A novelized moment in time adapted from the legends of Genre: Deviant Hearts. (And for those paying attention...this is the favor Squall asked from Sephiroth. Blame middle age for causing a silver-haired man to go a little mushy.)

Disclaimer: The original has its differences, names and all. This version was slightly modified to accommodate the switch in characters. Deviant Hearts is but a fictional invention from an old man's pointless rage. Thank you for taking the time to read this, and I hope you enjoy your stay.

"I thought angels had white wings…"

He could not help but smile at the childish naivety in that thoughtless comment. The child in his arms – so tiny for his age, with a head of unbelievably messy blond hair that spiked every way possible – remained unaware, as he continued to curiously run his fingers over the blood red feathers. He could feel the child's actions, each sensation stirring within him something he could not name.

"How can you be certain that I'm an angel, and not a demon?"

The boy's actions ceased and he pulled back enough to properly frown at the blank, patronizing face, and he felt the very disapproval radiating from the small form that continued to cling to him.

"Father Abbot told me," the child stated slowly, yet in a serious manner, "that no demon can set foot within the walls of the abbey. You're here, so you can't be a demon."

Such pure, unadulterated faith…it took all he had not to laugh over the bitter irony – better for the little one to not have his belief shattered too soon. Still did he smile while he nodded his understanding, and that seemed to satisfy the child, as those thin arms wrapped around his neck in a renewed hug. He continued to kneel there with the youngster close to him when at last the distant calls of men reached his ears through the constant drumming of the rapidly falling raindrops against the earth.

"…your name is Cloud…?"

There was a surprised sound, and the boy shifted again. "How did you-?"

"So it is." And to save the child further confusion, he explained, "I can hear someone calling for you."

"Cloud! Come on, kid, where are you?!"

At the familiar voice, the boy immediately turned and called back: "Here!"

Immediately, hurried footsteps drew closer. He prepared to move – meant to release the child at once – when the tight little fist squeezed a portion of his cloak, thwarting any attempt of escape.

"Brother Zack's nice; he takes care of me," the boy informed. "I want you to meet him. What's your name?"

He could only shake his head before giving a vague excuse: "You won't be able to pronounce it."

"But I have to call you something…" the boy trailed off, as he looked up at the handsome red wings that were shielding him from the elements. Suddenly, he smiled, and looked back at the face of his enigmatic protector.

"Can I call you Squall?" he asked innocently, pointing back up and beyond their shelter. "Like this one you found me in."

At first, he was silent, uncertain as to what had just happened. Seconds passed before he finally nodded his approval, causing the child to grin. Neither noticed the drenched monk halt his tracks just a distance away to gape openly at the sight beheld to him.

"Thanks for helping me, Squall."

"Just what in the name of Minerva are you doing here?"

Years ago, he had grown accustomed to the harsh tone that seemed to never fade from the young man's voice; already, any memory of the carefree child he first met was waning. Now, as he felt the heavy footfalls through the ground, he turned.

"Cloud."

"I asked you a question, prophet," the youth stated tersely. "What do you think you are doing on this field?"

…field? The thought never finished as a hand roughly seized him at the base of his left wing and hoisted him to his feet.

"Answer me, Squall."

And then he remembered – he was in the middle of the Forsaken Field, the very grounds that had hosted so many battles for sake the Valley's peace. The abbey had raised funds to purchase the land, declaring it off-limits to any construction in reverence to the lives that had been lost. It was a field soaked in blood, and no place for anyone but the monks blessed by Gaia. And as he remembered that, he recalled why he was there in the first place.

"There is darkness coming."

A scoff, and the man released him. "More of that doomsday drivel, now?"

For a moment, the seer missed the innocent little one who hung on to every word his elders uttered…no matter; that little one was gone, replaced only by the hardened, cynical monk before him. His own countenance void of expression, he turned again, this time in the direction of the abbey, and stepped toward it.

"Believe me or not, I would welcome your help when I finish convincing the elders. There is much needed to prepare…"

"Who dies this time?"

And the steps stopped falling, although the unearthly messenger showed no further indication of having heard the monk's question. Still, the young man turned on him so sharply, his hood fell back to reveal a head of blond that spiked with the same stubbornness of his childhood.

