Chapter One

Darkness engulfed the young sorcerer. He couldn't think or open his eyes and his body felt numb and cold. For a moment, he thought he was dead, but the frantic beating of his heart in his ears convinced him otherwise. Cold fear ran through his veins and his deep, cerulean eyes were flowing with tears. Not because of pain; but disgrace. He no longer knew where he was, but the cold salty water that washed over him was enough for him to realize that he was no longer in the Iifa Tree.

He had welcomed his death in the Iifa Tree. It was the only thing he deserved, the only reward for the numerous crimes he had committed so willingly. It was such a strange feeling... welcoming something he had once tried so hard to avoid; admitting defeat and accepting his inevitable fate.

Admitting defeat...

What happened to Zidane? Did he make it out of the Iifa Tree? Was he alive as well? Why did he come back for somebody who was doomed to die? The sorcerer's death had been marked since before his birth. Surely his brother knew of such things, or was he just too dense to realize the reality of his destiny? That he, not Kuja, was to be the best Angel of Death.

Kuja tried to open his eyes, yet his body had been drained of all it's stamina. The tips of his fingers were so cold that he could no longer feel them and wave after wave of icy water kept crashing on his frail body. He began to wonder if he was going to drown or freeze to death.

His body had begun to shut down yet his mind was rapid. His mind raced with the thoughts of the destruction and chaos he had caused. The people whom he had killed, the lives he ruined, those left homeless due to the war. He remembered watching impassively as enemy soldiers tried to crawl helplessly away; flesh opened, organs and bone exposed, and a trail of blood which followed in their wake. He had not taken pity on those soldiers, he had followed their trails and killed them all with a heartlessness that now made Kuja cringe.

He thought back to the woman who's organ's had spilled out before her when the sorcerer's mighty silver dragon sliced her belly open. He thought of the man who lost his village and family when Kuja had burned it all to ash; the man was missing half his face and an eyeball dangled disgustingly from his socket and still Kuja had no remorse; he killed him on the spot...

It angered him that he was thinking of such things now. Why should it matter to him now? He could not change the things he had done, yet the memories kept coming and the agony which he felt was unending. Images of the death he had caused echoed

throughout the corners of his mind like shadowy whispers in the dark...

Just then, he heard faint voices around him, voices that were very unfamiliar to him. He could feel pressure being applied to his limp body. He tried to cry out but his voice had betrayed him. He then felt something hard collide into his skull and slowly drifted off into unconsciousness.

A young woman sat in the front seat of a caravan being pulled by four chocobos. She gripped the reins tightly, tense. She kept her eyes ahead of her and tried not to pay any attention to the painful screams behind her in the wagon. The chocobos treaded carefully, nervous of the stranger in the caravan. The woman occasionally spoke to the chocobos as if they were frightened children to calm their nerves.

The young woman of twenty years wore a flowing gown of silver. Her long hair, like the darkest spun silk, twisted behind her in the wind. Her eyes were a smokey lavender color and she had porcelain skin, delicately pointed ears, and soft features. Her body was rather willowy and she had an aura that seemed timeless in grace.

She scanned the plains ahead for any sign of the rest of her group. She cursed silently to herself for getting separated from them. If only she and her brother had paid attention and hadn't spent so much time in Conde Petie, she thought to herself, then they'd be with the rest of the nomads right now.

Just then, a man came out from the back of the caravan and sat next to the woman. He was no older than twenty-seven and had a notably angular and elegant physique. His dark hair was tied back tightly and he had ash-grey eyes which twinkled hypnotically. He wore an elegant doublet that was the color of ivy in the winter and a pair of black trousers. The sunlight lovingly caressed his face, sharpening the strong lines of his jaw, and etching his cheekbones.

"How is he doing?" the woman asked, noticing the man's blood-stained hands. She turned her attention back in front of her.

"I was able to dress his wounds," he replied simply. "I think his injuries are more internal though. As soon as we find the others, we'll get him to the clerics."

The woman nodded. "I think I will go see him. Perhaps later he can tell us what happened or..."

"Sister," the man interrupted, "I don't think that would be wise. We have no idea who he is or where he came from, Aliiza. Our Elder would not think highly of me if he knew I let you near him. He could wake up and..."

"Kaayin," Aliiza said calmly, "he's injured. I doubt he has the strength to lift a finger let alone kill us."

"He was covered in gaping wounds," Kaayin said sternly. "He could be a convict sentenced to death or banished from his country for crimes he may have committed. We shouldn't take our chances. We don't know anything about this man." Kaayin folded his arms across his chest. "The least we could do is give him a chance at survival, but I don't want us to get any more involved then we all ready are."

"But seeing that he is well isn't a crime," she said bitterly.

With that said, Aliiza handed the reigns to her brother and pulled back the burgundy cotton sheet that separated the inside of the caravan from the driver's seat and climbed inside before her brother could stop her. The air was thick with the smell of blood and numerous bloody rags and bandages laid in a pile on the opposite end of the caravan.

The young man whom she and her brother had rescued on the shore near the Iifa Tree lied motionlessly on a thin cotton blanket to her right. He was a pale, thin man, who was subtler than freshly fallen snow. His dove-feathered hair was a tangled mess; his skin, which had been marred with fresh blood and dirt, was now clean. But death was upon the poor soul like an unseasonable frost. The color in his lips and cheeks had become more pallid and his breathing had turned into small gasps as he fought to stay alive.

Aliiza moved cautiously towards the blanket. In truth, she was terrified of this stranger. It was the first time she had ever laid eyes on someone like him before. She turned her eyes away from the man's face when she noticed his silver tail twitch suddenly.

She furrowed her eyebrows and whispered, "Just what are you, anyways?" She slowly reached towards his silver hair and picked up a snow-white feather to examine. "An angel?"

The caravan suddenly jerked to a stop and the chocobos began to 'kewh" jubilantly.

"Aliiza!" Kaayin shouted back. "I've found the others!"