Disclaimer: I do not own Star Ocean nor any of the characters from the game. The Gods and Goddesses are mine, though, and I do request that you ask me first before using. Thank you.

Author's Note: This is a follow-up to Honey Wine and Letting Go When the Desire to Hold On is Stron. I recommend you read those first if you haven't already. They're not completely necessary but they will help you to understand where this story is going better than you would without reading them.

Feathers.

There were white feathers with blue and silver tips, dozens of them, surrounding him, floating lazily behind him as he rapidly fell towards . . . well, he did not know to where he was falling or even why. He only knew he was falling towards something unforgiving, unyielding, and the impact would likely kill him.

As his descent continued, his hands reached out and grasped a few of the white feathers trailing behind him. He recognized the feathers. They were his, though he could not remember why he had feathers or even wings in the first place. He felt no wings on his back. The entire situation confused him, and there was one thing he felt certain of – he disliked feeling confused.

Images flashed throughout his mind as he fell, images of gentle green eyes and soft, sapphire blue hair. The owner of those eyes and hair also possessed a kind and caring smile and the warmest of touches, though how he knew that, he could not recall. His memories had left him.

The falling man held up one of his own hands, curious if he, too, had the same touch as the one he saw. He noticed his fingers were long and slender, capable of meticulous work, he felt certain, but what kind of work, he wondered.

It was in studying his hands he noticed he wore a ring on his right hand, a golden dragon with crushed emeralds along its spine and wings, and rubies for eyes. The dragon ring corresponded with another ring of a similar design – he knew that it did because he felt it resonating throughout his being – but he could not recall with whom he shared a bond. Everything had somehow become muddled, as if he were trying to gaze into a pool of mud.

'Most curious,' he mused to himself. 'I have a counterpart somewhere . . . it must the one with the green eyes and sapphire hair . . . but how do I know this?'

Even more curious than his knowledge of a counterpart and what the other's appearance was, was the fact his descent felt slower, as if something were pulling on him, trying to save him. He could not understand why, and he heard himself asking as much.

"Because . . . it isn't your time to die . . ."

"It isn't my time to die," he murmured. "Do you know who I am?"

"You do not remember?"

"No . . . I do not . . . Who are you? Will you help me?"

"I will help you . . . We are connected to each other . . . I will find you . . ."

The voice, which sounded painfully familiar to him, cut off all of a sudden, but the air surrounding him stopped flowing and tugging on his person. He also stopped in his descent towards . . . whatever.

"You will find me," he murmured. "You know my name, don't you? I know you do. You were about to say it. And someone doesn't want me to know who I am or where I am from. I can tell, though I am not sure how. But why?"

He felt himself being righted, his feet close to dirt and grass and wildflowers, and he saw himself standing in a world of bright sunlight, blue skies, and white puffy clouds. His heart felt a little better for his surroundings, and he surveyed the area.

To the south of him lay a wide expanse of land, lush with tall, green grass and wildflowers of yellow, pink, lavender, and white. It stretched for several hundred kilometers before ending at the beginnings of a dark forest. He could not tell what kind of trees were in the dense, looming thicket, but the he figured it hardly mattered. What he sought did not lay to the south. He turned his gaze to the west.

West appeared no different than south, to his eyes. There were trees, dark and dense, but, as his gaze continued to travel along a western path, he saw the forest thin a little. However, he knew what he wished to find did not lay to the west. The only directions left were north and east.

Before he could turn to the north, he sensed a strange disturbance behind him. It felt like someone trying to rearrange the air, if such a thing were possible, and he found himself turning to face north. At the same time, a bluish-white light flashed, blinding him for a brief moment. When the light dissipated, there stood before him five people, and he felt awestruck. How had they appeared out of nowhere? Their backs were to him, and so he decided to listen first before saying anything. After all, he possessed no clue as to whether or not these individuals could help him to find his counterpart.

