A/N: Hey, all! This second chapter is a bit experimental. I know I said I'd keep this story super close to the original – and I will! – but I couldn't help letting the fic run a bit wild here and there. I hope you enjoy! This chapter was really fun to write!

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy IX or any aspect of the Final Fantasy franchise.

Chapter 2: Legend

A few years ago, a man named Kuja told me the guardians of Gaia – the so-called Eidolons – were still alive because of legends. According to Kuja, if Gaians stopped sharing stories of the Eidolons, then they would perish.

"Yes, you keep speaking of these Eidolons." I had dealt with Kuja's ridiculousness all day and was more than a little fed up. "And you've completely filled the queen's head with your nonsense. I would not be surprised to discover the Eidolons were being kept alive by you, and you only! Or are they simply playing the world's largest game of hide-and-go-seek?!"

It irritated me that Kuja was so amused by my sarcasm. "The Eidolons live on," he said, flashing me one of his charming smiles. "And you will see them soon enough, my dear Beatrix."

"Yes, well, until that day, you are nothing but words."

Kuja chuckled and rolled back one of his sleeves to reveal a faint twist of burn scars. "I had both the honor and the misfortune of encountering an Eidolon."

"Oh, really?" By that point, I was convinced Kuja was trying to cover up an embarrassing incident with a crock-pot. "Then how did you escape the fearsome Eidolon, hmm?"

Kuja hesitated, tugging his sleeve back down. It was one of the only times I remember seeing even a trace of guilt in his eyes. "…I killed the woman who summoned it."

For all his theatrics, Kuja lived in the shadows. He was a spectacle among the elite, yet by nightfall, not one person knew any more about Kuja than they had before. Even now, the average Gaian is as clueless as they were at the height of the war. A few months back, I overheard a smug duke telling a group of nobles about the time he saw Kuja turn into a dragon. The noblemen and women gasped in astonishment and happily accepted the story. After all, there are few alive who knew enough about Kuja to contradict it.

When I first met him, Kuja was just another brainless pretty boy from Treno. As I heard it told, he appeared as if from smoke one day and passed himself off as a tradesman. No one knew who Kuja was or where he'd come from, but he had an endless supply of exotic goods from the Outer Continent. The novelty of Kuja's trade would have worn off, I'm sure, until he began a mysterious partnership with the Lord Brennen, the richest man in Treno. Of course, given the frivolous nature of the elite, even that story may have grown stale, if Lord Brennen hadn't been found brutally murdered in his own bedroom a year later. Some of the gossips claimed Kuja was Lord Brennen's secret lover, while others were convinced he killed Lord Brennen to take control of his auction house. Kuja, it seemed, would take the truth to his grave, but I knew without a doubt he was guilty. Kuja never showed compassion nor remorse for others, and even when I first met him, I was sure Kuja wouldn't so much as blink at the sight of blood running from a wound.

I speak harshly, yet it's true I worked with Kuja in the early days of the war. We had a rivalry at first, but developed an interesting relationship over time. I thought I knew something of the real Kuja, but there were so many layers of deception, even peeling away small truths failed to expose his core.

Occasionally, I try to piece together how everything fell apart so quickly. Was it the fault of the queen's burgeoning madness? Or perhaps it was the Alexandrian court, who remained mute on matters of her instability. Perhaps the blame lies with the politicians – cowardly men like the mayor of Dali who let his town become a live weapons factory. Or perhaps the fault lies with me, and all the others who used blind loyalty to rationalize the war.

Once upon a time, I thought I could blame everything on Kuja, but vilifying him is complicated. In many ways, he was a prototype to his own Black Mages. It was absurd and illogical, but Kuja never pretended to be anything else.

There is a memory that returns to me, of the time Queen Brahne summoned several financiers from Treno to discuss the mass production of Black Mages. Kuja could have charmed the room, certainly, but given his reputation in Treno, his mere presence was enough to ensure the deal went through. As was all too common in those days, Queen Brahne wished to celebrate the contract with a hefty amount of wine. The festivities ran well into the night, and then out into the gardens. At some point, however, I noticed our ostentatious "guest of honor" had vanished. I didn't trust Kuja, especially when the queen was deep in her third bottle, so I left my soldiers to keep watch while I investigated.

Kuja was sitting on a mossy rock down by the beach near the harbor. With the sky so dark, the red moon shimmered across the water like blood.