"Come on, o' mighty visionary, tell me – who has to fade before my eyes this time?"

"… No one worth your tears."

And with the quiet assurance uttered, the monk was alone in the field. Still, blue eyes narrowed in dark resentment at the spot the other had occupied only moments ago.

"Don't patronize me, you blind immortal bird…!"

"So you can't see me…?"

The one now dubbed "Squall" hummed in acknowledgment as he felt the child's curious fingers roam over his features. There had been the expected chaos following the discovery of a strange winged man with one of the abbey's little novices in his arms; it was a thankful relief that the young monk – Brother Zack – had swiftly intervened and repeatedly vouched for him. It helped further, perhaps, that Cloud refused to leave go until the brethren promised not to hurt his new friend. Now, warm and dry under the abbey's roof, the little one had managed to evade his caregivers and – upon finding the brunet settled near the fireplace – reattached himself to the man with no reservation.

"Were you always blind?"

Again humored by how straightforward the child was, Squall shook his head once before he further detailed his answer: "The one who sent me believes it best that I do not judge and interfere with what is destined to happen. It's harder to be influenced by physical things if I cannot see them."

The little boy frowned as he thought about that point, and then his head tilted to the side as he came to an understanding of his own.

"Angels get tempted too, huh?"

The winged man merely hummed again in reply, amused at how the little one still saw him as nothing less than a divine messenger, despite having already found two flaws to defy that logic. Still, he welcomed the warmth of contact; as the ever-curious child's small hands carefully ran along the arch of his wings again, he felt his pent-up apprehension ease away.

One of the doors creaked open, and a familiar presence entered the room.

"Well, there's our little trouble-maker. Aren't you supposed to be in bed by now?"

At the mildly chiding tone, Cloud sulked as he protested: "Father Abbot wouldn't tell me where Squall's gonna stay! I got worried!"

Brother Zack – surprisingly young himself, though still holding a few good years over the little novice – chuckled and leaned against one of the walls. "Well, then you can stop worrying – Squall's not going anywhere. Not this late at night, and especially not in this weather."

Turning to level a hard stare at the man who could not see it, Cloud probed hopefully. "Really?"

Squall nodded, and lifted a hand to gently pat the child's spiky head. "You'd better go before you get in anymore trouble."

"Okay… See you in the morning."

With a final hug, the child slipped off his lap and pattered away. The door creaked again before it fell shut with a tell-tale "click", and he was left alone in the company of the young monk.

"A regular handful, that one. I'm glad you found him when you did – his mother would have flown clean off her handle if anything happened to the little guy…err, no offense."

The brunet huffed and waved a hand dismissively. Still, the young Brother persisted in his spot for a long, awkward moment.

"…is there something you'd like to ask?" Squall finally queried with a weariness.

"Uh…"

"I can hear you fidgeting; it must be relatively important, offensive or otherwise."

Mercifully, the scuffing stopped. The youth closed the distance between them, and finally blurted out his question before his rational mind could try again to stop him.

"What are you?"

Even as Squall turned, he quickly rambled on: "I know you're not an angel, but you're not a demon either. I asked the Abbot, I asked all the Brothers, but no one could say anything for sure. They say there are monsters out there we don't know about, but-"

"I don't know either."

The dark-haired boy looked up, the words cut off as he took in the countenance of the tired man before him.

"I don't know what I am, either… I just know that I came here with a purpose."

"…can I ask what?"

"It's a message from the one who sent me, for your Abbot and elders."

There was a grunt of acknowledgment. Still, the youth did not leave. The brunet was about to pry further when the next request came.

"I… I know what it must sound like coming from me, but…can I…touch it?"

The man obliged as he had the younger lad, his wing arching in silent offering. After a long, quiet moment, he at last felt fingers tentatively touch the feathers, before stroking experimentally.

"…wow."

Squall could not help but smile at the simple word uttered in childlike wonder; no matter how mature he tried to present himself as, Brother Zack was still but a boy after all. Encouraged, the monk grinned back, his hand moving with more confidence now.

"So…what's it like to fly?"

"This is absurd! You can't expect us to even humor…!"

Zack – now official Abbot of Palladium Abbey – reminded himself for the eleventh time how uncouth and improper it would be for the community's Father to take hold of his well-meaning Brother's chair and hurl him across the room. Still, the arguments raged on, but the odds were not in question here. Just the message that had been brought to them.