"I told you, Captain, there was an unusual power surge coming from this location," he heard one of the people say. The person sounded decidedly male and in love with whomever he was speaking. Adoration and enthusiasm laced themselves into his voice as he addressed the one called Captain. From what he could see, the man's hair was short and a light brown. The speaker was also of a medium build. "The scanners have never detected anything like it."

"I believe you, Lieber," a woman replied. She was of a slender build, a little on the tall side, with long, blue hair. Before his eyes flashed an image of another with blue hair, a male, but his hair was shorter, just above the ears. He was reminded instantly of another feature belonging to his counterpart. "I'm just not seeing anything that would indicate a likely source. There isn't a person or a town for miles around."

At the same time the woman spoke, a third member of the party turned around and saw him standing there. The man stood a foot taller than the others, his eyes were blue and his hair like the sun, and he looked like he could take on at least ten attackers in a fight. His stern features paled upon seeing him, and his eyes lit with recognition and . . . pain.

"I wouldn't say that yet, Maria," the man said in a strangled tone. "There is someone here. He's right behind us."

Slowly, and as one, the remaining four people also turned around, their eyes landing on him, and he could see the remaining two were also females, one with dark brown hair, the other with the same golden sheen as the muscular man next to her. Their reactions were also very similar to the blond-haired man's, recognition and pain in their eyes. Well, the three women were pained to see him. The other male did not look pleased, but he said nothing to the effect. It was probably a good thing. The last thing he wanted to do was get into an argument with a likely fool.

"It can't be possible," the blue-haired woman murmured. "It can't be . . . you're . . . you're not him . . . you can't be . . . Fayt?"

* * *

The gardens of Xandelar were among the most beautiful and most breathtaking he had the privilege of seeing. Mocking-gales, morning glories, jasmine, roses, orchids, and calla lilies lined the walkways, climbed up birch woods, oaks, willows, and elms as well as firelights, ice-roots, and ruby-locks, trees never seen by the eyes of mortals. Yellow glow-birds and fireflies flitted among the leaves and branches, each going about its business without fear. Fayt inhaled deeply of the fragrances surrounding him and exhaled softly. A pang of sadness hit his heart as he walked along the white-stone path to the garden's center where a pedestal of grey stone and in the shape of a dragon wreathed in fire and roses sat, water spilling over the edges and into a pool.

While Xandelar's gardens were beautiful, ethereal even, Fayt missed the simple flower gardens of mortals. His last mother, Ryoko Leingod, tended one once, when he had been a small child, and she showed it such love and reverence, emotions that often eluded his emissary counterparts. They did not understand the daily struggles of mortals or why a human would choose to grow something beautiful like a flower garden or a child when the world was shrouded with darkness, war brewing on the horizon. Mortals needed something to cling to in times of doubt and uncertainty. Fayt understood as much, his many lives teaching him such lessons over and over time and again. He exhaled again as he found a stone bench and sat upon it, adjusting his soft, grey robes in the process, and he closed his eyes in meditation.

He missed the mortal world. Fayt knew as much, felt it in his soul. If his counterpart had not disappeared, undoubtedly he would still be walking among the humans and Vendeeni and Elicoorians, and he would be laughing with them and weeping, sharing their struggles and victories and defeats. Those things were important to Fayt . . . just as locating his counterpart was important to him. Creation never wanted to leave the celestial palaces of the Gods and Goddesses, at least not for an extended period of time. His disappearance from Xandelar's court disturbed Fayt greatly as he believed Creation's leaving was not entirely by choice. He reached out for his counterpart.

When the six Gods and Goddesses created the planets of the universe and the mortals who would live on those planes of existence, they realized they needed more than just themselves to maintain order. Balance was required. Love could not exist without Hatred. Beauty could not be seen if Ugliness was not there to point it out. Creation would go unhindered without Destruction. Life would be meaningless without Death.

It was with those realizations, they created the emissaries, and the emissaries were meant to keep mortals on the right track. The Gods and Goddesses were to be represented in everything the emissaries were sent to do and to maintain the balances needed for each period in time. For the longest time, things went according to the Gods and Goddesses' wishes, and the emissaries were selfless, never tiring in their duties to those they were sworn to serve.

