Disclaimer: Yuni owns nothing but the ideas of how things go in this chapter. She also owns whatever fleshed out character traits she had given to the blackjack dealer in the casino. Please consider this before you review.

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In the emperor's chambers of a palace, on a magenta sofa sat two brothers, a prince, and a thief. The rest of their party had left them to their devices- the savior of their world back in his own and the familiar tamer back home in the desert city of Al Mamoon. The fairy was who knows where. Honestly, if it weren't for the guards recognizing him as one of Oliver's friends, the rogue would have been unwelcome.

Swaine had visited his brother after about a couple of months or so traveling again. Despite all the things he had been through, all the battles and rough terrain he had managed to survive, he still struggled to find his lot in life. Oh, he had given up stealing from people to survive- that was a given after joining the young wizard. Most of his funds came from bounty hunts, now a day. Some of the items from them he sold to earn a decent amount of funds to live on while moving from place to place.

Despite all of that, it was nice to at least have a place to come back to. It was nice to have someone close to welcome him home.

"So… I've been thinking of a new gun. This Highwayman's Handgun's seen better days, I'll tell you," he began, holding up a gold gun with a claw-like attachment at the end of it. What gleam it once probably had dulled and numerous scratches covered its surface. Despite this, it seemed to still be in working order.

"Oh," Marcassin, his brother, responded with a raised eyebrow. The young ruler was always eager to hear his older sibling's machinations on machinery and gadgets, even if some concepts eluded him. "Have you any plans for it, then," he asked, lifting his head to face the older rougher man next to him.

The thief chuckled, pulling out a rolled-up paper from the bronze colored burlap satchel hanging from his lanky shoulders. "To the point as ever, Marcassin." He unfurled it, revealing an oddly shaped gun with a barrel and muzzle in a plus-shaped pattern with claw-like protrusions on the top and bottom of it. The handle looked like an average flintlock design, despite its weird shape. "I was going to use the famed riddle rivet for part of it. The rest will be made out of either blowpipes or bubble pipes and I figure I can scrap a firing mechanism from an old prototype lying around here. Should be a pretty well-balanced gun, I'd say," he plotted, smirking at the design.

For a moment, the prince with long black hair studied it. He looked up at his brother and met his eyes. Looking down at the paper again, he frowned. "Why not rite stones and scrolls of truth," he advised. "They have powerful magic properties- properties that would enhance the firepower of the weapon without taxing any of the owner's own magic ability."

Swaine jolted back, looking at his brother incredulously. "Scrolls of truth and rit- Marcassin, how the hell am I supposed to build this thing if I can't manipulate the materials! Furthermore, are you bloody aware of how hard it is to get scrolls of truth," he interrogated, flustered.

"We'll build it together, brother," Marcassin said, meeting Swaine's perturbed gaze once again with a fond smile. "I'd like to help you build this one. It's been a while since we've built something together- something just for fun." He saw the lanky man in the green coat relax and look down at his plans. The prince followed suit, admiring his older brother's handy work.

"That's nice, Marcassin. But the materials you want to use are rather hard to acquire. You can only get them under certain conditions, right," he queried, sighing forlornly. "I've done a fair amount of study on these materials helping Oliver with alchemy formulae before you ask."

The ruler nodded wisely. "It'll take quite a bit of hunting," he admitted before looking back at the concerned rogue's face. "I leave your decision up to you. For your sake, I am willing to make time for this," he offered sincerely.

The attention Swaine had on the paper broke as he quickly looked at his brother. "…But the Empire. Marcassin…," he softly reminded in a hushed whisper.

The ruler rolled his eyes indignantly. Despite this, he smirked. "Please, how did the Empire fare when father went on his own missions, Gascon." Marcassin gently laughed and placed a hand on the rugged man's shoulder with a confident air. "You're worrying too much about this, brother."

The older man sighed, closing his eyes for a second. Slowly, he began to nod, eventually looking back at his brother. "Fine… But only because you want to, alright? I could still make this gun with my original design, you know."

