement. By Elune she even smelled good. Holding his breath, he carefully peeled her arms off of him and ignored her multiple thank yous peppered with apologies for her enthusiasm. He retreated to the far end of the cave, where the air was damp and smelled of earth and an undercurrent of rot, not fresh clean air and lavender blossoms and something else that he couldn't place, but he wanted to bottle it and infuse a pillow with it and sleep forever.

And then because he was already thoroughly disgusted with himself and more than a little embarrassed, he grumpily called across the enclosed space before rolling up in his cloak to sleep.

"We leave at dawn, and if you're not up, I'm leaving you."