At first, Destruction did not mind visiting the realm of mortals every so often. He possessed a lavish apartment near the gardens of Xandelar, and his counterpart, Creation, lived in a similar room across from him. They often conferred with each other about their visits and their accomplishments, strengthening their bond and their love for each other in the process. Creation was not only responsible for life but for free will. He simply did not dare to stay too long in the mortal realm. He had confessed once to Destruction if he did, the mortal world would be thrown out of balance and eventually destroy itself without the benefit of his counterpart. Their roles would become reversed. Destruction agreed with him, and they carried on with their duties. Their life was idyllic and peaceful, everything an immortal could ever hope to have until it was shattered by a threat no one had seen coming to them. War came to the Gods and their emissaries and peoples, a war they eventually won through his best efforts. Then the fighting was over and Destruction started to . . . feel. A strange heaviness had settled over him in the wake of the fighting. He desired more from his endless life, and he could not figure out why until Xandelar had approached him one day with a proposal, a proposal that would change him and Creation forever.

In his recollections of Xandelar's request and his humble beginnings, Fayt sensed a slight tug on his very core. The tug came from someone familiar, someone connected very closely to him, and it emanated from the mortal realm. He focused on the sensation, hoping to find his counterpart before it became too late.

"There you are, Destruction. I was looking for you."

Fayt opened his eyes at the sound of Melnar's voice, refraining from sighing in anger and frustration. The moment the other emissary spoke, the faint connection with his counterpart evaporated like water in a desert, and Fayt could not tell where Creation had landed. He could not even be sure his counterpart was in the mortal realm, their connection had become that weak. It was all he could do not to beat the other male senseless.

"What is it, Melnar?" he asked, trying to keep his tone soft, but he knew he failed. Before him stood a short, scrawny man with ruddy hair and squinty eyes. He held his hands up in a placating manner, though he did not appear the least bit apologetic for interrupting him. There was no love lost between the two, and all in the celestial courts knew as much. Melnar always wanted to please the Gods and Goddesses for it put him in better standing with them. Destruction (Fayt) no longer cared for such unimportant things like meaningless praise.

"I came to see how you were faring," the other emissary replied, his tone one of mocking concern. "I understand your last trip to the mortal world was the most painful. You had to say goodbye to your parents . . . the Leingods, correct?"

"It really isn't any concern of yours," Fayt all but spat out. Already, he felt his hackles rising from Melnar's presence. The other emissary rarely visited with his fellows unless he sought a favour or the chance to gloat at a failure. Unlike Creation and Destruction, Melnar looked out for his best interests, an unusual trait for the emissary of Happiness. He did not even care what happened to his counterpart, something Fayt could not understand in the least. Fayt rose to his feet. He needed to get away before they both landed in trouble with Xandelar.

"Actually, it is my concern," Melnar retorted. He moved to block Fayt. "They were your parents for nineteen years in the mortal realm, and you obviously care very deeply about them. I know as much. I also know there were other parents throughout the millennia, parents and friends. All of which were eventually torn away from you, though you continued on your path. Your unexpected disappearance has affected us all, Destruction. How do we know it won't happen again? How do I know you will not run back to them as soon as you find Creation? We care about you. We trusted you. You are one of us."

"You heard Xandelar upon my return," Fayt said. "I cannot go back as a mortal. Fayt Leingod is no more, and Xandelar's will is what I was created to carry out, Melnar. Not yours or the other emissaries. Besides, you have never really cared for me. You have always done whatever you've could to undermine me in front of the Gods and Goddesses. That is not care. That is spite."

"You have spent much time among the mortals, Destruction," Melnar murmured, his eyes glinting with a cold light. "Perhaps too much time. You have changed greatly, and not for the better, in my opinion."

"Your opinion means nothing to me," Fayt replied, his tone as cold as the light gleaming in Melnar's eyes. "Only the Gods and Goddesses may question me and my intentions. Now if you will excuse me, I need to locate my counterpart before it becomes too late."

