The sky was dark and Terra could not see any stars tonight. With a single snap of finger, a small ball of fire floated above her palms.

"Don't burn the airship."

Terra looked towards the source of the voice where Locke was standing in the shadows as he emerged from within the cabin. She smiled, "Hey."

Locke whistled upon the amazing sight in front of him, Terra had never ceased to impress him with her natural talent in the art of magic. "That's pretty cool, none of us would be able to do something like that, not even Celes."

Terra smiled brightly at the self-proclaimed treasure hunter, "Of course she can. Just that she never seem to master the fire magic to be as good as she is in ice."

She dissolved the ball of fire and allowed it to melt into the cold air of the night, warming up the air surrounding the both of them. An amazing sight, with the color of the flames blending together with the air and coloring them in different shades of orange, yellow and red.

The color of the dawn.

Locke looked lost as he observed the magic that Terra had performed, "Terra, do you remember the first time we met?"

"At Narshe?"

He turned his attention back to her, contemplating his thoughts as he allowed the memories of the painful past to take over him once again.

"Our very first meeting wasn't really at Narshe." He said slowly, observing to see if there might be any signs of the returning of her lost memories. A sigh escaped him, an effort to smile at her as he searched for the words to phrase his sentences.

The day he returned to find his home ruined and his beloved who no longer remember him died.

The flames that had destroyed the houses, everywhere smell of burnt corpses.

He remembered holding onto a dead villager as a huge shadow loomed over him.

He looked up and saw a girl looking down on him with no emotions in her emerald green unfeeling eyes. The dawn had cast a lining along her thin and petite form, dressed in red that complimented her pale skin.

She doesn't even looked alive to him.

He gritted his teeth furiously as he held the dead body closer, another hand pulling out the dagger slowly and ready to strike the witch down.

"Witch."

She remained silent for the whole time, with no signs of killing him or even defending herself. She seemed to be waiting for something to happen.

They looked at each other for the longest moment, and she turned away from him as he thought he might have imagined it, but he was sure he might have caught something deep within her that was not shown on the surface.

The same pair of emerald green eyes were now looking at him again, yet so different from what it was used to be. The Slave crown had robbed her of more than just her memories.

"Locke?"

He lifted his hand slowly and placed it gently onto her face, letting his fingers slid down her features slowly, feeling every part of the muscles underneath the skin that formed the expressions which he had seen a lot nowadays on her face.

The witch is dead.

The day the slave crown was removed, she had been reborn.