Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy Tactics or any of its characters; they are all the property of Square-Enix. I write this fic for your enjoyment only (and mine too) I hope you like it! This is the sequel to my Alma/Izlude fic 'When Love Awaits' and I strongly recommend reading that one first if you have not yet, otherwise, you may find the plot confusing. This story will cover Izlude's journey to find Alma after the Lion War when she and her brother are presumed dead by the rest of Ivalice. On a note, I wish to thank my co-writer and editor, Falchion1984, who helped me get this sequel going; I've been wanting to write it for so long but have been plagued with a bad case of writer's block. I hope our readers will continue to inspire us with your feedback. Now on with the show! ;)

Finding My Way Back to You

Chapter 1: The Return

Please promise me one last thing before I go…

Anything…

Don't ever forget me…

I could never…good-bye, my love…

These were the last words Izlude Tingel heard before his world became silent, a deathly hush falling over him just as surely as the darkness once the demon Hashmalum had destroyed his vision only moments before.

Moments, during which, the life he had known had been upended...and then cut short.

Just as his last words left his mouth, what little sensation remaining to him was stolen away as a heavy coldness settled over his entire body, causing his slumped form to go slack and his ravaged eyes to close for the last time.

Moments later - or perhaps decades, he couldn't tell which - the chill seemed to thaw by the barest degree. Stranger still, the bloodied sockets that had once been his eyes somehow saw light intruding upon the gloom.

The young knight blade soon found himself, to his amazement, upright and whole...but, not quite. As he stared at his hands, he could see partway through gauntlet, flesh, and bone to the bloodied stones of Riovanes Castle.

With trepidation, he turned and saw his mortal body, lying slumped and lifeless amidst a small sea of sticky crimson.

He was dead, then. Though this revelation was no surprise, it coaxed a credible imitation of a sigh from his ethereal lips. Though his heart no longer pumped blood through his veins, he could swear that he felt it sink at the prospect of what must come next.

All his life, he'd been a God fearing man. And, having seen a Lucavi demon rise out of scripture to kill him, and the knowledge that his ignorance had given rise to this evil, he shuddered to think what the final judgment had in store for him.

He had much to answer for.

He had seen the change which had overtaken his father after his mother's passing, but turned a blind eye when he should have seen that Vormav had been corrupted.

He had sacked Orbonne Monastery at the behest of the Lucavi demon who'd worn his father's skin, slaying Father Simon and many other priests who'd done no wrong.

He had taken Alma Beoulve against her will, unwittingly spiriting her into the death trap Riovanes Castle had now become.

He had taken up arms against Alma's brother, Ramza, and was deaf to his warnings that the Church of Glabados was tainted by evil.

He had fallen in love with Alma, and she with him, but he had denied her a proper marriage bed by succumbing to his desire for her.

He had signed the death warrant of Sir Justin, and possibly Malak and Alma as well, by not taking them from the castle before his father's fateful summons.

He had much to answer for.

As if in answer to his unspoken realization, the back wall of the austere chamber suddenly crinkled back upon itself, revealing a coiling tendril of smoky mist, spiraling downward like a stairway down into bowels of the earth...or into hell.

Only fitting, I suppose, that I should pay for serving Lucavi with an eternity in his domain, he mused sadly.

A memory of tears gathered in the wraith-like orbs that now served as his eyes, which grew all the more palpable as he found himself wondering what might have come to pass if he'd chosen differently in his last fateful hours.

Would he and Alma have escaped together?

Would he, or they, have met Ramza again, to aid in his battle against the tides of darkness encroaching upon Ivalice?

Would he have found some way to wrest his father's soul back from Lucavi?

Would he and Alma have wed, raised a family, and grown old together as he promised?

He had no answer; indeed, part of him wondered at the point of even asking the question. Yet, as he descended the misty spiral to whatever dire fate awaited him, he found those dreams the only thing that kept him from total despair...

.. indeed, they were all he had left.

After what felt like centuries of walking down the misty stairs to the ground, and then through it, he expected to behold a wasteland of fire and brimstone, overrun by lesser kindred to the monster that had torn away his life.

He was not expecting to behold the antechamber of Orbonne Monastery.

Before he could make sense of this confounding turn, Izlude heard a voice calling out to him, a voice that was not of this world.

