There were several more run-ins with soldiers as they ascended the depths of the dungeon. At each, Angeles would keep hold of Kirin’s hand, but tug him behind while he held out the sword in his other. And every time, he would also tell the men to kneel and live, or fight and die. It was never a fair fight. But, with each body that fell on the ground, staining their path to salvation crimson, it felt easier to bear. It seemed an eternity before they reached the door to depart - and yet, at the same time, it was unbelievably swift. To think that the path down to his cell was not so far from the surface, and yet they were worlds away.

     The door was not locked. It was large, and oddly familiar - the pristine gears that moved the joints, the stainless steel combined with tarnished gold decor, the grand nature of its size and practicality of its design. It was a ware that his own family had crafted, his elder brother specifically. And, bitterly, he even recalled when it had been commission, though at the time he had not honestly contemplated what it would be used for.

     The sight of it made Angeles pause, and Kirin suspected it was for a very different reason. This door had no handles, and though he recognized the gears as in the unlocked position, he wondered what the sight would look like to his companion. Then, more curiously, he considered how long the crimson haired creature had been in that dungeon, covered up and hidden. How had he lived? The longest sleep the young noble had ever heard of was a few centuries - though some said that the older the vampire, the longer they could rest without waking for fresh blood. Kirin was reasonably sure that was a myth.

     Before Angeles could decide to break the door down, as the smaller male concluded this would likely be the next course of action for a man that very obviously felt brutal force could solve most problems - and had successfully demonstrated this technique - Kirin shifted to the side, to locate a familiar lever, and pulled. The grinding of the gears filled the air, the sound harsh compared to the peaceful silence that had been in his mind for what seemed eons, but sedate when he considered the slice of limbs, the surprised cries of voices that would never sound again.

     His hand clenched again, and Angeles took a step back. His expression looked vaguely surprised, and when he turned his attention to Kirin, his lips twisted into a smile that made the younger immortal’s heart start pounding. It lacked the usual sardonic nature of this creature’s amusement, and seemed to say more clearly than words that the tall brute was pleased. And then the doors parted, and light bathed the pair of prisoners.

     It was blinding.

     Closing his eyes against the sun, he flinched as his skin seared beneath a light it was unaccustomed to. But at the same time, he relished it - the warmth, the burst of air that was not stagnant, that held within it the aromas that he had always taken for granted - earth, grass, flowers, humans - and this time, it was heavy with Angeles, who stood so close at hand, stirring within the malnourished noble a euphoria that had him dizzy as his companion strode out to face the day. Breathless, Kirin followed, his mind having difficulty catching up to reality. No guards were waiting here, which he found to be moderately odd in a passing thought. His companion walked with a purpose through a courtyard Kirin recognized as being part of the rear compound of the palace. It was deserted.

     They entered the palace. His brain finally seemed to grasp the new conditions of his world, and a sudden fear shot through him. “We can leave through that courtyard - I know the path around the palace,” his voice was  higher than it should have been, and that displeased the composed noble. At least it seemed no one else was around to witness that, a fact that only alarmed him further.

     “Why would we leave?” Though not brutal, the chill in that tone was oddly threatening, leaving the noble disinclined to argue even as a new sort of panic swelled within him. It was one thing to escape, to run away home where he could be safe and secure. It was another to continue conflict. There was another, sickening notion that occurred to him, that the monster he had released might really have no other desire than to kill the whole of the immortal race - was that why he had been locked away? But, then again, he did not seem lost in blood lust. And wouldn’t he have killed Kirin by now, if that were the case? His usefulness must have been exceeded.

     None of these mental contemplations were enough to reassure the young immortal that the feeling of dread twisting in his gut was just his usual paranoia.

     The strides that he followed behind were so sure, so deliberate. It was hard to keep pace, Kirin realized, his own legs shorter, causing him to nearly jog behind the brisk nature of his companion’s strut. He could pull away, he considered, make a run for it himself. Angeles may not even try to stop him. Something sickening mixed with his brewing dread, a feeling he did not recognize, and so he just held on tighter and picked up pace, glancing upwards at his fellow man. Golden eyes were set forward, and the subtle glow they had maintained in their underground chamber seemed to be a low smolder now, unable to compete with the electrical lighting that illuminated the ornate halls of the palace. His expression was impassive, though the blood that was smeared and speckled upon his creamy skin gave the look a sinister quality. Fleetingly, Kirin wondered how anyone had stood in his way to start with - the noble would never have been that foolish. He had never seen an individual who felt so frightening.

     The panic was building, so he grasped at something else to occupy his overactive thoughts. They were turning, moving through the halls of the palace. The back side was primarily guest quarters and rooms for entertainment, large lounges oft used by the visiting nobles. The marble floor was decorated in the colors of spring, and vaguely he recalled seeing the blooms of that season in the garden. It had been fall when he was imprisoned - could it have only been six months? It felt like forever. Again, he was puzzled at the emptiness of the place, but then as they turned towards the west wing, everything made sense.

     A regimen of guards stood before the large door that guarded the throne room. A more decorative version of the style used for the dungeon, this was also a gear powered creation of his family, though inlaid with such a stunning amount of gold and ivory, one would hardly believe it was practical. The metal beneath, however, Kirin knew was a much stronger steel alloy that would be difficult for even those of his ilk to penetrate. And he also recognized it as being locked just now. The palace was under threat - he assumed that what remained of the nobles present must be beyond that chamber, or perhaps they had evacuated. Without knowing the cause of it, he couldn’t determine which it was.

     The guards all drew weapons, and for the first time since leaving the dungeon, Angeles released Kirin’s hand. Taking it a step further, as he pulled his slender digits free of what must have become a death grip, he gave a firm push to the slighter man’s shoulder, sending him staggered back around the corner they had just took.

     Just in time to miss the first volley of bullets.