The new version of the sequel is FINALLY here. I've been pretty unproductive, but I think I've got my writing mojo back. I promise that this version will be less batshit-crazy confusing than the other one, and ten times better than what the previous version was going to be.

So, enjoy!

In any world, things never move slowly unless you stop and examine every single thing that there is to understand. Even then, time is passing rapidly behind you, and when you look away, you're inevitably going to catch up to it. There's danger around every corner, but you have to take your leaps if you want to get anywhere far.

…Which said nothing about Spira's state of mind at present. It had been two years since the triumph over Sin, Spira's last disaster. Fiends remained, but really, no eminent danger was present on the horizon, and there was no giant enemy to take up arms against anymore. So people relaxed, and rebuilt, and no longer feared or suffered.

On the small island of Besaid, the place that had barely changed, something had violently dispelled the euphoria. Across the island people could hear the hoarse screams of a man in terrible pain, and the mutters of his doctor, who begged him to try to be still while pleading her four struggling companions to hold him down. Occasionally a flailing arm or a writhing leg would kick someone in the stomach or punch a jaw, and fling blood everywhere, but they persevered.

No one dared enter the yellow tent with the intention to observe—none but a single brave girl, who fastened herself to the corner of the room, and clenched her hands in a ball atop her breast while she shuddered. She witnessed everything: the inflamed wounds in the shapes of odd symbols splayed across his body; the word "PENANCE" carved into his back; the nervous attempts of her cousin to close up the gashes with magic. But the more she tried to heal, the more the cuts seemed to resist. They bled more, and deepened, and hissed at her like frightened animals as they tore away from the healing touch.

Overwhelmed by the pain, and exhausted from expressing it, the patient abruptly fell silent, and his limbs went limp. He had fainted.

The doctor retreated to the adjacent cot and roughly took a seat, and her assistants did the same after tenderly putting his arms and legs back on the stained sheets. The wallflower slid her hair behind her ear, and whispered, "Yuna?"

The High Summoner stared down at her own blood-coated hands and took a few shaky breaths. "I don't know."

The short-lived peace that had been delivered by summoner and guardians was over; the next disaster had arrived.

Two days previously

The lukewarm climate of Ella's side of the Farplane assumed an unusual chill on the morning of their departure. A soft breeze drifted from the center of the land of the dead, like the ripples in calm water after a disturbance, and spread until all dead felt it pass. For Elayne, who stood on the edge of the personal world that death had granted her and her consensual mate, the caresses of the wind were ominous and rough, as though pushing against her path.

Edward emerged—from nowhere—and took his place at Elayne's side. His red hair faded to a pale hue of anticipation. For a few precious moments, they were silent; then, he murmured something quiet and unimportant, and the breeze snatched it up and gently whisked it away.

"You ever get the feeling," he said soon after, "that something bad is about to happen?"

Suddenly, being close became both unutterably important and exceedingly inappropriate. All she could do was touch the back of her head to Edward's shoulder. "Constantly."

One of them shuddered, and whispered, "No matter what happens, I love you," and the other replied, "And I love you." They glanced at one another, but found a kiss or some other sort of physical demonstration of affection unnecessary.

After another several quiet moments, Ella stepped away and into focus. "Reina's supposed to be meeting us at the waterfall soon. We've got to go."

Edward gave her a quick nod, and offered his hand for her to join; together, they stepped into a void of darkness. The black abyss appeared before them, and their home on the Farplane melted away as they issued forth. Finally, they were surrounded by the pressing dark, feeling more isolated than the ancient prisoners of Via Purifico, who had rotted bending over, hanging above the tepid water in cages that were both too short and too small for them.

The black canvas melted away just as home had. Their feet touched down to a rocky surface, and the visitor's platform of the Farplane was gloriously revealed with a rush of watery sounds from leagues below, while the pyreflies' chorus ascended to a volume just above that of the crashing falls.

About a month before, the Guado cut off access to the Farplane because of something that they sensed within, an "instability". So closely were they connected with the realm between the living and the dead that the abrupt change in atmosphere left their kind startled and nearly paranoid to the point of closing off Guadosalam altogether. The event sent Spira into a calm uproar. It put everyone on high alert.

Choked with fear, the Guado were blind to the events that were unfolding within the Farplane, and unaware that the instabilities that they sensed were the results of one madman who was close to reaching his first crescendo.

Ender's home, a white old fashioned mansion that one might have seen sitting atop a hill in a Bevelle of calmer times, was suspended in the air high above the lake, looming over the portal with purpose while it blocked out all view of the blue and black moon. That was their destination—today was the day that they would get Auron back.

An uneasy Edward glanced around the platform for Ella, whose eyes were locked on the "haunted house." His heart sank for the both of them.

"Where is Reina?"

Far away, through the darkest depths of the Farplane, through the single long hall that the couple had explored once, without purpose, two years ago, and many times before—through the single circular room that lay at its end, rang the confident and clear notes of a piano. Using informal lessons that a steady hand had taught her long ago, the white-haired woman recited the long and arduous melody scribbled along the dimly lit walls with a dusty instrument.

Before her sat not only a thick wall of stone, but another piano and another pianist in another world, who could no longer touch what he had so long contented himself to play. The voice that drifted from one world to the next, to his ears, moved him to paralysis and tears. With his hands trembling over the ivory keys, Mazrim reveled in that, after so long—after ages—he had been heard. He would be released.

Now on to chapter one. Let's see if my mojo can handle it. In the meantime, click the review button and scold me for being so damn dead for the past forever. I love all of you guys and your patience!

-Ari