"There is no sense to this land," said Kuja. Somehow, he always knew when someone was sneaking up on him.

"Why are you here?" I demanded.

Kuja ignored me. "In the ratlands, Burmecia is besieged by rain, yet to the west of the city, there is a never-ending sandstorm. And to the east there are caverns of ice beside the swamps. The Mist Continent is baffling."

Kuja was certainly right about that one. "I thought you were a weapons dealer, not a geographer."

Kuja smirked in the moonlight. "How can I deal weapons if I do not understand the lands I trade in? Besides, I think the absurdity of the Mist Continent is fascinating."

"Then you must come from a very boring land."

"I come from a dead land," said Kuja flatly. "Where the trees are hollow and the waters are as still as glass."

"Do you take me for a fool? There is no such place! Now, are you going to go entertain your little spectacle or not? The queen will grow impatient."

"You are fortunate," said Kuja. "To have grown up in the prosperity of Alexandria. I lead a glamorous life in Treno, but it was not until late in my life that I first saw sunlight or rain."

It took all of my power not to grab Kuja by the collar and drag him down off that rock. "Enough with your nonsense, Lord King. There have been travelers to other continents, and they have never spoken of any such place."

"They have never been as far as my homeland." Kuja gazed out over the water as a salty breeze blew through his hair. "The landscape is twisted and barren, like broken bones set improperly. The sky is trapped in eternal twilight, and monsters roam the outskirts of our land. I suppose there is a sort of macabre beauty in the decay, but if I had a choice, I would never return to that world again."

Kuja looked sad as he turned his gaze to the moons above us.

"…You told me of this place," I said. "Of a land where a single man chooses the fate of his people. That is the land you speak of?"

"Yes. Our leader presides over a glorious wasteland."

"Then he isn't much of a leader." I moved closer to the water and let it lap gently at my boots.

Kuja laughed at my words. "I suppose you are right. All that power, yet our leader rules little more than stones and ghosts."

"But your people have done nothing to improve their situation. Some responsibility lies with them, too."

"My… people…" Kuja said the word as if it left a bad taste on his tongue. "…do not have the ability to change. They are raised to be shortsighted – to follow orders unquestioningly, and to resist personal needs. They are forbidden to leave the village."

"That is a dictator you speak of, then, not a leader."

Kuja nodded grimly. "I would have to agree."

"But if the dictatorship is so powerful, how did you come to be here?"

For a moment, Kuja didn't respond, and I thought I'd finally caught him in a lie.

"…I was sent out of the village," he said after awhile. "To educate myself on the outside world. Our leader was angry with me, however, so he forbid me from returning."

"You're in exile?!"

"Willing exile. I have no interest in returning to that place. There was nothing for me there. Plants cannot grow without rain, and I would have decomposed in the soil along with them. Should I ever lay dying, I think my last thoughts would be of the rain, and how I shall miss it." There was genuine sadness in Kuja's voice.

"But how did you come to the Mist Continent?" I asked him. At times, I wondered if there were others from Kuja's homeland with powers of equal caliber. It was not a comforting thought.

"My dragon," said Kuja, pointing towards the distant speck of white flitting through the darkness. "I spent many years roaming the Outer Continent, but it does not have the opportunities that your Mist Continent provides."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that. The Mist encroaches farther on our lands every year, forcing villages to rebuild higher and higher to avoid it."

Kuja gave me a mysterious look. "What if I told you I knew the source of the Mist?"

I returned his look with my driest glare. "That doesn't make any sense, Kuja. Mist has no more 'source' than the wind."

Kuja held out his hand as if silently beckoning to the sky. I watched, wary, as wisps of cloud slithered towards his hand like eels from the water. When Kuja drew his arm back, pale smoke was curling about his fingers.

"This is Mist," he said. "Gathering even here. The Mist is everywhere, pumped through the roots of a great tree on the Outer Continent. I use the Mist as one of the main components in my Black Mages."

"What?"

Kuja's dragon burst suddenly from the clouds, kicking up sand and dirt and forcing me to shield my eyes. Kuja smiled and held out his hand so the dragon could drop something into his palm like a dog.

"Thank you, love," said Kuja.

The dragon landed on the beach with a thud and curled up next to the rock. Upon closer inspection, I realized the object in Kuja's hand was a dead bird.

"Lovely," I muttered.

