The house was creaking in the brisk winds the night his mother walked into his bedroom – far less grand than the one in the palace, but still lovely. They only summered here, as the house was too drafty for winter, and the roads too perilous. The fact that they'd come . . .

"Still not asleep?" his mother asked. Lady Aerith rose from beside the bed. After a few warm words, Aerith left, smiling at them both

His mother curled up on the mattress, drawing him in close. One of her velvet soft wings wrap around him, the other shielding them together into their little cocoon. Her wings were so smooth and soft, like the wings of a dove. He had always hoped he would grow wings like hers at his coming of age. "I'm sorry." His mother whispered onto his head. For the nightmares had also been of downing – of icy water closing over his head. "I am so sorry, Whitefeather."

He buries his face in his mother's chest, savoring the warmth.

"Are you still frightened of sleeping?"

He nods, clinging tighter.

"I have a gift, then." When he didn't move, his mother said, "Don't you with to see it?"

He shook his head. He didn't want a gift.

"But this will protect you from harm – this will keep you safe always."

He lifts his head to find his mother smiling as she removed the silver chain and heavy, round medallion from beneath her nightgown and held it out to him.

He looked at the amulet, then at his mother, eyes wide.

The Amulet of Twilight Town. The heirloom honored above all others of their house. Its round disk was the size of his palm, and on its cerulean front, a golden chocobo had been carved of horn – horn gifted from the Lord of the Forest. Hovering over his back of fluffed feathers is a burning crown of white, the immortal star that watched them and pointed the way home to Kingdom Hearts. He knew every inch of the amulet, had run his fingers over it countless times and memorized the shape of the symbols etched into the back – words in a strange language that no one could ever remember.

"Father gave this to you when you were in Agrabah. To protect you."

The smile remained. "And before that, his uncle gave it to him when he came of age. It is a gift meant to be given to people in our family – those who need its guidance."

He was too stunned to object as his mother slipped the chain over his head and arranged the amulet down his front. It hung almost to his navel, a warm, heavy weight. "Never take it off. Never lose it." His mother kissed his brow. "Wear it, and know that you are loved, Whitefeather – that you are safe, and it is the strength of this" – she placed a hand on his heart – "that matters. Wherever you go, Ventus," she whispered, "no matter how far, this will lead you home."

He had lost the Amulet of Twilight Town. Lost it that very same night.

Hours after his mother had given him the Amulet of Twilight Town, a storm had struck.

It was a storm of unnatural darkness, and in it he felt that wriggling, horrific thing pushing against his mind again. His parents remained unconscious along with everyone else in the manor, even though a strange smell coated the air.

He had clutched the amulet to his chest when he awake to the pure dark and the thunder – clutched it and prayed to every god he knew. But the amulet had not given him strength or courage, and he had slunk to his parents' room, as black as his own, save for the window flapping in the gusting wind and rain.

The rain had soaked everything, but – they had to be exhausted from dealing with him, and from the anxiety they tried to hide. So he shut the window for them, and carefully crawled into their damp bed so that he did not wake them. They didn't reach for him, their wings didn't flutter, didn't ask what was wrong, and the bed was so cold – colder than his own, and reeking of copper and iron, and that scent that did not sit well with him.

It was to the scent that he awoke when the maid screamed.

Lady Aerith rushed in, eyes wide but clear. She did not look at her dead friends, but went straight to the bed and leaned across Aqua's corpse and stiff white wings. The lady-in-waiting was small and delicately boned, but she somehow lifted him away from his parents, holding him tightly as she rushed from the room. The few servants at the manor were in a panic, some racing for help that was at least a day away – some fleeing.

Lady Aerith stayed.

Aerith stayed and drew a bath, helping him peel away the cold, bloody nightgown. They did not talk, did not try. Lady Aerith bathed him, and when he was clean and dry, she carried him down to the cold kitchen. Aerith sat him at the long table, bundled in a blanket, and set about building the hearth fire.

He had not spoken today. There were no sounds or words left in him, anyway.

One of the few remaining servants burst in, shouting to the empty house that King Terra was dead, too. His strong, eagle wings ripped from his back. Murdered in his bed just like –

Lady Aerith was out of the kitchen with her teeth bared before the man could enter. Ventus didn't listen to gentle Aerith slapping the servant, ordering him to get out and find help – find real help and not useless news.

Murdered. His family was – dead. There was no coming back from death, and his parents . . . What had the servants done with their . . . their . . .

Shaking hit him so hard the blanket tumbled away. He couldn't stop his teeth from clacking. It was a miracle he stayed in the chair.

It couldn't be true. This was another nightmare, and he would awaken to his father stroking his hair, his mother smiling, awaken in Twilight Town on Sunset Terrace, and –

The warm weight of the blanket wrapped around him again, and Lady Aerith scooped him in her lap, rocking. "I know. I'm not going to leave – I'm going to stay here with you until help comes. They'll be here tomorrow. Lord Sephiroth, Captain Tidus, your Cloud – they're all going to be here tomorrow. Maybe even by dawn." But Lady Aerith was shaking, too. "I know." she kept saying, weeping quietly. "I know."

The fire died down, along with Aerith's crying. They held on to each other, rooted to that kitchen chair. They waited for the dawn, and for the others who would help, somehow.

