A/N: A seriously weird piece by a seriously weird author. In the same vein as my last poem, really...AGLA has strange thoughts when looking at Amano-art and playing the Memoria and Crystal World stretch of FFIX...

Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy. If I did I would not write fanfiction, would I?...well, actually, I probably would...Scratch that then. :P

looping

What it was like, Eiko said later, was a windmill. Vivi, the windmill addict, immediately protested this(I d-don't think it was like that, Eiko, r-really)and Eiko said that was cause he had no brain and would watch anything going round and round till his head exploded and if they ever wanted to get rid of him for a couple hours all they would have to do would be plonk him down in front of a clock with a pendulum and that'd keep him occupied till someone stopped the clock, and then the conversation turned into a quarrel and Steiner pulled them apart and gagged Eiko with her own hair ribbon, which just proves how quickly the entire thing faded from human minds.

But Eiko had known, dimly, what she meant. It was like being very close to a windmill, looking up and seeing the vanes creak slowly round; it was like being centimetres away from a piece of machinery that if you touched it would suck you in and kill you in such a way that your own mother would not recognise your mangled corpse after. It was like sitting at the mouth of a Behemoth's den and hearing the beast growling within, as they had lain exhausted and hopeless on the ground that was really(when you looked close)a mass of tiny, many-coloured crystals. That was what it had been like; in the sense, of course, that a dog is 'like' a wolf, or a housecat 'like' a man-eating tiger.

The eight had shivered there, and heard something waking, and heard magic like machinery, far, far above.

"Where are we?" whispered Freya, not expecting anyone to know, but desperately needing to say something to break the horrible silence that was full of noise.

"I don't know," and Zidane tried to lift himself up, but just fell down again. He felt cheated, betrayed; his strength and charisma and speed and wits had served him all his life, gotten him out of every difficulty, and now they had all deserted him. He was no longer a cunning thief or strong-hearted leader; he was as helpless and ignorant as a baby, and soon he was going to die. Or be worse than dead, the voice of fear whispered. What was moving above them was not certain death; it was uncertain death, which is infinitely more terrifying.

Vivi whimpered. "I'm scared," he admitted, in a voice that was more like the whine of an animal in pain than his own soft speech. "It's moving-I can hear it, it'll be here soon. I'm scaredI'mscaredI'mscaredI'mscared-"

"Shut up!" growled Amarant, but there was a panicked, strangled sound to his voice; he was as scared as Vivi was, as they all were. Vivi didn't seem to hear him, but carried on repeating the words, like a litany, or a gramophone on continous play; "I'm scaredI'mscaredI'mscaredI'mscaredI'm-"

There was a cough.

Eiko looked to her left, and saw Quina; the enormous Qu had raised itself up on its elbows and was glaring at the darkness over its enormous tongue. "Stupid," hissed Quina, and then, slightly louder, "Stupid. Try to scare us. Quick now. Hear words. Horn-head girl-" -s/he grabbed for Eiko's hand, holding it tight- "eat now!" And then s/he said three quick words, three words that were not spoken loudly but were nevertheless heard by each of the other seven and(Eiko was suddenly certain)by the Thing moving in the dark above. And a light came from its chest, and settled on Eiko, and sank into her like water into a sponge.

And Eiko was suddenly awake. Or dreaming-but was there a difference?-the thought crept in but she barely registered it. She was sitting on the top of the world. She felt every life in it-no, tasted them, felt them on her mind's tongue and knew each for what it was. There was magic being done in it. She tasted each enchantment, small or large, knew that should she wish to she could open her mouth and call it into her, gaining what was special and unique about it and making it part of her. She was hungry, hungry as she'd never been before, but hunger was not the hollow empty feeling she'd experienced as a human-it filled her full of energy, bullying every nerve and muscle in her body into obedience. And she could eat anything. She could chew the soul of a rock, swallow the heart of a star. The entire world was full of deliciousness, succulence, it was waiting for her to banquet; nothing in it could harm her, for she would simply devour it, and make it hers and subject to her. And what she ate did not die; it became immortal in her. At the end of it the world would be her, and she would be it; at the hunger's satisfying, her self would be the world...

She tasted the Presence above her, knew it for what it was. That was a hunger, but no kin to her; it was emptiness personified. If it was let loose, it would destroy each and every thing until it was the only entity left in the universe, and then it would turn on itself; it was a hunger that could never be satisfied, a hole that could not be filled. And there was malice in it-it knew that it would never be full and content, could not even taste what it ate, but it ate anyway, out of sheer perverseness. It was the original Dog in the Manger-not only could it not be satisfied, but the sight of someone else eating in contentment made it wild with rage, and it desired to make a famine of reality.

She saw with her mortal eyes that Quina's body lay on the ground as if dead; she was looking down at it now, standing proud and fierce, as if she had never been laid low by Ultima. She heard others copy Quina's lead-Steiner, grasping at Vivi's hand, said the three words and fell back as his self left him. Vivi's eyes grew wide, torchlike, as the light entered him-and then his fear seemed to leave him as something else overrode it. I am Defender, whispered the light, I fight for the Crown, the Laws and the Land. Not a crown, or a land-I remember this now-but the true Crown, the rulers who cannot be disobeyed. My life and soul are not mine, but the chattels of my Queen-and for this reason I am not afraid, for I have naught to lose. I protect the kingdom. I stand at the gate. The Outcast in the Darkness may not enter the Land to despoil it, as long as I draw breath...

