The physical plane is an interesting place to be.

I don't remember having any conscious thoughts at first—merely an unthought, instinctive desire to exist. I've hovered namelessly, concealed in Derris-Kharlan, for thousands of years, and though I'd sensed the strife in the worlds below, I was powerless to do anything about it… or even recognize what caused it. That discord was the source of my existence, and with every soul that ascended in my name, I tossed in my sleep and struggled gradually towards wakefulness. And, although I had no identity as a singular being, I reflexively knew my purpose in the life I did not yet have.

I had been bound ever since the very beginning of my existence to the one they call Martel, revered as a goddess, though she was not a part of me. Her slumber was even more fitful than mine, growing more so with every soul that became a part of me. What I sensed of her I could not understand; mere dreams, especially ones as convoluted as these, were not enough to fulfill my destiny. Would no one wake me? Was I imagining the two presences floating beside me as I rose higher, farther and farther away from the world I was meant to protect?

No—they were real and true, and their voices pleaded for my awakening.

I felt, more than heard, their voices ringing out with the Eternal Sword, which they clung to as tightly as their lives. Martel stirred anew beside me, resolution burning inside her, and I wondered at the empathy I felt for her—a distinct and conscious feeling at last.

"Rise, Giant Kharlan Tree!" commanded the wielder of the Sword, and I felt myself grow heavier in uncontrollable obedience. Martel and I, side by side, began the long descent to the surface, but I knew I could not yet save them. I was a mere amalgamation of souls wrapped tightly around the Great Seed for which they died; how could I take root in the dying soil and bind the world together without the individuality which my duty required?

As though she knew my newly conscious thinking, Martel reached out sympathetically to me, and I found myself suddenly drawn to the call of a single voice—that of the artificial vessel known as Tabatha. She formed no words either in thought or motion, but the earnestness of her plea carried up to us with remarkable clarity as we plummeted towards the united earth. As she opened her arms to receive us as we fell, I felt myself surrounding her.

Within me, Martel Yggdrasill embraced Tabatha, silencing her comfortingly with the gentleness of her motion, and drew me into their combined selves.

As I took my first, shuddering breaths of air, my head spun with memories that were not my own. I recalled the fierce and tender love for a younger brother I had never had, and how much of it had turned to despair and desolation over the millennia. I remembered an unlikely friendship with a man whom I had never seen, and stolen kisses with another whom I had never loved.

Yet they were my memories, now, and I made my hasty peace with them; the well-being of the seedling was paramount. Sight flickered into my eyes as I opened them for the first time, and my feet alighted on the ruins of the Tower of Salvation. I padded forward without hesitation to find that the sapling of the Giant Tree stretched longingly towards the sky. Even in its minuscule size, it possessed a tremendous power, and I caressed one of its leaves, reassured. It would grow stronger even than its predecessor. It had to. I would find a way to protect it.

Behind me, the bearers of the Eternal Sword descended from on high, and I rose and turned to face them. They were no threat, but until the Tree's growth had accelerated, it was more vulnerable even than the weakest of creatures. It would be entirely possible for them to destroy it through some dreadful mistake.

The girl—Colette, the Chosen of Regeneration. I frowned. Some of her memories bled through, hazy as dreams. She had been Martel's vessel, after all, and a few of her recollections lingered in my soul.

My eyes slid to the boy beside her, the one called Lloyd. He stood with her hand clasped in his, an aura of courage blazing around him, and an image of his father, the man Martel had known so long ago, burst into my head. He had stood as proudly once, with his hand resting calmly on the hilt of his sword, and met her eyes with the same smoldering brown gaze.

I saw the question in those timeless eyes, and Colette's held the same one. "I am Martel," I announced quietly, for her memories were clearest in my mind—and it was her whose appearance I had taken—"and also the incarnation of the Great Seed itself. Lloyd, your hope, as well as those of many others, resurrected me."

"So you're Mithos's sister?" asked Lloyd, his expression melting into wary curiosity. Mithos, her younger brother, had been the one responsible for the state of the world. It may have been through his twisted methods that I had come into existence in this form, but I would rather have never been born like this than allow so many to suffer so that I could live. (How interesting it was that his conviction that his sister would be resurrected should eventually prove true, even if only in a sense.)

"No. Mithos's sister, Martel, is only one of the many souls within me." Martel may be the only one whose memories I could fully access, in whose guise I walked the world and with whose voice I spoke so softly, but I felt sure she was not the same being as myself. "I am Mana, and I am the Giant Tree. I am the symbol of the many lives sacrificed to the Great Seed. I am a new Spirit born to accompany the Giant Tree, and now, the seed has awakened anew, along with me."