Fayt tried to step around Melnar so he could leave before more words were spoken. While Xandelar knew of his reasons for leaving, the remaining Gods and Goddesses had not been aware, and they were not too keen on trusting Fayt right away. Granted, they had welcomed him home with open arms and the love they held for all of their emissaries and followers, but those emotions were all Fayt was allowed. The last thing he wanted was to fight Melnar, who apparently had come into the good graces of the court during his absence. However, Melnar did not seem too interested in letting him leave right away. He blocked Fayt once again.

"I am not through talking with you," he growled.

"That is too bad," another voice commented. Melnar froze when he heard it. "For the truth of the matter is you are through talking with Destruction, Melnar. He has a task to perform, and he cannot do as he is instructed when you are badgering him about something that truly is not your concern."

Both emissaries turned to see Xandelar approach them. Hair as golden as the sun flowed down his back, framing his features, and Fayt noticed a sword at Xandelar's side. The God wore a stern expression on his youthful face, and Melnar bowed before him at the same time as Fayt.

"Your Excellency, I was simply . . ."

"Prying into something that is truly not your concern, as I said," Xandelar replied. He folded his arms. "Please do not interrupt Destruction when he is trying to locate Creation, or you will find yourself on the receiving end of my wrath and not your fellow emissary. Not even Roselynia will be able to spare you of that."

Melnar paled considerably, and he nodded. He bowed once again then straightened his robes.

"Forgive me, your Excellency. I meant no harm."

"If you meant no harm, then you would not have disturbed Destruction in the first place, especially over something as trivial as your jealousy."

"I beg your pardon?"

Xandelar raised an eyebrow at the emissary. The look had Melnar cowering in an instant.

"You know of what I speak, Melnar. Do not play with me as you have Roselynia. You will find I am not as easily swayed as she. Now leave so Destruction may focus and find his counterpart."

"Yes, your Excellency. Your wish is my command."

Fayt felt his body relax as Melnar left the gardens. Exhaustion settled over him, and he nearly collapsed back onto the bench. Xandelar sat next to him, a hand on his shoulder.

"Do not worry about Melnar and his unusual conniving," the God murmured. His expression turned from one of stern disapproval to one of concern and love. "He is simply trying to rile you, though I have yet to understand why. He sees you as a threat to his position. If only he knew . . ."

"I know," Fayt replied. "That was why I was trying to leave. You are the only one of the Gods who still trusts me, and I do not wish to lose that."

"That is because I am the one who sent you into the mortal realm in the first place," Xandelar said with a smile. "And as a mortal, no less. You are my son. Though I must say I did not expect you to remain among them for as long as you did. I will agree with Melnar. The mortal realm has changed you."

"They are truly amazing, the mortals," Fayt murmured. "More amazing than any of the other creations that have come into existence. They are so frail yet so resilient. Their homes could be destroyed yet they rebuild with the hope everything will be better. They know happiness and sadness as well as triumph and defeat. They know these things though the emissaries rarely walk among them anymore. With the mortals, you and Creation have truly outdone yourselves, father."

"Thank you for the compliment," Xandelar replied. "It means a lot coming from you."

Fayt smiled then lowered his head. He gazed at the white stones beneath his feet. His heart still felt troubled. His tentative connection with his counterpart left him worried and scared. If he heard Creation's voice correctly, the emissary did not know him or who he was, and that alone was disastrous.

"You were gone for many years," Xandelar stated. "Not that is disappointing to me. I am glad you found what you have and very proud of what you have accomplished during your absence. It simply makes me wonder if Creation would follow in your footsteps."

"No," he murmured, shaking his head. "Creation would not stay too long in the mortal realm, Father. He is not like me. He cannot stay there for long. This is his home. The gardens, the birds . . . this is where he feels he can do his best work. It only saddens him that it has to be here and not in the mortal realm."

"What do you think will happen if he is in the mortal realm?" Xandelar asked. "You know him best, my son."