Standing before them, the winged seer that had dwelled within the perimeters of their abbey for so many years seemed as much the stranger as ever. He kept his head bowed slightly as he waited out the tirade in an incredible display of patience. But – at last – he did lift his head as he repeated his warning with a grave solemnity:

"The tides of darkness will come upon the worlds – worlds beyond this world, that this generation could never fathom. It is a force that will destroy all things that have light…and leave nothing in its wake. And while this world will not be the first to fall…it will not be the last, either."

"And what do you propose we do, great one? Cover our heads as the sky falls…?"

Ignoring the biting tone of the elder, Squall continued to speak: "In the time of darkness' conquest, there will be those of other worlds, and they shall come here. They will come to the Valley in search of hope, of aid against the darkness and her messenger. If you wish for your children's future, you must prepare now while there is still time."

"Well then, if what you're saying is true…why not stop the darkness from even coming?"

"To stop it, as you imply, will only delay it," the seer replied, "and with that move will come a second try, stronger and more furious than the first – when that happens, we may lose any chance of defeating it. The only way is to allow these children from other worlds to do what we cannot, and help them end the darkness once and for all."

"And how long, soothsayer, will it be? Weeks? Months? Years? How long do we have?"

"I know not the day, but I know that it will not happen even as this generation – even as this abbey itself – fades away."

"So we'll all be dead and gone before you can prove it to us? Doesn't favor your case at all-"

"This is not an appeal; it is a warning, and it will be the last warning I can ever give to you. If you care anything at all for your home and your descendants, then listen to me."

There was a momentary silence, the elders surprised at the sudden aggression that had crept up in the seer's tone. And then all started talking at once, finding each and every way possible to voice their outrage against the messenger's sudden audacity. And through it all, Abbot Zack kept his peace, waiting for the right moment so as to not offend these brethren that were, too, his seniors. And then a few choice words were said, and he decided he had waited long enough.

"Quiet…" he started. When that failed to achieve its desired effect, he finally snapped, "WILL YOU ALL SHUT UP?!"

And this time, the silence stayed put. Realizing what he had just done, the dark-haired Abbot slowly sat back and cleared his throat nervously before speaking again. "… My apologies, Brothers, I fear I have lost my composure. Now, on to the business at hand… Squall."

The brunet tilted his head slightly in the man's direction, prompting him to continue.

"I've known you for a long time, now… Gaia knows, I'll never forget that day you flew to save my life."

"It was not your time; I merely ensured it kept that way," Squall answered simply.

"Still, I owe you for it. Many of my brethren do – all of us owe you for much, and all because you have done nothing but warn us of the truth…dark or otherwise."

Despite being his seniors, a few of the elders cringed under their appointed leader's reproachful glare. But the Abbot knew better – they were silent now, but these fine men he had grown up with would always hold their prejudice against what they did not wish to understand. One of the greatest fears for a monk, for any religious teacher, was to have all that he believed in – all that he based his practices and livelihood on – questioned, and the mere "unnatural" existence of a winged man in the abbey did just that.

But none of them had seen how a lonely little boy who missed his mother had first clung to the immortal figure that stormy day. None of them had touched those red wings, or felt the underlying power beneath those deceptively soft feathers. None of them would even comprehend the sheer joy of flight, even if just for a few brief moments that lasted less than ten consecutive heartbeats. And – he realized bitterly – neither would he, if things were different by just the slightest bit.

Sentiments aside, he was still the Abbot, and he still had to bring conclusion to all the useless talk.

"I just… I would like you to be honest with me, Squall. Are you absolutely certain that there is nothing we can do about the darkness itself?"

"Nothing."

"We can only provide some means of help, and just sit back and let things happen?"

"Yes."

"…but you're certain. You know that something we cannot yet comprehend must be done to give this world a future."

"Yes."

"Then you have my approval as Abbot. The Forsaken Field is yours to do as you wish."

Dismissing the immediate protests rising up again, he kept his focus on the seer before him. "If there's anything you need – manpower, tools, building material – I will see to it that you get them. Just be sure to give our kids some hope when that darkness comes along."