Return…

What?

Return to the ones with the right mind…

I don't understand; who is it that speaks to me?

Izlude's ghostly form roamed the terribly familiar room, seeking the source of the otherworldly voice. Making use of his new form, he floated between the upper and lower levels and walked through walls, seeking even an echo of whoever or whatever had called out to him.

Whether it was by design or fluke, he could not say; but, when he alighted upon the very spot where he'd first laid eyes upon Alma, he discovered the answer.

Ahead of him were two figures, partly lost in shadow. Though he could discern little of their faces, he could see that neither had the horns, bat wings, or pointed tails he'd half expected to be commonplace in the realm his departed spirit would now reside.

More curious still, though he could not make out their faces, they felt so...familiar.

When the two figures approached, he could see that it was a man and a woman. And, when they emerged fully into the light, a gasp echoed through the strange, purgatorial chamber.

The woman was his mother.

Though he had precious few memories of the woman who had died of illness when he and his sister were children, he was certain it could be no other.

When he turned to see the other figure, he saw that it was his father.

Remembering all too well that this was the same man who'd become a leonine demon and gutted him with his claws, Izlude leapt back in horror and instinctively fumbled for the sword he'd left with his own corpse.

Yet, as his father drew closer, his burgeoning panic suddenly subsided.

The man who'd given him his life, and then taken it, could not have been more different than the man who now stood before him.

Whereas Vormav's expression had always been stern, drawn, and terribly severe, this man's face was, in equal parts, softened by affection and marred by regret. What's more, Izlude could see none of the Zodiac demon's malice on the older man's face.

For the first time in years, he looked upon the face of his real father, the father he had loved and respected.

For a terribly long moment, Izlude could only stare at the spirits of his parents, the wispy mass that had once been his heart, already heavy with regret, now pressing down upon him with impossible weight.

Father… I am so sorry, I have failed you… the shame-faced Izlude choked out as he lowered his head, unable to look the man who'd sired him in the eye.

The ghostly apparition that had once been Vormav seemed to glide across the room, cupping his son's face with hands which, though seemingly no more than mist, held a warmth that Izlude found almost tangible. Then, with those same misty hands that seemed impossibly solid, he forced Izlude to look into his dark-green eyes.

No, my son, Vormav intoned with a sad shake of his head. You did no such thing. It is I who have failed you. You and Meliadoul have suffered so much for so long because of my weakness. I could not protect the both of you the way a father should and for that, I am sorry…

Perhaps it was seeing the father he had known before Hashmalum's vile influence had taken hold. Or, maybe it was learning that his father did not fault him for attempting to destroy the demon that had possessed his body for so many years after his death. Whatever the reason, the leaden regret in Izlude's heart of fog softened.

Please, you don't have to apologize, father. I am grateful to see you again, the real you that I remember, even…wherever or whatever this place is. And you, as well, mother. I've missed you both so much…

We've missed you too, Izlude, his mother said. As for what this is, you might say things are about to come full circle.

I...don't understand.

Just watch.

As if on cue, a door in the upper level of the ghostly chamber burst open. Izlude whirled, and the sight he beheld sent the memory of chills up what used to be his spine.

It was Vormav, or more accurately, the Zodiac demon, Hashmalum, who had previously sheathed leonine claws into his heart.

He was flanked by his Templar lieutenants, Rofel and Kletien, and, at his gesture, a contingent of Templar knights streamed down the stairs and through the doors leading to the library of Orbonne.

Izlude barely noticed this, however. His gaze had alighted upon an all too familiar woman who was slung over his murderer's shoulder.

A credible imitation of a snarl parted his lips and he bellowed a challenge to Hashmalum, but the demon in human guise didn't seem to hear him. And, when the knight blade floated up to bar the demon's path, his nemesis simply strode right through him and into the depths of the monastery, leaving Izlude to curse his helplessness.

The knight blade's incredulity, however, was suddenly snuffed out when the dense mass of fog that now served as his mind registered the peculiarity of what he'd just witnessed.

Hashmalum had Alma, and she was alive...but, why?