And Freya was up too, glowing with the light from Amarant's body, fighting invisible enemies with her mouth open in a snarl. All was fighting, life was fighting, enemies abounded on every side-she was a tiny island of life in a great dark sea, but she refused and refused to be swamped. She would not give in. She would not surrender to the detestable, half-formed, demonic Host. She heard their mocking cries-they wished nothing better than that she should surrender, give up and be blotted out of existence. She said No. This would not be. This would not be.

And Dagger, a smile on her face as she understood what it was she had to do, clasped Zidane's hand and uttered the words. And then she was in him, she was with him, he could sense her in every cell of his body and wrapped around him like a cloak. Together, they remembered-as the others were remembering-who they were, and what they were here for. The darkness in the land, the personified evils roaming it, the loop hidden at the centre and in the middle of the loop was he. The enemy. The traitor. They were here to fight him, and kill him again, in the ritual that could not be called ancient for it was outside Time Itself-and for this reason, though they were to kill him, he would always rise again. But so would they. Actor Zidane forgot his name; this was no role that he played, it was the abandonment of roles. Dagger remembered hers, and understood for the first time why she had had to be the Princess.

"Eight are four," said Zidane hoarsely, hefting the Ultima Weapon. It sung blue light, remembering as he remembered.

Eiko sang to the Eidolon Wall, naming the Powers, quieting the storm. There was fire around her but she did not care. Vivi carried fire within him, destroyed what could no longer be healed. He tore the sky open. Freya flew truly, not needing wings-dragon tears fell from her like rain. They were not swamped by the other selves in them-they were opening in response, melding and merging. Equal amounts, that was the thing. Eight are four-they never knew which of them said it, in agreement. Perhaps all of them.

"And four," said Zidane, as if puzzling it out to himself, "are one." There was a song in his head, going round and round; a simple little melody picked out on a lute. He remembered a temple, singing back the notes; he remembered a girl, presenting it to him. In his memory he looked at her and saw she wore Dagger's face.

It will not work! howled Necron, recoiling before his old foe. I will never die! I'll knock you all down!

Zidane shrugged. Laughed. "It always works. Has and will!"

And with that, blue crystal blade shining, he leaped forward and led the attack.

This is true. You know it already. You know what happened.

But you may not know this; that night(which in truth was day; for when they returned, the sun was beginning to rise, painting Gaia with the colours of dawn)Dagger dreamed.

In her dream she wore a golden dress, that seemed as if it was woven from light; Zidane stood before her, smiling like the sun. He carried the heads of monsters like trophies, and there was a small red dragon on his shoulder.

In her dream, she was not surprised to see him. She knew it was a dream, but she did not wonder where his waking body was. There were more important things to talk of.

"It was a long time ago," said Dagger. "Do you think they got there? In the end?"

"It hasn't happened yet," said Zidane. "And they're going to. Eventually." He tickled the dragonet under its chin, and it purred happily at him. "Don't think it'll take long though."

"It might take forever," said Dagger, and was sad suddenly; she could never remember why.

"So do most things," said Zidane. "Anyway, we know they're going to. Cause they already have." The dragonet chirped something at him and he frowned. "No, scratch that-they haven't just yet, but it's happening right now. Don't think about it. It'll only give you headaches."

"There's still a bit to complete," said Dagger, knowing it was true. "There's...unfinished business...An epilogue, sort of? And then it'll all be over."

Zidane shrugged. The dragonet fell off his shoulder, flapped its wings madly, just avoided hitting the ground, then hovered in front of his face and began to scold him in dragonish. He laughed. "You're right. But it's all coasting from here-well, from their point of view anyway..." The dragonet made a noise that sounded remarkably like 'hmph', and departed in a puff of indignant smoke. "Did you ever learn to play an instrument?"

"A few," said Dagger. "Not very well though-I'm better at singing. But Mother insisted."

"I'm tone-deaf," said Zidane. "Blank tried to teach me one time-the troupe was short a trombonist-but I made such an awful noise that everyone screamed at me to stop. But, there's this thing...A memory, sort of..." Dagger suddenly noticed that there was a lute lying by his feet, a plain thing but well-made. He picked it up and began to pick out a tune on it; a simple little melody, the sort that seem easy to remember but are forgotten within moments of hearing. Dagger felt she recognised this one, though.

Zidane plucked one final string, listened to the note hovering in the air, and handed the lute to Dagger. "It's yours really," he said. "Giving it back's part of the epilogue."

She ran her hands over the smooth wood of the lute, and suddenly remembered that he was lost, that he had gone under Iifa and not come back. "Where are you-" she began to say, but the dream faded, and suddenly she was staring at the ceiling of her own room. In Alexandria Castle.

She lay there, contemplating the ceiling, for a few minutes. Then she got up, drew back the curtains, and looked long and hard out at the city of Alexandria.

Did the dream mean he was alive? No, she thought after a moment; dreams weren't reliable for such details, even dreams like that one had been. It probably didn't mean anything that could be expressed in normal terms. Or else it meant everything-but she wasn't under any illusions that she knew what that meant.

She looked out at Alexandria a little longer, and thought of a city made of mirrors; she could no longer remember its name, or the other name that was hers. She just remembered the image of it, and the light that shone from its towers. In the everyday light of day, even that was beginning to fade.

And then she put some clothes on, and went downstairs, to see what would happen next.