At first, Squall was unmoving, as though he had heard none of those words. And then he placed a fist to his chest and bowed slightly as he spoke:

"I thank you for your trust."

And then he was gone, leaving the young Abbot smiling at his choice despite the still arguing elders around him.

The people as well raised questions as to why - after so many years - there would be work done unto the field. Still, at the behest of the abbey, men were gathered to start construction by the seer's direction.

"Build as I instruct of you," he had stated simply. "And leave nothing to assumption."

According to the man's instruction, the plan was to build seven walls that would stand independently - not one to support the other. Five would flow in two long rows, and two would stand at an end each, forming an atypical oval. The location of construction, too, was precise - one wall would have its back to the setting sun, that upon partially blocking the light, its shadow would stretch through the space within the perimeter, ending sharply upon the wall at the other end. And on these walls, there would be paintings.

"...you want me to paint the seven deadly sins in full-length across these things?"

At the painter's incredulous query, Squall merely nodded before resuming his instruction: "Follow the pattern of arrangement you have seen on the abbey's tapestry, with Wrath beyond and Sloth before. All portraits have to face outward, save for Wrath - that alone must face inward, or the setting sun will damage it over time."

"For a blind prophet, your visions carry way too many details..."

"I trust in your ability, Kunsel."

Taken aback by the unexpected and brutally honest praise, the young man - not much older than Abbot Zack - scratched his head as he mumbled about the sleepless nights he would soon face. Outside the construction area, the Abbot himself watched the proceedings carefully, though trusting in the workers to display more tact and reservation than his peers. At last, he turned to where his young friend also stood in vigil.

"I thought you'd be jumping in to help by now."

At the comment, Brother Cloud deepened his frown as he made no move forward. "There is nothing to which my hands may contribute, Father Abbot."

"Don't 'Father Abbot' me, kid - we've known each other too many years for that to ever sit comfy," the dark-haired monk retorted jokingly. But still, he persisted: "And you know that's not what I mean."

"What then do you mean, Father?"

"I can support and encourage him all I want, but it's you he needs to hear those words from." The Abbot paused momentarily, hoping what he said would sink in before he continued. "After all, Squall watched you grow up. Hyne, he practically raised you; you're the closest mortal kin he has, and he needs to know you're still on his side."

"He's ageless, and we mere mortals have the lifespans of flies compared to him," the young monk cut back. "He has no need of any 'kin' that he'll just sit back and watch die. Excuse me, Father-"

But before the blond could make his escape, his elder effectively caught him by the shoulder in a grip - while not bruising - was firm enough to strictly demand his attention.

"Don't blame the poor man for what is not his fault, little Brother," he advised softly. "Minerva knows how he's falling apart from blaming himself as it is."

"He deserves it," the youth whispered harshly. "He left my village to burn...left my mother and all the villagers to fall. Then for further insult, he let the same killer go on to murder Aerith. He knew all that would happen, and he did nothing."

"As a visionary, he is unable to interfere with what is meant happen - you know that. Please, try and see things another way: if everything had not happened as it did, would we have been able to bring an end to Jenova's plague in time?"

And at last did the young monk forcefully jerk out of the Abbot's grip as his anger continued to be coaxed from him.

"That does not excuse anything - he's as much the murderer as that madman was; the blood of my family and neighbors...the blood of Aerith...they stain his hands just as much or even more."

"Cloud..." the broken voice commanded the young Brother's attention for just a moment longer. "I've made peace with Gaia for sacrificing the girl I loved to save this world, and though it still hurts, I know Aerith would have wanted it that way. She never doubted her calling, and now, no longer do I. You have to let go of this misdirected hatred as well."

"Your pardon, Father Abbot, but I have my duties."

"And will you keep hating him until he is gone?"

This time, Brother Cloud did not halt his steps as he hastened back to the abbey. Those last words had struck a chord, definitely, and left him in a confused swirl of emotion that threatened to pull him under.

Why worry about that? he admonished himself repeatedly. Immortals don't just disappear like mortals do. He's never left before, so why would he ever leave now?

Still, his moment of prayer - hours later - left him plagued with his inner demons that continued to whisper words of anger and fear at him.

"You knew all along, didn't you...?"