"That you could, I have no doubt," Marcassin replied with a chuckle.

The brothers found themselves in Nazcaa. Rite stones were the first thing they had to collect. They often found themselves puzzled over stones with engravings in them which were, more often than not, not the right stones they needed.

"Remember we're looking for stones that give off a certain magical aura," Marcassin explained after what seemed like the fiftieth fake rite stone.

"I'm sorry if I can't sense magical energy, your sagely-ness," Swaine mocked, bowing exaggeratedly. "The inscriptions on these things aren't exactly the same, you know," he noted, pulling one of the four stones they found out of the burlap bag and showing it to him.

His comments went mostly ignored, save for a gruff sigh from the young prince who now crouched down to observe a bush near the mountainside. He reached in and pulled out another stone. "Here. Gascon, instead of complaining, make yourself useful," he grumpily ordered, throwing the stone at the thief for him to catch.

Swaine hissed and fumbled with it between his own two hands, flinching. "Careful! I know these things are rocks, but geez!" He glared at Marcassin as he pocketed the stone. He received a cheeky smirk in return.

It took a while, but eventually, they found all ten that they needed. Tired from all the searching, they set up camp near a hillside for the night. As the day drew to an end over the nation of Nazcaa, they watched the sunset.

"Ah, beautiful," the ruler sighed from next to the campfire, idly poking it. "I envy you, Gascon. You've been able to see sights like this on a daily basis."

"Heh." Swaine leaned back on his hands while sitting cross-legged on the ground on the other side. He looked up at the vibrant gold and orange sky over their tiny camp. "I guess it is kind of nice. There are some things you take for granted, I guess."

"Indeed. Then we shall not take this situation for granted- how often do you get to watch the sunset with your brother," Marcassin fondly lamented, smiling as birds flew in front of the view.

"You have a point." And that was all Swaine had to say as they enjoyed the spectacle with one another. When night finally came, they had eaten the rations they had packed and began to turn in.

"Welp," the thief began. "Tomorrow the scrolls of truth… That'll be fun," Swaine yawned from his place on the ground.

"I look forward to it," the prince responded sleepily, rolling over in his sleeping bag to face away from the dying campfire.

It was on to the Tombstone Trail near home. Both figured that if either got too worn out or in trouble, they could easily escape back to Hamelin. The only way to get the famed scrolls of truth was to steal from an avian creature called a honky-tonker, a trumpet beaked bird with a piano pattern for a frill. It wasn't just any old honky-tonker, but a golden one that could only be found in a cave further on up the trail.

"Oh, brother. Remember this? You got so mad at me for lying to you, if I recall," Marcassin laughed as they stopped for a break at the old abandoned cabin.

"Yeah, sorry about that," the lanky thief sheepishly replied with a rub of the back of his neck. "You really were just trying to look out for me, weren't you? Then I went and left anyway…," he reflected, his tone slightly bitter. He saw a worried look from Marcassin and put on a more upbeat countenance. "What a mess I was back then, eh? Things certainly have changed since."

The ruler smiled and nodded as he continued to eat his sandwich. When his mouth was clear, he looked to the thief. "Are you going to eat yours? We've got a long way to go, still."

"I'll be fine, don't worry," he nonchalantly reassured.

They managed to get at least two of the scrolls from the beasts. Some of them just didn't have it on them. The things were tiny, so Marcassin held them.

That… turned out to be a huge mistake. The cave had its fair share of blind spots as well as curse traps. Despite his infinite wisdom, the sage found himself afflicted by one of these traps and stumbled around in the dark in front of Swaine.

Still recoiling from the condition, the sage didn't see a ledge in a shadowy part of the candlelit cave. He fell with a shocked yelp into the abyss.

"Marcassin," the thief shouted, quickly grabbing his gun and activating the grappling function. He dove for the ledge, a third of his upper body hanging over it. He held the handgun with both hands, having fired it into the dark in hopes it would snag his brother.

