"Let go of me!"

Strained as it was, Hyouga's voice rose into a tortured snarl all the more furious on account of the silence -- dead silence, oh irony -- of Seiya and the others. Silence, and nothing else, before the lot of them had scattered when the Aries Saint appeared out of nowhere.

They should have agreed. They should have.

Mu had ignored their awkward shifting and embarrassed stares as implacably as he did the squirming Cygnus Saint, trapped now in his unseen grasp. Without so much as a second glance he pivoted on one heel, and one horn of his shoulder-yoke nearly grazed Hyouga's face as the Saint of the Crystal Ram began to walk away with slow and measured steps.

The same unseen force that kept him pinned was now dragging Hyouga behind Mu, away from the arching bridgeways, battered and scarred, that sliced the sky towards the House of Aquarius -- and he was having none of it.

"I said let go of me!"

Spitting with rage, eyes burning bright, he clenched his hands together --

"I will contain you, Cygnus, since your friends failed to manage it. Make no mistake. You are embarrassing yourself, your fellows and our Lady."

"He's my teacher! Master Camus --"

The pull became insistent, edged with unseen crystal.

"I know."

Mu did not turn. One step followed another, chiming like bells along the polished stone.

"I know, Hyouga. So does she."

The measured voice faltered for a moment, recovered.

"You were there to see his death; he gave his life for you.

"Give her this much, and show some of your master's grace."

-*-

Of course that frozen ocean would still be there. It was too much to hope otherwise; what was Aquarius but the Water Bearer, cold and dark of secrets?

You could have told me, Camus.

I'd have listened, you know.

Milo stalked along the upper promenade of the House of Aquarius, and scarlet sparks flew where her hand struck the curving metal lacework of the railings. Of course the ocean was there; it was there when he came to the House to begin with. Icy and eternal ... unlike those who came to inhabit it.

She was not about to let that bar her way.

Below, the water's surface stirred faintly, driven by the endless currents from the massive Ewer she could just barely glimpse through the abyss. That shadowed sea in miniature, studded with frozen shards sharp as razors, hid him from her sight ... but not her soul. The frozen ocean reflected dimly back her own reflection, barely visible from such a height -- hair like bloody flames, the wan paleness of her tunic and rust of her leathers -- but not the anguish in her eyes.

For a moment Milo tightened her grip on the rail, ready to leap, before reason took over. The cold could kill, would kill her, if she allowed it by being rash, and her death would be worthless.

She leapt, and in a burst of copper and blood Scorpio answered her call.

-*-

She hit the water arrow-straight, plunging past near-riptide currents and endless swirls of bubbling ice in her quest to find him, pushing blindly away the throughts that tried to intrude as she noticed the softness, the rounded shapelessness of the frozen crystals despite their unseen blades.

Camus' touch was fading from Aquarius' inner sea, and she did not want to think about that loss as well.

Where are you ...

Plunged into the deep, Milo twisted and kicked, sculling the water. Gold Saint she was, but even she would only have so much time before needing to surface; and every dive beyond the first would sap her further, Scorpio or no. There was no time to waste.

... By the Lady, it was dark. No longer did a soft green-blue light, secretive and furtive, light the depths, and Milo would have seen nothing at all save for the Ewer's own wan glow. But it was enough -- she would make it be enough. She would make it so with her own heart's fire.

The frozen ocean blazed with golden garnet, the burst of aura flare a challenge to the icy abyss; and then Milo caught the glimmer of answering gold. Not a touch of cosmo, no, but the cold inertness of an unpartnered Cloth -- but it was enough. Where Aquarius rested, then ...

Then she would find him.

Milo opened her inner sight and swam.

-*-

Instincts and the glint of gold did not fail her. Nor did her fists, brought to bear against the frozen currents -- swirling like great barred gates, welded to the pearly mosaic of the floor -- that barred her way. And though her lungs burned warningly now, Scorpio spotted with coins of frosted scars, she found him waiting.

Camus looked as if he slept. From the scars his battle with his student left behind Milo could see that he'd collapsed in his tracks (how, how did the ones with his quirk of cosmo treat the depths like dry land?), but the currents had shifted him once Aquarius had surrendered its grip. Now he lay half on one side, arms folded beneath as if he'd used them as a pillow, the sea-green of his long hair waving slightly. Against the sea's darkness, his clothing was nearly invisible.