Red wings arced in reflection of the man's remorse at how crushed the boy's spirit was - all that the man could feel from the young one was sorrow, anger, disbelief; all negative emotions that screamed for some sort of release.

"Tell me."

"... I'm sorry."

And then there was a rush of air, and a moment of blunt impact before the seer found himself on the ground. For a moment, he noticed that the growing boy was stronger again, and probably taller as well, judging by how easily the fist had connected with his face. But all that fell away into a deadness as the boy he knew now cried out in agony.

"WHY?! Why did you let Mom die? Why did you let my home burn down? WHY DID AERITH HAVE TO DIE TOO?!"

"It was not my place to interfere," he replied in a hushed voice. "These tragedies...they were necessary."

"...necessary?" Cloud whimpered, before demanding in a louder and angrier voice: "WHAT IN MINERVA'S NAME VALIDATES KILLING SO MANY PEOPLE?!"

"... I don't know," Squall admitted morosely, bowing his head as he repeated, "I'm sorry."

For a long time, all the blind man could hear was the quiet sobbing of a the little one who had lost too much, too soon. Not even his innocence was spared. And he could do nothing but sit there and listen, knowing now that his comfort would be unwelcome.

"I won't forgive you," came the shaky declaration at last. "I loved them. I loved them so much, and you let them die. It's your fault they're gone now... I'll never forgive you."

One of the wings unfurled and reached out carefully in a silent question of concern. At once, a rough hand smacked it away.

"Don't touch me, you monster...!"

And both wings drooped, limp against the floor as the seer sat there in shock. Before he had any further change to regret his words, Cloud got to his feet and ran away, leaving the man he had befriended so many years ago sitting awkwardly against a wall. At last, the man was alone in the deathly silent hall. The red wings regained a little life, if only to wrap protectively around the man's body - still trembling slightly. Squall lifted his hand and placed it over his chest, just a little to the left as he noticed something in bitter irony.

"...you took my sight to prevent me from being swayed from my duty," he whispered, to one who had no physical manifestation, "...perhaps you should have taken my heart as well."

At last, with a long, shuddering breath, he curled up within himself as he struggled to pull himself together.

"...please," he begged, still in the same whisper to the same entity he spoke his words for. "Give me strength to see this through... Until the very end..."

At last, the work was done. All the walls - now dubbed the Seven Walls of the Sinner's End - stood tall and erect in their designated positions, the smell of the dried paint still strong and fresh in the air. And stashed away in the abbey, dictated word for word, was the scroll that was to be handed down to the off-world arrivals. Their services no longer required, the workers decided they had disturbed these sacred grounds too long for comfort, and could not leave fast enough. Now, only one remained in the Forsaken Field with those structures.

Squall ran a hand carefully over the rough bricks that composed the Wall of Sloth - the Fourth Wall, in accordance to her position. He knew this Wall, even without the wind to tell him the direction he faced; the clarity of his visions had been clear enough. After a moment more of lingering, he dropped to his knees and carefully searched along the length of the structure. Finally, a row of bricks or two above the Wall's base, he selected a spot in the hardened concrete, and pressed his fingers upon it. As he whispered familiar words of request, there was a warm tingling as magic surged into the structure, slowly spreading out and into the ground that held the Wall fast. When enough magic had been poured in for the necessary task, he took his hand away, and heard the expected groan. In the generations that would pass, this Wall would remain as sturdy as the others, but upon the day he had foreseen...

This was yet another sacrifice toward the bigger picture. And now, for the final task.

Rising once more, Squall walked around the Wall of Sloth, silently counting his steps. His feet landed firmly upon the exact spot that was destined for the future, and he knelt once more, this time adopting a proper stance for prayer. And there he remained, silent in his imploring for what was to come next. He was still kneeling there when footsteps heralded the arrival of a second.

"...you need not be here, Cloud," the seer stated quietly, not shifting from his position as he kept his sightless eyes closed in reverence. "I will not defile this place any more than I already have."

"No one would care to watch you, not with the Abbot at your back," came the bitter counter. But then the monk spoke again, in a tone that was void of aggression. "I just want some form of resolution to this mess."

"Very well."

"Throughout these...preparations, I've had no peace within me. Not even prayer and meditation is doing anything for it, so it must relate to you...to my existing problems with you."

"I don't think I understand what you're asking of me."