Kuja scrutinized the bird for a moment, and then his palm began to glow. Before my eyes, tendrils of Mist wormed their way into the bird's body. A moment later, its left leg began to twitch.

I have seen many horrors in my lifetime, yet the moment that bird hopped onto its feet, my mouth fell open in shock.

"What did you do?!" I cried, stumbling away.

"A demonstration," said Kuja. "Of how I make monsters. Mist is a dangerous substance. They say entire towns have gone mad below the Mistline."

"The Burmecians live below the Mistline!"

"Their rains dissipate the worst effects of the Mist, though I would not be surprised if their disgusting plague was a consequence."

"Kuja, you… you brought that bird back from the dead…" I felt as if the world had been torn from beneath me.

"No…" Kuja shook his head. "I did not. I cannot tell you if birds have souls in the same manner as Gaians, but if they do, then the bird's soul was lost at the moment of its death. What you see here is a living creature, yes, but nothing more." Kuja flicked his wrist and the bird flew off. His dragon lunged and caught it in her beak a second later.

"You cannot bring back the dead," said Kuja, reaching up to pat his dragon as she swallowed the bird whole. "Even if a corpse was given a soul, it would not be the same soul as before. The dead can never again be who they once were."

I was still reeling from the horror of what I'd witnessed. "It doesn't matter, Kuja…! What you just did was – "

"A parlor trick." Kuja shrugged as his dragon curled up beside the rock and yawned. "And that is what my Black Mages are, as well. They are soulless. Disposable." Kuja gave me a sharp look. "So why, then, are you so opposed to their usage? You willingly throw away the lives of your soldiers, yet I've created living weapons that can take the blade of a sword in their stead. The Black Mages can fall so your women return alive to their families. Why do you insist on acting as though I am the villain of the story?"

It was a rare moment in which I, General Beatrix, was left without words.

"I… I think we see life very differently, Kuja. The Black Mages do not have souls, but they are still alive. They still feel pain, no matter their minds!"

For a moment, there was a distant, faraway look in Kuja's eyes. He gazed down at his hands, where the burn scars were visible when his sleeves billowed in the wind.

"Perhaps…" said Kuja. "But the Black Mages do not have friends nor families to weep over them. Their pain is theirs alone to bear. There is no loss when a Black Mage dies – only oblivion."

It was rare to see Kuja speak so candidly. Ever since the death of his foundling girl, Asha, Kuja had become cold and even malicious at times. Not since the night of Asha's death had I seen such a hopeless look in Kuja's eyes. I think he realized something in that moment: a horrible truth he had tried desperately to deny. Sometimes, I wonder what would have happened if I'd seized that opportunity. Perhaps there had been a chance to remind Kuja of whatever drop of humanity he possessed – a chance to alter the horrific course of events that would soon follow. Perhaps I could have gotten through to Kuja in that moment…

…but instead I said: "Men who must convince themselves they are right are the men who, in fact, know they are wrong."

Kuja gave me an unexpectedly dark look that sent a chill down my spine. For a moment, I thought he would attack me, but instead, he leaped down from the rock and vaulted onto the back of his dragon. She grumbled in protest, half-asleep. As the beast lumbered back to her feet, Kuja gave me a cocky yet strangely self-conscious smile.

"You have spent your life speaking thusly to fools, General Beatrix. I think you will find that I, however, am not one of them."

And then Kuja's dragon lunged into the sky and circled back towards the castle.

And now, four years after Kuja burned every major city – after he killed Queen Brahne, flooded the planet with Mist, and attempted to destroy every living being – only now do I finally understand why Kuja was so angry. There was so much he denied about his existence. He may not have truly realized the irony of his words until months later, however, when he was forced to face his own mortality. Only then did Kuja realize – or should I say admitted to who he was and what he'd done to the Black Mages. They were him and he was they: disposable. Expendable. Meant to die. Kuja was not created to have compassion, nor had it been taught to him later. Yet no matter how dangerous Kuja was when he was a mindless killing machine, he was at his most dangerous when he became self-aware. Only then did Kuja truly realize what had been denied him.

"Always so dramatic…" I chuckled and shut the book I was writing in. Calmly returning the quill to the inkpot, I turned in my chair to face the shadow on the windowsill. "Some things never change, I suppose."

Kuja's eyes were shining in the darkness. "I could say much the same about you."

"Does Zidane know you're gone?"