If she could not bring herself to stab Izlude through the heart while he'd feigned sleep, she certainly could not have overcome Hasmalum, nor even the shell of Vormav which the demon inhabited. What's more, from what Alma had told him during their time in Riovanes, the Beoulve girl knew a great deal about the church's corruption and Lucavi's machinations.

Why, then, would Hashmalum let her live?

And, for that matter, why would he take her here? None of the accounts of the battle against Lucavi which he'd read drew any correlation between demonkind and the site of the isolated monastery whose ghostly shadow he now beheld...

...but, then again, those same accounts said the demons had been soundly vanquished, and Izlude already knew how much truth there was to that claim.

What is this? he demanded once he'd regained his composure. Why would fath...Hashmalum take Alma alive? And, is this scene even real?

It is quite real, his true father answered in a sober tone. Or, at least, it will be. For now, however, you must watch and take note.

Some flow of mist between his wraith-like ears told Izlude that his father would not have advised him to be patient if there wasn't a good reason, but the knight blade's congealed blood was too hot to listen.

Is this supposed to be my penance, watching the woman I love being used as a demon's plaything and being unable to do anything about it?!

In life, his parents might have reacted sternly to such an outburst. Now, however, both regarded him with expressions that were almost expectant.

Expectant of what, however, Izlude could not guess.

What did you mean when you said things would come full circle? he asked. Why are we here? Is this some sort of purgatory?!

His mother laughed. Not quite, my son. But, the fact that you are here means that you have died...

So, this...whatever it is, it's not a dream… I really am dead… Izlude said, his voice little more than a whisper. When his gaze alighted upon Vormav, he saw once more the bereavement on the older man's face, leaving no doubt in Izlude's mind that his father knew exactly how his son died.

On the heels of that revelation came the memory of his ill-fated battle with Hashmalum, how the leonine demon had easily overwhelmed the young knight blade and left him on death's door, and, of course, how Alma had tried and failed to save him and how, in his last moments, she said she loved him and would never forget him.

He thought he heard himself call out to her, but then realized that the voice he heard belonged to another.

Ramza!

Sure enough, Ramza, the youngest son of the Beoulve family, branded a heretic by a church now enthralled by Lucavi, charged down the stairs and angled for the door Hashmalum had passed through earlier. Though he was little more than a blur of motion, Izlude could not help but be amazed at this boy. For, though Ramza looked every bit as boyish as he had when he and Izlude had crossed swords, he nonetheless looked every bit the warrior that Balbanes Beoulve had been. Power seemed to fill even his slightest motion while the intensity in his big blue eyes seemed to sear the very air.

If Ramza was here to confront Hashmalum, Izlude felt somehow certain that the outcast Beoulve would succeed where he had failed.

A few steps behind the charging Ramza were several other warriors. Izlude recognized one or two who'd fought at Ramza's shoulder when the knight blade had locked swords with the supposed heretic. There was Agrias Oaks, formerly of the St. Konoe Knights – or, as nearly all referred to them nowadays, the Lionsguard - and Mustadio Bunansa, a machinist from Goug, both of whom had been painted as an accomplice in Ramza's alleged crimes.

Other familiar faces were revealed, and these caused the mass of fog that was Izlude's jaw to part in stupefaction.

There was Malak!

The Hell Knight had somehow escaped the massacre at Riovanes, a realization that helped the pain in Izlude's stilled heart. At Malak's heels was Rafa, his twin sister, and her apparent survival and reconciliation with her brother eased the memory of a relieved sigh from the ethereal knight blade.

Izlude's already gaping jaw nearly fell to the floor, however, when he spied a man who appeared to be the legendary Thunder God Cid amongst the small procession. And, before he could catch his breath, whatever that might mean in his post-corporeal form, he spied Meliadoul amongst Ramza's companions as well.

What relief he felt at her survival was promptly stolen away, however, when he saw her face.

Meliadoul had always been a multi-faceted woman. He could recall from his childhood many a time she'd handle his instruction in swordplay, and how no amount of fraternal affection could buy him a reprieve from her stringent and demanding training regimen. Yet, he could also recall that, before she'd even mopped her brow after what, for him, was a nightmarish exercise, she'd bat her eyes flirtatiously at every knight whose paths she crossed and that she'd reward those with the backbone to meet her gaze with her bell-clear laughter.

He saw neither facet in her now, however.