Brother Cloud frowned, wondering if the winged man was toying with him or being serious. When that face continued to remain a void of emotion, he settled on the latter.

"Tell me what's about to happen. Let me know what we're all going to spend our nights and our children's nights praying for."

"I've already told the elders all that they need to know."

"But there is more, isn't there? Otherwise, why would you be out here again? Alone... I remember every time something bad was going to happen, you'd isolate yourself in prayer. Like you isolate yourself now."

At last, a flicker of emotion passed over the seer's countenance. "...you remember...?"

"I could never forget."

The seer remained in his knelt position, as he spoke once more. "...do you earnestly seek the truth?"

"Try me."

"Then you have to wait; at the appointed hour, all shall be revealed."

And the young monk waited, his eyes never straying from the blood red wings he had played with as a child so long ago. He realized that he had forgotten what they felt like under his touch, but no longer succumbed to the urge to reach out and rekindle those memories. Harsh words had been said too many times, and he knew of nothing that would ever remove the wedge that had been driven between them.

At last, sightless eyes opened, and Squall tilted his head back.

"It's time."

Shifting into a position with one leg up, the brunet carefully scraped a small hole into the soil that he had been kneeling upon. Judging the hole deep enough, he pulled a sleeve back to expose his bare arm. The monk approached - trying to better see the proceedings - when a flash of silver caught his attention. Before he could even sum up any objection, the seer raised the dirk high before bringing it down to slash a deep wound across his wrist.

"Just what are you-?!"

"I've told your elders that this warning will be my last. This is the final step." Despite the calm in Squall's voice, the red wings sprouting from his back quivered as blood of matching color flowed freely into the darkened soil. "I give this body to the earth, and what's left will guard the children until they fulfill their destiny against the darkness. As of tomorrow, I will no longer walk with your generation."

Blood continued to fill the hole liberally, but it never overflowed. There, in the brown pit, a strange red glow came into view as powerful magic worked its way into the soil of the land. There was a hissed curse, and the monk grabbed the seer's arm, nearly releasing just as quickly at the sensation of cold that was beyond ice.

"You can't do this."

The hand did not move from its position, dutifully resuming its task of keeping level over the hole. "The sacrifice of blood and flesh is necessary, if we want to save this world, and the worlds beyond this world."

"Like I care if it is!" The blond monk snapped. A second later, blue eyes widened as the man realized he was suddenly able to see through the arm he was still squeezing. "... No...!"

"... Cloud..." the voice was still so impossibly calm, as though not noticing or caring about the current circumstances. "...there is one last thing I need to ask of you..."

"Don't say it."

"...for your home...your mother...your friends... For the girl Aerith... I'm sorry for not trying to help them..."

"Don't you dare apologize for what you did not do," Brother Cloud growled out - given better circumstances, he would have been surprised with his own words. "...it was not your fault. None of it was your damned fault. All you did was let a stupid kid treat you as the scapegoat."

"Cloud..." with his hoarse whisper, Squall bowed his head as he slowly disappeared altogether, "...forgive me."

And the monk stumbled as he suddenly found himself holding nothing but air.

"... Squall..."

Hands ran over the grass that now covered the spot which swallowed the seer's blood so easily. Then with an angry shout, fists pounded over it.

"You damned idiot," he growled. Strength left his body as he sagged against the ground, lowering his forehead to touch the grass as he mumbled, "you damned liar..."

Moisture trickled and flowed into the soil, this time clear and void of color; this time from a very different sort of wound.

"...you said no one worth my tears would die this time...you stupid liar..."

"You can't go!!"

The winged man turned to the source of the sound, and found that source easily as the terrified child latched onto his leg. "Little one..."

"Don't leave me alone..." the child whimpered, burying his face into the coarse material. A hand gently laid itself upon his blond spikes, and he clung tighter.

"You have your brethren, and you have your mother."

"I know..." Cloud admitted reluctantly, still not releasing the man. "It's just not the same..."

There was a silence, and then Squall gently shook the small shoulder. Once his leg was released, he knelt carefully before the child launched his small body into the man's larger chest in a fierce hug.

"...it just...it hurts when I think of not seeing you again."