I turned back to the seedling with a small smile, pouring my energy into a mirage. The Tree stretched illusorily towards the sky, branching out and bursting with summer leaves to welcome a new era, and stood magnificently over the ruins of our former prison. As it grew, Lloyd and Colette backed away, overwhelmed by the sheer power of its foreseen life force.

"This is the Giant Kharlan Tree?" asked Lloyd, his voice hushed and awestruck.

"It's… so beautiful, and so grand!" exclaimed Colette, staring up at its branches.

"This is the future form of the Giant Tree," I said. "But right now, it is only a small seedling. In its current state, it will wither and die." My energy faltered, and the base of the illusory Tree shimmered. I was no stronger than the newborn sapling with whose defense I was charged.

"Well then, how do we protect it?" asked Lloyd.

"You must provide the Tree with love and adoration," I said, observing the two carefully. Would they rise to the occasion? "As long as those conditions are met, I shall always protect this seedling."

"I promise," said Lloyd resolutely, and I allowed a smile to touch my face. He was so much like his father. "If the Tree ever starts to wither… I'll make sure we won't let it die!"

"Then, Lloyd," I said, recalling his status as wielder of the Eternal Sword, "on behalf of all living things, I want you to give this Tree a new name as a proof of the pact." It was he, after all, who held the rights to my pact. He had not vanquished me, but he had awakened me, and that was enough.

"What?"

"The Giant Kharlan Tree was planted here by the elves when they first came, as a guardian to watch over and protect them." I recalled the swift dance with its Summon Spirit, with swords flashing in the twilight as Martel's friends bent him to their will to cure her of crystallization. "This newly reborn Tree protects elves, humans, and the lives of all those who are caught in between."

I rested my hand on my heart, closing my exhausted eyes briefly. The beating at my chest, strong and steady, was a foreign yet comforting sensation. Life was movement, and I had been stationary far too long. "Therefore, this Tree requires a new name." One that would be untainted by the prejudices of its original cultivators.

Colette looked up at Lloyd with adoration shining clear in her blue gaze, and I smiled, recognizing her unspoken love. "Lloyd, pick a name for us. A name for everyone's Tree."

Lloyd smiled at her and breathed a laugh. "So this Tree is the link that connects the world." He stared up at the fading illusion of the grown sapling for a moment, lost in thought, before he stepped forward triumphantly. "Okay, I got it! This Tree's name is…"

I could maintain the mirage no longer; my limited strength was gone. I leaned on my staff, smooth and half-familiar, as the name 'Yggdrasill' left Lloyd's mouth. A smile tugged at my lips as I faded into the newborn Tree, releasing the image of its grown form to the future I would someday bring about.

As my fragile form recovered, I dreamed a long and lingering dream of many adventures I'd never had. Most of them were Martel's memories, interspersed with blurry snatches of the Chosen's journey, along with the occasional recollection of serving in the house of an old and weary dwarf.

I, as a new being born of three—with the displaced and indistinct memories of a fourth—was the new Spirit of the Giant Tree, but who was I? Now that I had ensured the sapling would be nourished, I had more time to think on my own self. I had little personal experience in the world, though I possessed great knowledge of people I had never met. What was I to think of Martel's relentless memories, growing ever more so as I settled into her body?

I saw those reminiscences half through Martel's eyes, half as a bystander, and neither position was entirely accurate. I felt her emotions acutely, but was all the while aware it had happened to her, and not me. There was a distance between us I could never close. She may have borne my name as well as that of the Tree I now tended, I wasn't her. Of that much I was certain.

But the blue-haired man, the half-elf with the sharp eyes and tongue, haunted me. Unlike the others, all of whom had died or vanished, there was a chance I could meet him again. Thoughts of him paced silently along the edges of my mind and heart, as though afraid to tread too heavily—

"So this is the Giant Tree," muttered a voice. His voice. Yuan Ka-Fai was here, and my heartbeat sped up instinctively. Martel had smiled at him, kissed him, bedded him, and sworn to be his forevermore—and I recalled each one of those distant moments vividly. Yet it wasn't me who had done all that. Martel had loved him, but did I?

"They said it had a Spirit," continued Yuan's voice, and my eyes opened. I noticed within a few seconds that I had successfully maintained my physical form, for which I was grateful, but I hovered in warm and soothing light, swirling around me in tiny storms of energy. Wherever I was, it wasn't in the same plane of existence as the voice. Why could I hear it?