His practice in performing trick maneuvers did not fail him as he felt a heavy tug on the end of the wire. Straining, he pulled himself back off the ledge. He tugged up sharply on the gun which triggered the cable to retract, steadily retrieving what was on the other end. "M-Marcassin," he hesitantly, worriedly gasped as he got to his feet, continuously backing up.

Oh, god… Please don't tell me… Don't tell me I was too late. He internally fretted, fearing the worst.

A hand grabbed the edge of the chasm and a frazzled Hamelin ruler pulled himself up with the aid of a grappling claw that persistently held onto his tunic sleeve. Relieved, the thief tapped twice lightly on the trigger, releasing the claw when he was sure his brother was on the stable ground once again.

"It's a good thing Hamelin tailors make sturdy clothing," Marcassin nervously admired the sleeve of his decorated turquoise cardigan. He felt nerve-racked hands grip his shoulders and he stared up to find a more than a little shaken Swaine.

"Marcassin! Oh, thank goodness. Are you alright," the lanky rogue asked, looking the prince over.

"Protective big brother to the very end as ever," he noted softly, shakily. "To answer your question, I'm fine." He flashed a reassuring smile. "Thank you, Gascon."

Swaine let go and found himself collapsing against a nearby wall, looking up at the young sage. He let out a deep shaky sigh. "There's a few years of my life taken off. Urgh," he groaned as he looked down. When he looked up, his eyes widened. His younger brother seemed to be patting himself down. "What," he began irritably, dreading the inevitable answer. "You didn't, did you?"

Marcassin turned to face the man with only regret. He silently nodded, his hands limply dangling at his side.

The thief's energy returned to him in almost an instant as he leaped up and punched the cave wall. "Goddammit, Marcassin," he snapped. He turned and glowered at the sage. "Two. Two of them. Lost. All that work, and for what," he roared with both fists shaking in front of him. He stomped around in that small little area, letting his frustration vent out of him.

He finally stopped and shook his head. "Sorry. I guess I really shouldn't blame you," he calmly, but grumpily corrected himself. "Really, I should just be happy you didn't die just now. That's what's important… Some brother I am." He threw his hands up.

Guiltily, Marcassin looked away. He swallowed, fighting a lump in his throat. "Don't worry yourself so much… I should have given you the scrolls." He delicately placed a hand to his own forehead, exhaling heavily as he closed his eyes. "I suppose it goes without saying, but I am in your debt, brother," he said as he looked back up at the rogue, his hand dropping to his side, again.

"Don't start. You don't owe me anything," Swaine retorted, rolling his eyes. "Forget about it, would you?" He shook his head again with another deep and tired sigh. Placing his own hand to his brow. "Let's just- Let's continue hunting these things down, shall we?"

"Are you sure," Marcassin asked, taking a step towards his brother. "Perhaps we should rest."

Swaine studied the prince's concerned face, staring passed his arm. We're back down to zero… If we could just- If we could get three. Just three of those damned scrolls… His frown increased as he felt a pang of fatigue wash over him. The younger man in front of him looked a bit worse for wear himself, despite his regal attire. Slowly, the thief nodded with his hand still plastered to his forehead. "Yeah… Yeah," he reluctantly agreed, though his worn out tone betrayed him. "I know a place down the trail- a casino."

"Casino," the prince questioned, a critical eyebrow raised. He was well aware of the famed Crypt Casino on the Tombstone trail, but he didn't exactly rate it as a place he could easily relax in. "Why there?"

"Well, for one," Swaine answered as he pushed himself away from the wall. "Gambling is a fun way to get your mind off things- 'specially if you have a good amount stacked in your favor at the establishment. Hell, I'll share some of my chips. You'd love Platoon."

Marcassin paused for a moment, confusion washing over his features. Platoon…? Like a platoon of men? He seemed to be considering his next question. Finally, he asked, "…What's Platoon?"