Silently, the blind man pondered on how careless he had been to allow himself and the child to bond like this. It had only been a few weeks and some after he had first found him, and already the attachment was so strong; this proved a little inconvenient to his appointed tasks, and who knew how the abbey monks would take it.

"... I don't wanna lose you..."

The soft confession crumbled what feeble resolve he still had, and he at last returned the embrace.

"You won't lose me, Cloud," he reassured gently. "I'm not going anywhere. Not anymore."

The boy brightened as his vice-like grip loosened slightly. "...you can stay?"

"For as long as I am able."

At last pacified, the child sighed and nestled into the warm arms as the brunet slowly rose and carried him back into the abbey. As blond hair tickled against bare skin, any further thoughts on the impending future slowly drifted away.

He had not felt so tired in a long time. Although his vision had implied something about him meeting the off-world warriors face to face, nothing had forewarned him about his new role as a summon for them. Death or otherwise, it appeared his fate as a lowly servant would never expire.

"I am here," the by-now familiar voice echoed in his conscious, "Spirit of this place, by the vow that binds us, I humbly request your intervention... Versus."

Red wings wrapped around his body as he felt himself pulled from one dimension into another. As the insistent rush of pressure halted, and he once more exposed himself to the world that was so different from generations past, he felt a tiny pang of irritation at the opponent he found himself faced with. The tiny Near-Imp squeaked shrilly as a long dark blade sliced it neatly down its center, the two halves turning black and vanishing but a few seconds later.

"...um...Versus? Before you go back to sleep..."

The winged form did not hide his disapproval at being detained, but still resisted the light tug that intended to draw him back into the formless void. :I do not "sleep", child, but merely recuperate; I have slept long enough in the thousand years of waiting.:

"Sorry, but..."

Softening his stance, he turned to take in the form of the girl before him - destiny apparently had a twisted sense of humor; while he was given back his sight, he had been robbed of his freedom and eternal rest. Putting those lingering thoughts of disgruntlement aside, he lowered himself to the ground and knelt to meet the one who summoned him eye to eye. She was a young adolescent, and there were subtle features that hinted at her body's transitioning from girl to lady. He remembered a time past when another showed those changes while growing up before his eyes, and it helped him regain the patience he needed.

:What do you ask of me, young one?:

Regaining her confidence, the girl produced a silver talisman, holding it out in silent offering. At the summoned warrior's puzzled glance, she hastened to explain: "One of the Valley residents asked me to give this to you."

:...in private, I presume?: he added gently, his expression slowly accustoming itself once more to better interact with the young lady. The girl nodded quickly, still a little apprehensive despite his attempts to appear less intimidating.

"She said it would mean a lot to you."

At last, his hand came up, and she dropped the talisman upon his open palm. Closing his fingers over the large, silver coin, he held it up and turned it over. To his surprise, he found an inscription.

Odi et amo. Non fit injuria.

"She asked me to say...well...she said she got that from her father; it's been passed down from parent to child since her ancestor first crafted it before Palladium Abbey was destroyed. She also asked me to tell you...that even though the story's changed a little, it ends the same way - that the man who made that coin really missed you, even until he passed on... Versus?"

He no longer heard her words, as emotion and pain he thought he was no longer capable of feeling assaulted him with a vengeance. He stared down at the silver talisman and the words that it bore, and - faint as it was - he could feel the essence of its maker. The maker he had held as a tiny child...had raised into young adulthood...had betrayed by ill fortune through his duty...had left behind before receiving an answer for his final plea of forgiveness...

And here, etched into soft silver, was the answer he never got to hear until now.

...thank you, Cloud.

"... Versus, are you okay?"

Remembering where he was, he looked back at the concerned expression of the girl. His smile was warmer now, and he reached up to pat her head. Hearing her startled gasp of surprise, he nearly laughed; it had been so long, but it felt warm...how he had missed this warmth.

:The one who sent you: he started, earning her attention at once. :If it's possible, I would like to meet her.:

"... I don't know if I can convince her to help me hunt down another Near-Imp, I think..."

At last, as he finally relented to the pull and retreated back to the void, he did laugh. The last thing he heard from that world...was the child laughing with him.

He had not felt this happy in a long time.

For further commentary and other snippets of Deviant Hearts from the writer, please drop by the dA account of ZeffNCompany (link provided in profile).