Author's Note: Zephyr is a very interesting character. This game in itself deserves much more attention, everything about it is amazing. Enjoy! Reviews are appreciated.

Wandering Soul

"How come you won't pray, Zephyr? You know that God is always watching us, don't you? Zephyr?"

The girl held out the book of scriptures in front of him. In response to her voice, Zephyr raised his head and gazed at the book's leather cover. Unknown to many around him, he had long ago lost hope in scripture.

He met the girl's eyes.

"What does it matter whether I pray or not? Nothing changes."

But the girl continued to hold out the thick book, to Zephyr's annoyance. "You're wrong! Things do change, and we grow by overcoming the obstacles God places in our path."

Overcoming the obstacles?

There had been a time, Zephyr remembered. A time when he had faith in God. Back in the seminary on Level 7, when he was still a child, before that happened. That same childish innocence was returning, luring him into the state of being free and unaware of the suffering of the world around him. Being happy.

All he wanted was to be happy. If he could learn to believe again... If he could go back to the way he was before...

Zephyr began to reach towards the book of scriptures. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl smile.

"What was that? You'll listen when I talk to you!"

His hand froze in mid-air as he began to hear voices. Voices everywhere, yelling at him.

"Keep this up, and the inquisition will have you hanging by your neck!"

"You're a disgrace! Your parents must be ashamed of you!"

"He knows nothing of his parents. You've corrupted his soul!"

"He doesn't even have any parents!"

As suddenly as they began, they stopped. Through the fog in his mind, Zephyr vaguely recognized them; they were the voices from the people back at the seminary.

Silence pounded in his ears. It was past. The past would no longer distract him. He reached for the book again…

And then, his outstretched finger struck something solid, jolting him back to reality, back to his surroundings. The girl and the book vanished, replaced by the filthy window that his finger had struck. The sound of Basel's creaking gears and machinery filled his room. He sat in a simple wooden chair, facing away from the door.

Zephyr lowered his hand.

The past would no longer distract him? He could not escape the past, not after what he had done. He shouldn't even be living; he should have died right there, on the stone steps in the seminary, surrounded by the wreckage and the bodies of the people that he had slaughtered. He was a forsaken soul, hopelessly searching for non-existent answers in a clockwork world, and nothing more. Worthless, and empty.

Someone pounded on his door. "Zephyr! Breakfast! I know you're awake!"

But what could he do about it?

The voice sighed. "What are we going to do with you?"

He had heard the door close as Vashyron - and maybe Leanne, he wasn't sure - left the house. Zephyr had no doubts that Vashyron knew that today was the day that it had happened, or that he was headed to the scene to 'pay his respects'.

To the people that Zephyr had killed, of course.

He closed his eyes and hung his head again. He had only joined Vashyron's group out of hope that he might get an answer as to why his life was spared. It had been a year, and he was nowhere close to getting an answer. He had spent his time running and jumping around, taking contracts as a hunter and firing guns at monsters in exchange for money and recognition. Was all of it for nothing?

"You met here?"

Zephyr's eyes flew open. A strange echo had sounded in his head, much different from the voices that he had previously heard. This one was female, and very familiar.

Leanne?

"Wait, he wasn't a victim?"

Zephyr looked around the room, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Somehow, he was hearing Leanne's voice inside his head. Her voice was an echo, as if she were far away from him.

And then, she began to cry. Zephyr heard it in her voice, she was sobbing, a sound of utter disbelief.

"How horrible…"

No way.

He realized; Vashyron had taken Leanne to Crank Seminary. She was learning about the past. His past.

"I don't know… if I can face him. I'm afraid… I won't be able to look at him the way… the way I did before."

Leanne.

It didn't surprise him. He was a murderer, after all. What would happen to him now? He was certain that Leanne would no longer talk to him, or even bother to look at him without seeing the insane killer holding the machine gun, firing at those helpless people. Would she leave altogether?

"Sure, half the time he's sulking or saying something thoughtless. That's how he is. I know that!"

Zephyr remained silent.

"But… I don't want to hate him…"

Leanne…

'I don't want to hate him.' It had never occurred to him. Leanne's constant cheerfulness against his own depression. He had been too blind, too stubborn to see it, too caught up in his own misery, but his answer had been there. Ever since that day on Christmas when he had saved her life, she had unknowingly been trying to repay the favor. Leanne was his answer. She was trying to bring him out of that darkness, the darkness of the past, and into the light.

Zephyr clenched his fists as a tear rolled down the side of his face.

Leanne… Leanne!

He saw Vashyron and Leanne seated at the table when he came downstairs. She was facing away from him, but he was certain that she knew of his presence.

He sighed when he reached the bottom of the stairs. "Why didn't you wake me up? It's almost noon."

It was slight, but Zephyr could see that she was trembling. Of course she was.

"Where's my breakfast?"

At that moment, Leanne stood, turned, and angrily smacked him across the face.

And Zephyr would never have said it out loud, but would instead hold it in his mind, a memento.

Thank you... Leanne.