The thief was already heading in the direction of the Casino. He rolled his eyes as he heard his royal highness follow him. "Brother, I'm serious. What do you mean by 'Platoon'," he heard him ask again.

"You'll see…"

They entered the Crypt Casino. It seemed to have a slightly eerie feel to it as skeletons and ghosts littered the interior. On the walls were jack-o-lanterns and the candelabra light posts skittered about on four spider-like legs. Despite this, the gambling den for the undead was seemingly lit by the slot machines and a bright blue ghoulish aura behind some of the tables.

Swaine received a decent amount of chips- about twenty or so worth varying amounts- from the cashier and shared some with his brother. "Just head on over to the Platoon table and ask the dealer how to play." He motioned to the white-haired lady behind a counter across the room. "I'll be over at the Blackjack table if you need me," he indicated, jabbing his thumb to the closest table. Behind it was a brown-haired woman with a witch's hat and a black dress adorned with an orange belt tied in a bow behind her back.

"You come here often, do you," the prince wondered suspiciously. He wasn't sure if he approved of this newly discovered habit of his brother.

"Don't worry, your purity," Swaine quipped. "All of this is built up from a good amount of wise playing. I don't throw away my chips," he explained. He leaned in and whispered in the ruler's ear. "Between you and me, I haven't spent a cent more than when I bought the first ten," he divulged cheekily. He straightened back up and walked over to the Blackjack table.

The lady behind the table was in the middle of shuffling her cards and cleaning up for the next player. She looked up to see a regular of the casino- a man with dark fluffy but messy brown hair dressed in a shabby coat. "Well, if it isn't our favorite wanderer," she greeted. "Here for another batch of hands?"

He smirked as he took a seat while resting an arm on the bar. "Of course, Abbie," he replied. This was the only game in the casino he seemed to enjoy. Something about the simplicity and how it involved a bit of risk. They played a couple of rounds.

He didn't fare so well this time, losing a few rounds. "This isn't like you. I mean, you don't really ever look like the lucky type, but three in a row," she asked, though smirking at how often he lost. "Did you hit your head or something?" She leaned over the counter at the increasingly annoyed thief.

"I might as well have," he grumbled, looking to the side. "I lost something on the trail that I had been hunting."

The dealer quizzically looked at him. "Lost something? Care to tell," she asked as she shuffled the cards.

"Only if we play another hand," he bartered, smirking.

Abbie nodded and distributed the cards. When Swaine picked them up, he began to plan his next move. A hit would add an almost random amount to his hand. Either it would be too much, too little, or just the right amount. At the moment he had seventeen. "Hit," he requested, eyeing the cards in the dealer's delicate hand. She nodded and drew a card from the pile, handing it to the rogue.

"Ha! Blackjack," he shouted, placing the queen, seven, and four cards down.

She threw her cards down, displaying a worth of sixteen. "As if I care," she snapped competitively. She tallied the chips up to three times the original bet, setting them aside. "Are you going to tell me, or what," she grumpily requested as she slammed her hands on the table, leaning over it.

Swaine eased her with a hand. "Alright, alright. A deal's a deal," he allowed. "I lost some scrolls of truth. I'm working on a new gadget, you see."

"Oh, an inventor," she admired with an interested smile. "I wish I could help you. Sadly, all I can provide is blackjack," she apologized with a shrug. She offered another round and he accepted.

"Trust me, Abbie. You're helping plenty right now. Blackjack's a good out," he responded calmly. "I stand," he conceded, placing his hand down- a hand of eighteen.

Abbie looked down at her opponent's hand and drew a couple of cards. "Ooh, sorry," she hissed, putting her hand down. "Hehe! I win," she laughed as she watched the man lean back on the stool with a hand slapped over his face. She had a hand of twenty.

"How do you even-," he started, staring at both sides in shock. He growled. "Another hand, you."