Indeed, her face was utterly, terribly blank. No less disconcerting, her once lambent green eyes now had all the luster of a patch of dead moss. Meliadoul, he realized, must've learned the truth of his death and their father's corruption.

And, that blow had done terrible harm to the vivacious sister he's known and loved.

Though he found himself wondering who or what would be listening, he nonetheless said a quick prayer that his sister might find some happiness when the battle she raced towards came to an end.

He did not pray for Alma, however, for he sensed that Ramza's close pursuit meant that her rescue was well in hand. She'd had tremendous faith in her youngest brother, and Izlude somehow felt as if he now shared it.

Is this what you wanted to show me? he asked his parents, though his gaze remained fixed on the door. You wanted me to see that Alma would be saved before I came with you?

You are right that we wanted to ease your worries, Izlude, his mother answered. But, you cannot come with us. Not just yet, at least. It's still not your time…

I don't understand. I just died, didn't I?

Yes, that is true. But, there is still something you must do…

And, that is?

My child, have you forgotten your promise to Alma already?

Alma…

You love her, don't you? You gave your life for her…

I do…more than anything. But, what can I do now? I am no longer alive…

The stone, my son.

The same stone which had driven the father he'd loved from his body, allowing a demon to take the shell for his own nefarious purposes? If it were possible for a ghost to blanch, Izlude did so, backing away as though expecting either of the figures before him to transform just as Vormav had done back in Riovanes. Yet, instead, his mother unleashed nothing more fearsome than her husky laughter.

I suppose I should have expected that reaction, she admitted. Calm yourself, Izlude. The stones are capable of much evil, that is true. But, they have much potential for good as well. By now, Ramza knows this quite well, I imagine.

What do you mean?

Your friend, Malak, died at Riovanes. He was killed by the man he'd called father when he learned of how the Grand Duke had betrayed him.

But, that doesn't make sense. If Malak died, then how could he be accompanying Ramza?

The stones' power is given shape, and purpose, by those who use it, his father spoke up. I was aggrieved, angered, and terribly, terribly short-sighted. The stone, its darker facet, took advantage of that. Yet, a stronger mind, a stronger heart, one not consumed by grief and bitterness? One who would use power to safeguard the innocent and defend the weak? Such a person can bend the stones to his will. Ramza did that, and Malak's soul returned.

Wait, returned? I heard a voice telling me to return before I came...well, here.

Indeed, my son, his mother affirmed. That was the voice of the stone that yet lingers near your shell. It is just as capable of good as it is of evil. And, it knows your thoughts and your heart. It knows also that you still have a purpose and that you are not yet ready to leave the mortal world. Another stone knew the same of Malak, and allowed him to return.

But, return to where?

To the land of the living. To reclaim his body and fight once more to protect his sister.

Like the sun breaking through a dense thunderhead, realization erupted in Izlude's misty mind.

Are...are you saying that the stone can send me back? He gasped out, nearly shocked into silence by this revelation. Is that really possible?

With you, it will be… his father answered. I know you are overwhelmed, but don't ask how or why. Just be thankful you will have this second chance. There is still much good you can do in the world, not just for Alma…

So, with our best wishes, we will use its power to send you back, his mother said gently. Go back to her, she needs you…

Perhaps it was the strange way this other-realm seemed to warp his sense of time, but Izlude felt as though he contemplated the idea for days. How long on his seemingly centuries of descending to this place had he pined for Alma? How many times had he wondered what his life, their lives, would be like if he'd had a second chance?

And now, that fondest and most forbidden wish had just been handed to him on a silver platter.

Yet, counterbalancing his joy was fear. What if this was some sort of trap set by the Lucavi? Might his father have been presented with some ruse, much like what he'd witnessed, to persuade him to embrace Hashmalum's vile influence?

He did not know. But, another look into his parents' eyes gave him his answer.

Izlude already knew, from experience, that Lucavi demons could not imitate love.

I understand… thank you…mother…father, he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. I will always be grateful to both of you.

You're welcome, son. Please treasure this gift and remember always: we love you…

Before Izlude could reply, a strange light flared to life from each of his ethereal parents. It grew brighter and brighter until something akin to pain burned through him. And, it burned hotter and hotter with each passing moment until, at its crescendo, it subsided to a multitude of dull aches, most of which lingering about his torso.