Fayt inhaled a soft breath and let it out. There were many things he knew would happen if he did not find his counterpart soon, but he needed to choose his words carefully. He did not want Creation to be hunted for a bounty, which was a possibility if the other Gods and Goddesses realized what could truly happen.

"Miracles will happen, Father," he answered. "Those who are meant to die will live. Areas torn apart by war will no longer be ravaged, and those who are dead may find themselves walking amongst the living once more. He won't be able to resist his calling, and he will be seen as a miracle worker. Maybe even a Chosen One or a God, depending on where he is."

"Is that how we will be able to find him? Through his 'miracles'?"

"No, Father." Fayt once again shook his head. "That is not how we will find him. Not unless we are in the mortal realm when he performs one. His powers will prevent even the best of the observing pools from locating him, especially if he does not want anyone to find him. By the time we have noticed a miracle has happened, he will not be in the same place. The people will call to him, and he will answer."

"I see . . ." Xandelar exhaled softly. Fayt glanced at him from the corner of his eye, and the God looked old and worn out. He reached over and clasped his father on the shoulder.

"Father, we will find him. I promise."

"I know we will." Xandelar smiled once again. "You are the key to finding him as you know him the best. I was just thinking that I was hasty in cutting you off from your mortal ties."

"What do you mean?"

"There are only three places Creation could be," the God replied. "One is here, but he has obviously left or you would not have returned to find him. That leaves the mortal realm and the Forbidden Graveyard."

A chill stole over Fayt at the mention of the Forbidden Graveyard. It was a desolate place, a ravaged land of endless dust, choked rocks, and despair. A battle had been fought there, a fight between the Gods and Goddesses, their emissaries, a select number of their mortal followers, and an ancient evil he wanted nothing more than to forget. He recalled all too clearly the blood shed that day, the lives of the mortals lost, having been responsible for most of the destruction wrought upon the land there. The devastation had been too severe on his part, so much so that not even Creation could do anything with what remained. None dared to venture into the Forbidden Graveyard anymore. If mortals found a way into the place, they heard the cries of the dead as they were killed. The sounds were enough to drive a person to madness. Emissaries, if they entered, felt their life forces being drained, and the Gods . . . well, they never said what they felt.

"The Forbidden Graveyard . . ."

"I do not think he would go there," Xandelar said. "It would be death for him . . ."

"It would also be why I cannot truly sense him . . . Father, it was weak when I thought I had found him, our connection, and for a moment, I thought he was in the mortal realm. I cannot be certain, though . . . Melnar interrupted me . . . The Graveyard is where he must be. That is where I must go." Fayt rose to his feet.

"No. I will not allow it." Xandelar grabbed his arm as he, too, rose to his feet. His eyes were wide with fear and alarm. "Creation . . ."

"Is in danger no matter where he is," Fayt replied. "Whether it is the mortal realm or the Forbidden Graveyard, he is in trouble, and I cannot sit by while he is awaiting whatever to happen. I can't sense his presence. He has to be in the Graveyard, and that is where I must go."

"Fayt . . ."

At the sound of his human name, Fayt froze. He had not expected to ever hear that name again, especially coming from Xandelar. The God smiled lightly.

"You favour that name . . . How unusual . . . yet it is very fitting for you. Perhaps that is what you should be called from now on," Xandelar murmured. He then shook his head. "That is not the issue, though. I cannot allow you to enter the Graveyard."

"Father, I cannot . . ."

"That is why Wrath, Serenity, and I will accompany you," Xandelar stated.

To this, Fayt blinked, stunned by his father's declaration. Xandelar smiled.

"You are a stubborn one, a trait you no doubt receive from me," he murmured. "And I know you will not rest until you are certain Creation is not in the Graveyard. You will also not trust anyone else to go there. You love him that deeply. Go, Fayt. Gather what you need. Wrath, Serenity, and I will meet you at the Graveyard's Gate."

"As you wish, Father," Fayt replied, bowing. "I will not disappoint you."

"I know you will not," Xandelar said, his smile returning. "Now go. We do not have much time."

"Of course, your excellency. Your wish is my command."