The dealer nodded. "With pleasure."

The two brothers left the casino. Though empty-handed both had increased the number of chips they had had originally- the prince especially.

"I didn't think a strategic card game like that existed. I found it rather fun," Marcassin reflected, smiling.

"Told you. I hope you've had your fun- we've got some serious headway to make," he informed warily. Despite this, he had his hands behind his head as he nonchalantly walked the trail with Marcassin at his side.

Battle after battle, stolen item after stolen item, they tried. The damn birds were mocking them, it almost seemed.

The thief twirled his gun, ready to steal something that glimmered in the creature's frock. He fired and to his dismay received a shiny crystal. "Y'know," he began in an annoyed drawl. "I'm getting real sick and tired of this shit," he swore as he begun to fire at the advancing creature.

"Such language doesn't befit you, Gascon," the sage warned, casting a light-based attack.

"Oh, shut up," he snapped, taking one last shot at the creature. As it fell, he turned to face Marcassin, smirking. "And don't tell me you're not tired of getting the wrong thing, too."

The prince sighed and looked away pensively. "I can't say that I'm not." He stopped and looked back to the rugged man before him. "How many do we have now?"

Swaine reached for his satchel and rifled through it, silently counting. "Three," he answered. Just two more and then back to Hamelin, he thought. "Let's try to get through with it," he groaned as he closed the bag and clutched the shoulder strap and walked forward. They headed towards the shadowy area where Marcassin had nearly fallen to his doom. The thief stopped when he saw a familiar hat adorned woman climbing out of the pit.

"…Abbie? The hell…," he whispered.

"No doubt about it. These have to be them," she muttered to herself, holding two small glimmering rolled pieces of parchment to her chest. "That Swaine…," she complained still unaware of her audience. "He owes me, now- Yipe!" She jumped at the sight of her topic.

"'I owe you' what, Abbie," he pointedly inquired his hands on his hips. "Also," he started, glaring at the scrolls, then the dealer's face, and then at the chasm behind her. "Why were you even down there in the first place? Don't you have a table to run?"

The brown-haired witch stomped a boot adorned foot in her usual quick tempered manner. "I'll have you know it's my break, sir. What I do on my break is none of your business," she fussed. She threw up a hand and shook her head. "Never-mind." She quickly walked up to Swaine and handed him the two scrolls. "You dropped this, you klutz." She rolled her eyes and chuckled. "Then again, I'm not surprised in the slightest. You trip over yourself a lot in the casino."

He took the scrolls from her hand, still confused at the entire situation. "How'd you know where to even look, Abbie?"

"I didn't," she stated, glaring at Swaine. "I was taking a walk up the trail and I saw these shining things at the bottom of this hole. So, I climbed down and got them."

Marcassin looked at his brother and then the girl. "You climbed down… and just picked them up? Wasn't that a long way down? How'd you even see them from that distance," the prince asked, baffled.

"I've got good eyes and years of climbing experience," she stated, smirking. "It definitely gave me a good work out." She rolled her shoulders and began to walk past the two, tapping Swaine's left arm. "You owe me one-hundred hands of blackjack, now."

Scoffing, he turned to Abbie with a smirk. "Do I at least get my chips?"

"House policy," she returned with her back to him.

The thief watched as she walked back toward her occupation, still holding the scrolls in his hand. He distractedly looked down at the glowing parchment. That was pure luck. It had to be, he thought. He squinted, pushing away the notion. No, there's a reason that happened. I just don't know, yet, he argued optimistically.

"Brother," Swaine heard Marcassin call. He turned to face the prince suddenly. "Sorry. Got lost in thought." He nodded affirmatively. "Let's go back to Hamelin… Let's go home," he fondly said.

Marcassin smiled and pulled out the sky tree wand given to him by Oliver, the savior from another world. He cast a teleportation spell.

They sat in the inner sanctum once again after a night of sleep. This time they had all the parts laid out on the coffee table. They exchanged a glance and smiled confidently at each other. The two looked back at the items and begun their work.