Aquarius' golden plate lay within reach. Milo didn't care -- let it rot. She lunged for Camus, eyes burning from more than a need for air; scooped his unresisting form into her arms, and kicked upwards in a shower of scarlet fire against the mottled pearl beneath her feet.

Time soon enough for everything else. After she reached the balustrade and escaped death's frozen grip.

The waters surged around her as she fought for the surface, precious burden cradled in her arms.

-*-

Damn you, Camus. Damn you ...

Gasping, chest heaving, Milo gulped down the frigid air of the House of Aquarius. Scorpio she banished the moment she gained purchase on the House's upper level -- she wanted, needed to know, to touch, to feel -- and she was paying for it with winter's bite against her hide, but she did not care.

How could she care, when Camus, forever silent, forever lost, lay before her, head cradled in her lap, as if he could wake and chide her at any moment? Even despite the clinging wetness -- dark sea-colours of his tunic nearly black to match the sodden leathers, hair limp coils that wrapped around her legs, braided clasp chill against her ribs -- he seemed anything but gone.

Except for the cold. That cold emptiness that betrayed the truth, that this was simply a shell, a corpse. Camus was lost, slaughtered by his own hand as surely as by his student's.

But why. Why.

To test the boy? Of what? His strength? His loyalty?

Was that it, Camus? To test his will, to drive him until you divined which was the stronger, his loyalty to his master or his faith in the one he'd pledged to?

What would you have done if he'd failed?

The words were bitter as the salt stinging her too-cold cheeks. She stroked his face with the hand not supporting him, tracing the sharp cheekbones, the smooth jawline, brushing wet tendrils of hair away.

Did you have that strength? Would you have killed him, Camus?

You loved him. I know you did.

You loved me.

If you knew -- if you knew, why did you need to keep this, keep Athena, away from me? Away from all of us? Were you measuring us as well?

Damn you and your secrets and your tests!

Anger flared like red-golden fire, burned away the cold, brought a false life to the pallor of Camus' features ...

... thawed the frozen dust clinging to his dark lashes to teardrops, now finally free to flow down the still, sharp face.

That was enough.

Milo clutched Camus close, buried her face against one cold cheek, and howled.

-*-

When she emerged -- slowly, painfully, Camus cradled in her arms -- from the House of Aquarius, Shaka was waiting on the promenade archway. This was strange enough as it was; but the Virgo Saint was also unarmoured, the pale flame-rust of his hair drifting into his face a stark contrast to the pale white of his flowing tunic.

Milo did not break her pace, and as Shaka fell into step alongside her she wondered just what those unseen eyes of his were seeing ...

"Milo ...

"If you must blame someone, Milo, blame myself. I could have spoken. I chose to respect his choice, and that is a failing I must bear."

For a heartbeat she wanted to lash out -- verbally, physically, it hardly mattered -- swift as death, stinging, venomous. But ... it would do nothing. It would not change what happened.

It would not bring Camus back to her.

"Assuming you knew that he knew, and you're not just saying that to distract me, and I'm leaning towards that one ... you were at the crux of all of it, weren't you. If you reached out at all, and the Gemini Saint noticed -- you were there when he 'died' -- then it'd all be over.

"I can't blame you for hedging bets for the future.

"... I really shouldn't blame him either. I just ..."

A soft pale-golden breeze of power drifted by her, Shaka's nearly invisible touch of reassurance.

"You are in pain, and rightfully so.

"But -- he needs to rest, Milo ..."

She snorted, the ghost of a smile flickering to life for just a moment.

"I know. I know. Just -- not in there. Not in that abyss. I had to find him, that's just all there was to it. I'm not going to try to keep him, Shaka."

Scanning across Sanctuary's battered skyways, she oriented herself towards its central naos. There; that was where she -- where they -- needed to go. The others should be there already -- even that bastard Saga ...

Milo picked up her pace, the skyway speeding beneath her -- then stopped abruptly, looking back towards her nonplussed companion.

"... I need to ask a favour, Shaka."

Shaka stood there, head tilted, clearly waiting. Or expecting her request, whichever. He was odd that way. Milo ignored it this time.

"Tell the b- tell Hyouga to meet me at the naos."

"Of course, Milo. My thoughts go with you both on this journey; tell him farewell for me ..."

Shaka's little smile told her all she needed to know -- and, strangely, she felt the pain begin to ease.

Just a little; just a whisper of a snowflake against the skin.