Instincts held over from his more corporeal days sent his strangely heavy hands to caress the wound...until his probing fingers suddenly found a surface they could not pass through. This only partially registered in Izlude's still disoriented mind as he vaulted to his feet, barely aware of the action. The overwhelming light then began to dim, revealing that he was back in the meeting room of Castle Riovanes. Izlude was still blinking away stars as he realized that his once ghostly form was now solid, his absently probing fingers pressing into the hard surface of his torso and aching from the resistance. He stared down at his hands, the sight of them telling him that his blindness had also been undone...

...or, had the whole episode been some sort of near-death experience?

Indeed, it seemed too fantastical to believe...until he saw what he'd emerged from.

Beneath him was a veritable sea of blood, broken only by the partial outline of a body. A cursory glance over his shoulder revealed that his body had been the one which had lain amidst the sticky crimson.

With trepidation, Izlude pulled off his tabard and unbuckled his chest plate. What he'd believed to be his death wound was gone, but there were scars where they had been, all resembling the claw marks of an impossibly large jungle cat...

...or a leonine demon.

"I should have died," he whispered to no one in particular.

Then, a bluish light intruded upon his newly regained vision and he whirled to see a small, oblong stone with the symbol of Pisces carved into it. Izlude's breath caught in his throat as he recognized the symbol; it was the same stone he'd given to Alma in his dying moments, hoping she could spirit it and herself to her brother.

Had this stone been the one which, according to his mother's spirit, had called him back?

For a long moment, his confused gaze darted between the stone, his scars, and the pool of blood before realization dawned.

"I did die!" he blurted, stupefied.

His gaze alighted upon the stone, as though expecting it to perform another miracle at any moment. Yet, in continued to glow, and Izlude could not help the strange impression that it was waiting for something.

A vessel for its resident Lucavi demon, perhaps?

Taking it might mean following in his father's ill-fated footsteps, even if he did rescue Alma. Yet, at the same time, if Hashmalum and his fellow demons were still gathering the stones and appropriate hosts, what nightmares might be unleashed if he left the stone here for the demons to reclaim? Or, no less terrible, for a suitable host to unwittingly stumble upon it and unleash the darker side of its considerable power.

After all, the stone had brought him back from the dead! And, he had no way of knowing if it could work greater wonders than he'd yet seen...

...or greater terrors.

Yet, conversely, he could not leave it here.

If the stone he'd given to Alma was still here, that could only mean that the scene of her being abducted by Hashmalum was playing out even now, which meant Alma was still in danger. Why Hashmalum wanted her alive, and why he'd be taking her to Orbonne sometime in the near future, Izlude could not guess. But, it stood to reason that, like Alma, the stones were also part of Lucavi's devious machinations.

The stone had brought him back from death, but, if he left it here, might its next discoverer fall prey to demonic influence? Assuming, of course, Izlude himself didn't?

Yet, the specters of his parents had told him that the stones could be used for good, as evidenced by Malak's own resurrection.

Ramza's will had kept the stone from corrupting him, whereas Vormav had been consumed. Could Izlude also take the stone but keep his own will?

There's only one way to find out, he realized.

With a deep, in-drawn breath, he picked up the stone. When it did not react, either by causing his hands to become deep red claws or something equally horrifying, he let out a long sigh of relief and tucked it into his doublet.

It was no dream, then. That which man had pined for since he'd first faced death had been granted to him; he had died and been given back his life. His head was a whirl with a thousand thoughts, but, rather than revel in his resurrection, he knew that his new life came with a price to be paid. Or, rather, a promise to be kept.

He had much to answer for...but, now he could do so. Now, he could take those dreams he'd had as he descended and work them into reality.

Now, he could keep his promise.

"Alma, I will find you, Alma."

A/N: Ok, the first chapter finally down! Sorry, it took so long. I'd like to thank fellow writer, Falchion1984 for helping me get this started and inspiring me to write for FFT fandome once more; I couldn't have done it without him! Unlike my previous fics which I have written alone, I will be teaming up with another writer for the first time so this is an exciting experience for me. Anyway, please review and see you next chapter! And suggestions are always welcomed! ;)