As Marcassin manipulated the stones and scrolls to fit their intended purpose, his older brother fastened them to the rivet. With their combined talents, the gun began to take form.

Eventually, the two beheld a magnificent blue and white pistol with golden accents. It glimmered in the incandescent lamp light of the room and reflected the brother's faces in the barrel, both of which were proud of their handiwork.

"This was a triumph," the sage shouted in grand excitement, beaming at the sight.

Swaine picked it up, holding it in his hands as if he were weighing it. He shook it near his ear, listening for any loose parts. When he finally determined it was sound, he took aim at a pillow that had been haphazardly thrown in a corner. "You don't mind if I shoot it, do you," he asked, smirking.

"Are you serious," the prince exclaimed. "Gascon, what if it damages the wall?!"

The thief rolled his eyes and got up. "Fine. I'll go to the royal training grounds," he moaned, swaying his head in annoyance. He walked out of the room, leaving the prince behind him.

Generally, the training grounds were for the personal royal guard to practice weapon handling- be it sword or gun. There was usually a schedule for this type of training, and according to Swaine's memory, no one would be there at that time.

In lamp lit training hall, the thief found himself facing an array of straw dummies. He smirked as he drew the gun he had now named the Masterthief's Magnum. He fired at each one, calculating in his head how the gun performed. Not much recoil and it did decent spread damage, it seemed. The dummies were still mostly intact but showed ware from the shots taken. The true test was the grappling function. He took out an ordinary stone and buried it in one of the dummy's chest. Stepping back, he fired behind his back with his hand stretched toward the fake adversary.

Its claws grabbed it with ease and immediately jolted back to the weapon- the thief quickly pocketing the stone.

"Can't say much for its other purposes, brother, but it certainly is a gun fit for an emperor," he heard a lighter familiar voice comment. Swaine turned to see his brother standing at the entrance of the training hall. The prince smiled at his older brother.

"I'm no emperor, Marcassin. You know that," he stated, smirking at the gun in his hands.

Marcassin considered his words. If there was a time to request his brother's services, it was definitely now. "Gascon… I don't believe you," he stated finally. "You know better than I would about the common man. You have skills that would fill the gap in my own."

"Marcassin…" he softly began to protest, admiring the gun.

"Don't you dare," the sage ordered. "Look at that gun and tell me that we wouldn't rule better together. Side by side… You and me…," he paused. Marcassin approached the older man. "You have a genuine concern for this country- I can tell…," he persuaded. "And I need someone who understands the people- who has lived the life they have. What better than my brother who has traveled the world to save it?"

"Father wanted us to rule together. I can feel it," he coaxed, pressing a hand onto the barrel of the gun and the other over his heart. "I felt it when we made the Clarion and I felt it when we made this gun. Our strengths are better together than they are alone, don't you see," he softly encouraged, looking into the doubtful eyes of Swaine.

The thief stayed silent, only able to stare down at the weapon in his hands. He'd be lying if he didn't feel the same. A glimmer of confidence began to show in his eyes, though they remained clouded in unease.

"Even if they are, it doesn't change the law, Marcassin. Besides, I don't even look like a ruler. Nor do I sound or act like one," he finally replied, looking the prince in the eye.

Marcassin laughed lightheartedly. "Laws can be changed, brother." He thought for a moment, taking his left hand down from his chest. "And so can you- Well, in appearance. I'm sure you've still got some class left in there somewhere," he joked.

The thief sighed and shook his head. "Fine, let's give this a shot," he reluctantly agreed, flashing his younger brother a half-confident smile and wagging his finger. "But as soon as this place starts going to the dogs, don't say I didn't warn you."

"Please, I doubt it will if I'm around, Gascon," Marcassin said as he lifted his hand from the newly made magnum.

The beginning of a new era was about to begin- the era of two emperors as well as two brothers of machine and magic working together.