I saw no difference between the light behind me and the light before me, but sensed a fragile barrier, as though a curtain of mist descended, obscuring me from the view of the world. The light beneath me solidified and spiraled around me like a tunnel as I walked forward, bowing my head as I passed through it with an effort. As I did so, I felt with some alarm my form fading, but the breeze caressed my skin a moment later, and bright sunlight shone on my face.

I blinked, startled, though it had not been dark where I had rested. As I floated gently down from my position, levitating above the sapling, I noticed with a pleasurable jolt that Yuan was present, though he faced away from me. My feet alighted on the soft summer grass, already beginning to overtake the ruins of the Tower.

Protective magic shimmered around the Giant Tree, and I sensed a soothing energy flowing from it. This should have an almost soporific effect on trespassers. Was Yuan safe from that, somehow? "They said it had a Spirit," he repeated under his breath, sounding vaguely peeved. How much time had passed since my birth? All that was secondary to my function; I knelt to examine the condition of the seedling, smiling at its healthy glow as Yuan continued talking to no one. "Even Kratos said it had a Spirit. Did they all lie?"

There was another pause. "I hope it's not Ratatosk," grumbled Yuan finally, turning around as though for the last time, and finally caught sight of me.

The annoyance on his face immediately shattered as blank shock took its place. His body was rigid, as motionless as if he never intended to move from that position again; he barely even blinked as he stared at me. "Hello," I said uncertainly, straightening up again, but he said nothing, giving no indication that he had even heard. But I had more than enough time to wait, and merely looked him up and down, trying to sort out my own feelings on the matter—and ignore Martel's for the moment.

Yuan was certainly handsome, in an arrogant sort of way. From what I could tell, in the few seconds I had seen him with my own eyes, he carried and groomed himself well, but if I tried to think any harder, I would only remember more and more of the details Martel had chosen to remember. The scar I knew was on his waist and could not see, or the way he never seemed to smile with all his mouth: those little tidbits, which I had never personally witnessed, made my head spin.

"This is just cruel," said Yuan, so quietly I could barely hear him. His eyes were still wide, this time with something very like fear. This situation had never been in Martel's memory, and rummaging through her recollections was useless. I was on my own this time.

"Pardon?" I asked, stepping cautiously towards him, but he backed away, holding his hands out frantically. I halted, more out of astonishment than anything else. Why was he behaving as though I was dangerous? Even Martel had been a mere healer, and had only supported her comrades as they fought. I laid my staff down on the ground in a gesture of peace, but that only seemed to agitate him more.

"You're… you're supposed to be dead!" cried Yuan. His teeth were clenched in a grimace, as though he had to force himself to focus on what should be rather than what was. A man who loved Martel as he did would perhaps need even more proof that she had returned than anyone else.

"I'm not M—" I said, as mildly as I could.

But Yuan hardly seemed to notice me anymore. "How did he do it?" he muttered, running his hands through his blue hair and tugging half of it from its formerly secure ponytail; he looked like a madman. "I worked against him for all those centuries for nothing! The Renegades—useless! How could he do this?" He paused as though waiting for an answer, but found none; I certainly couldn't provide him with one. "Where is he? Where is he?"

Yuan strode forward quickly, clenching and unclenching his fists as though he wanted nothing more than to grip my shoulders, but stopped awkwardly after a couple steps, and turned his head away from me sharply, as though it was painful to look at me.

"I'm sorry," I said softly. "I know I—"

"Martel!" Thousands of years of raw grief sharpened his voice's edge, and we both flinched at his tone. He glanced up many times in the next, silent moment, but could not meet my eyes. Shame and sorrow and defeat all hung heavily in the air between us.

"I am the Spirit of the Giant Tree," I said, as gently as I could. Yuan sank to one knee not out of reverence, but because he could remain standing no longer: I saw him trembling as he bowed his head. "I am the incarnation of the Great Seed."

"So… you're not… Martel." The sentence wasn't a question, and Yuan's voice cracked under the strain of bearing so much misery. Pity welled up within me like the tears in his eyes as he looked up with a visible effort, and I stepped forward to kneel before him. Would it be easier for him if I concealed my knowledge of her memories?

No—I couldn't keep such a thing hidden for long, and such secrecy would only bring harm to us both. I rested a tender and tentative hand on his shoulder. "Don't," he said, voice more pleading than warning, but he made no effort to move my palm away.

"I am not Martel," I said, raising Yuan's chin with my other hand. His eyes, through their unspilt tears, were flat and dull at my revelation. "But she is me," I added in a whisper, and embraced him as I remembered she had done.