A clopping issued from outside – faint, but the world was silent that they had heard the lone horse. It was still dark. Lady Aerith scanned the kitchen windows, listening to the hose slowly circling, until –

They were under the table in a flash, Aerith pressing him into the freezing floor, covering him with her delicate body and her wings cocooning them tightly. The horse headed toward the darkened front of the house.

The front, because – because the kitchen light might suggest to whoever it was that someone was inside. The front was better for sneaking in . . . to finish what had begun the night before.

"Ventus," Aerith whispered, and small, strong hands found his face, forcing him to look at the white-as-snow features, the bloodred lips. "Ventus, listen to me." Though Aerith was breathing quickly, her voice was even. "You are going to run for the river. Do you remember the way to the footbridge?"

The narrow rope and wood bridge across the ravine and the rushing Poescas River below. He nodded.

"Good boy. Make for the bridge, and cross it. Do you remember the empty farm down the road find a place to hide there – and do not come out, do not let yourself be seen by anyone except someone you recognize. Not even if they say they're a friend. Wait for the court – they will find you."

He was shaking again. But Aerith gripped his shoulders. "I am going to buy you what time I can, Ventus. No matter what you hear, no matter what you see, don't look back, and don't stop until you find a place to hide."

He shook his head, silent tears finding their way out at last. The front door groans – a quick movement.

Lady Aerith reached for the dagger in her boot. It glints in the dim light. "When I say run, you run, Ventus. Do you understand?"

He didn't want to, not at all, but he nodded.

Lady Aerith brushed a kiss to her brow. "Tell my Zack . . ." her voice broke. "Tell my Zack that I love him very much."

A soft thud of approaching footsteps from the front of the house. Lady Aerith drags him from under the table and eased open the kitchen door only wide enough for him to squeeze through.

"Run now." Lady Aerith said, and shoved him into the night.

The door shut behind him, and then there was only the cold, dark air and the trees that led toward the path to the bridge. He staggered into a run. His legs were leaden, his bare feet tearing into the ground. But he made it to the trees – just as there was a crash from the house.

He grips a trunk, his knees buckling. Through the open window, he could see Lady Aerith standing before a hooded, towering man, her daggers out but trembling. "You will not find him."

The man said something that had Aerith backing to the door, her wings spreading wide – not to run, but to block it.

She was so small, his nursemaid. So small against him. "He is a child," Aerith bellowed. He had never heard her scream like that – with rage and disgust and despair. Aerith raised her daggers, precisely how her husband had shown her again and again.

He should help, not cower in the trees. He had leaned to hold a knife and a small sword. He should help.

The man lunged for Aerith, but she darted out of the way – and then leapt on him, slicing and tearing and biting.

And then something broke – something broke so fundamentally he knew there was no coming back from it, either for him or Lady Aerith – as the man grabbed the woman and there her against the edge of the table. A crack of bone, then the arc of his blade going for her stunned form – for her head. Red splayed.

He knew enough about death to understand that once ahead was severed like that, it was over. Knew that Lady Aerith, who had loved his husband and daughter so much, was gone. Knew that this – this was called sacrifice.

He ran. Ran through he barren trees, the brush ripping his clothes, his hair, shredding and biting. The man didn't bother to be quiet as he flung open the kitchen door, mounted his horse, and galloped for him. The hoofbeats were so powerful they seemed to echo through the forest – the horse had to be a monster.

He tripped over a root and slammed into the earth. In the distance, the melting river was roaring. So close, but – his ankle gave a bolt of agony. Stuck – he was stuck in the mud and roots. He yanked at the root that held him, wood ripping his nails, and when that did nothing, he clawed at the muddy ground. His fingers burned.

How he wished he had wings. He would be gone. Vanish into the clouds, evade every arrow with maddening ease.

A sword whined as it was drawn from its sheath, and the ground reverberated with the pounding hooves of the horse. Closer, closer it came.

A sacrifice – it had been a sacrifice, and now it would be in vain.

More than death, that was what he hated most – the wasted sacrifice of Lady Aerith. He clawed at the ground and yanked at the roots, and then –

Tiny eyes in the dark, small figures at the roots, heaving them up, up. His foot slipped free and he was up again, unable to thank the Little Folk who had already vanished, unable to do anything but run, limping now. The man was so close, the bracken cracking behind, but he knew the way. He had come through here so many times that the darkness was no obstacle.

He only had to make it to the bridge. His horse could not pass, and he was fast enough to outrun him. The Little Folk might help him again. He only had to make it to the bridge.

A break in the trees – and the river's roar grew overpowering. He was so close now. He felt and heard, rather than saw, his horse break through the trees behind him, the whoosh of his sword as he lifted it, preparing to cleave his head right there.

There were the twin posts, faint in the moonless night. The bridge. He had made it, and now he had only yards, now a few feet, now –

The breath of his horse was hot on his neck as he flung himself between the two posts of the bridge, making a leap onto the wood planks.

Making the leap onto thin air.

He had not missed it – no, those were the posts and –

He had cut the bridge.

It was only his only thought as he plummeted, so fast he had no time to scream before he hit the icy water and was pulled under.