Magus stood dramatically on the top of the dragon statue high atop his fortress, thinking. Few nights were there that Magus found himself victim to insomnia, but tonight was among those select nights. After all, tomorrow was the Day - the Day he would annihilate that fire-fleshed Lavos. For good, or at least die trying, in which case he could join Schala in the afterlife. Either way, Magus would win bittersweet victory. One way, all of his relentless years of studying and training would have been for naught, the other, he would still be quite assuredly alone, and without much of a purpose - find a way back to the past. It was unlikely he'd ever do so, but he had it all planned out since he was seventeen in case he did.
He sorely missed the vain kingdom of Zeal, even though he had loathed it when he actually lived there. In spite of being royalty, he had had little back then, and in the latter days less, but it was more than he'd ever had in the Middle Ages. The only thing he had left was power; it was even greater power than he'd had in Zeal, and it was both comforting and intoxicating, don't minsunderstand, but it came with the high price of having to serve pot-bellied swine. Ozzie was a base, weak mystic who just so happened to be king. It was true that the mystic possessed animal cunning, but that scarcely showed itself anymore. And was he ever stupid! High taxes were enforced, even high for wartime. Law was lax and strict in all the wrong ways. If he was to be overthrown sometime in the next few years, Magus wouldn't be shocked at all. Then again, he seldom was.
Most mystics and humans assumed Slash, Flea, and Magus were close, but it was hard to think of Flea as anything other than a fellow mage and even harder to think of Slash as anything but a swordsman. He didn't know even the simplest of things about either of them beyond their battle skills. He didn't know Flea's favorite song, or why Slash seemed to detest Magus so, didn't know what kept either from mutiny.
He also didn't really care. He hadn't cared about much of anything during the twenty years he'd been in this damned era. Except Schala, Schala, Schala. She'd been Magus's unwavering light since he was still just Janus. Her haunted green eyes and ubiquitous kindness were the only thing he remembered now, but he wanted her more than anything else and more than ever, but they were separated by such a profound chasm that it was nearly inconceivable that Magus would see her ever again. But it had been inconceivable so long ago that they would be far apart at any point in time. Who knew for sure if it was really so far-fetched?
Schala was not all he missed. He missed his mother, his father, both too far gone to warrant a thought of entertaining hope. While others scorned him for his lack of magic, before Lavos they had loved him anyway. But his father had died in an earthquake inside an Earthbound cave, and Celesta Zeal had perished, so to speak, and in her ashes rose a colder, unloving queen. All because of Lavos...
Magus turned his back to the moon, the word "tomorrow" dancing through his brain. Everything depended on tomorrow. He smirked suddenly, then laughed a resonant cackle. Down below, some roving dogs barked loudly. Yes. Tomorrow. He wouldn't lose. He wouldn't win. Wasn't that just the story of his life?
A/N: Somebody please give me a comment. Please?