Yuan froze as my arms slid around him—and then, with very little warning, he clutched me close, fingers digging into my back with the intensity of his longing. His face was pressed into my shoulder, and his tears soaked into my clothes as he sobbed. I doubted he had let himself cry much for the millennia since the death of his fiancée.

I was unaccustomed enough to the way time flowed in this world that we might have knelt there in the clearing for mere minutes or a full hour before Yuan released me and straightened up, unable to meet my eyes as he spasmed with a few more lingering sobs. (I wiped another wave of his tears from his eyes.) "I—I'm s-sorry," said Yuan, swallowing tremulously. "I—lost control."

I said nothing, but glanced up at the sky; fluffy white clouds swept across its blue expanse, and Yuan traced my gaze with a somewhat lachrymose smile. "You used to love this kind of day," he murmured hoarsely, then glanced at me apologetically with bloodshot eyes. "Martel did, I mean. I don't know if—if you…" He couldn't finish the sentence.

"I can remember her memories," I said, glancing down at the grass and twiddling a few blades in my fingers. "And I can feel her feelings. But I never truly experienced the things she did or felt, and…" I couldn't finish my sentence, either. How could I tell Yuan that I remembered every secret kiss he'd shared with her, the beauty of the twilit evening when he'd asked her to spend her life with him, and the lazy way he'd traced her curves as they lay side by side—and still insist I wasn't Martel?

Yuan seemed to have nothing to say to this, and merely stared up at the sky awhile longer before finally lying on his back. (Perhaps he wasn't immune to the effects of my magic after all.) It seemed as though he had made peace with the situation, or at the very least calmed himself down enough to think and speak rationally. I gazed down at him steadily with an expression I didn't realize was affectionate until he glanced at me and colored slightly as he cleared his throat.

"I'd appreciate it if… if you didn't look at me like that," said Yuan, tearing his eyes away from mine, and I dropped my gaze and muttered a hasty apology. He still wore his engagement ring to Martel, I noticed, and I supposed this wouldn't be the same. Part of me admired his devotion to her, and was impressed with his resistance to what some might consider temptation.

"This place isn't very well-guarded," added Yuan matter-of-factly, some time later.

I looked down at Yuan with some surprise, having been observing the way the sunlight fell on the seedling so that its tiny leaves glowed gold. He was right, of course, but to switch so easily from emotional matters to practical was startling. "No," I agreed, glancing at him only briefly lest I accidentally discomfit him again.

"I…" began Yuan, and stopped abruptly. As I was about to prompt him to continue, he finished quickly, "I could help protect the sapling. Since I have four thousand years of fighting experience."

Yuan could not look at me as he said it, and turned red as I stared at him curiously. "Why would you want to do that? You have a new world to explore, and I'm sure staying here would be uninteresting. The only growth you would witness would be very gradual."

There was a short but thoughtful pause before Yuan replied. "All the old heroes have new missions. You're the last hope of survival for this world, and Kratos is traveling with another. But I… I have no purpose."

His voice was almost apologetic, as though he believed I would reject him. I knew he was thinking of the way he had yelled at me and cried into my shoulder all within the first few minutes of our acquaintance. Indeed, had I not had Martel's memories to lean on, I might have sent him away for fear of his unpredictable temper, but I still remembered all his kind and tender actions from the past, long before he was hardened to the joys of the world. Perhaps that Yuan was still there, somewhere.

How could I refuse? In a way, he and Martel were being given a second chance through me. "You shall have a purpose soon as my protector," I said softly, and Yuan opened his eyes somewhat sleepily to smile at me. I would have to find a way to nullify the soporific magic around the Great Seed if he was to guard me, but that could wait until he had taken a well-deserved rest.

The quiet brilliance of Yuan's half-smile, the same one Martel had seen a thousand times, threatened to overwhelm me, and I closed my eyes—perhaps to escape it, perhaps to commit it to my own memory. That was my experience, and mine alone. No remembrance of Martel's could compare with seeing it in person for the first time.

"Thank you," said Yuan, sounding immeasurably relieved, and as I opened my eyes, he closed his exhaustedly. I smiled down at him as his breaths grew deeper and more rhythmic. When he awakened, we would start anew as Spirit and guardian, the new incarnations of the heroes of old, with no shards of our broken pasts conflicting with our present duties. It would be a new beginning for us both.

I lay on my side and rested my hand gently, cautiously, over his heart, which quickened at my touch even in his slumber. I remembered how warm his lips felt pressed against Martel's, but for me, the strength of his heartbeat pulsing against my fingers was dizzying enough for now.

We would almost have a new beginning, anyway. There was one aspect of our pasts we would never be able to fully escape.