"He will figure it out."

"…I have a question…" I crossed my arms over my chest. "…about something you said to me before the war. You said if you ever lay dying, your last thoughts would be of the rain. Was it true…?"

Kuja's eyes never left my face. "Zidane told you everything."

"Yes."

He looked away. "…I never stop thinking about the rain…"

I hummed thoughtfully to myself. "Yes, well, now you have many days left to think about it."

Kuja's eyes flared. Sensing a confrontation, I changed the subject.

"You saved Zidane. Several times. I suppose you've earned a little more rain."

"…You're as naïve as you ever were, General Beatrix."

"Maybe. But if I were any less naïve, I'd be putting a sword through your gut."

I waited for Kuja's intentions to reveal themselves, but he simply sat there, staring at the night sky.

"…Why did you come here, Kuja?"

"…I did not have a reason."

More so than anyone, I knew when Kuja was lying. "For what it's worth, this doesn't have to be goodbye. Not the way you think."

I could see Kuja sneering in the starlight. "Did you miss me, General?"

"Are you joking?"

Kuja sighed and shook his head. "Sometimes, I wonder if you and I could have been friends, had circumstances been altered."

"I doubt it. You're insufferable."

"You are hardly the first to think so."

I snorted. "So where will you go, Kuja?"

"…I do not know. I imagine Zidane will look for me in the Black Mage Village."

"And will he find you?"

"…eventually."

I leaned forward and rested my forearms on my knees. "I told Zidane I wanted you out of the castle, and I meant it."

There was a glint of the old danger in Kuja's eyes, as though he was amused by the thought that I, a mere Gaian, could forcibly remove him.

"Are you prepared to act on that, General?"

I turned to one of the desk drawers and withdrew a large, leather-bound book. "A few years ago, you told me the Eidolons existed because of stories, and if the legends were to die, the Eidolons would perish along with them."

Kuja narrowed his eyes at me. "What are you getting at?"

"Take the book, Kuja. All the pages are empty. Do with them what you will."

For a moment, Kuja didn't move. Then, slowly, he edged off the windowsill and approached. Once upon a time, my hand would have flown to my sword, but in the lamplight, I could see his face – his wariness as he accepted the book. In his eyes, I could see a man who had self-destructed, and now all that remained was the shell of a bomb that took everything with it.

This could have been Zidane, I realized. There had been so little standing between his fate and Kuja's. Had things gone differently, Zidane would have been far more twisted and dangerous; he would have been Garland's perfect soldier – a nightmare unleashed upon Gaia.

Kuja was watching me carefully. "Why are you doing this?"

I shrugged. "Once upon a time, I was the villain of the story. Had I not chosen the princess's life over the queen's, the history books would remember me quite differently. You should consider how the history books might remember you."

"…I don't want them to remember me at all…"

"I don't believe that for a moment, so stop feeling sorry for yourself."

Kuja looked genuinely amused. "Do you use that acid tongue on your husband?"

"Don't push me, Kuja. I never said I wouldn't eventually put a sword through your gut."

Kuja's eyes glimmered. "I look forward to it."

And then he vanished, sweeping the shadows into the spot where he'd been standing a mere moment ago.

Sighing, I picked up my quill and resumed writing my tale.

;

I, Kuja, have nothing to offer this world. There is no knowledge left that I, alone, could share, nor do I possess any wisdom of value. All I have left are the stories of a short and ultimately useless existence.

There are no Gaians, however, that know of the Crystal as I do. I do not know from whence the Crystal came, nor the reason a planet grew around it. I do not know its purpose in the universe, either. Is it a god, perhaps? Or a consciousness? Does it appear as a crystal because its true form defies our meager understanding? I truly do not know. The Crystal has a mind, however abstract, and within me, I possess the ability to navigate the pathways to seek it. For four years, I tried to understand the Crystal. I begged for mercy, then I begged for punishment; the Crystal would grant me neither. The Crystal wanted something, but I could not understand its meaning. Even as the years passed by in hours, I felt myself slipping into madness.

Then the Crystal forced me to listen to a story – a horrible story of chaos and hate – and I screamed and struggled. The words were all around me, inescapable. It was only when the story ended that I found myself returned to Gaia, with the knowledge that I could free myself.

Free myself from what, I had no idea, and the Crystal saw no reason to elaborate. I only knew that the Crystal would set me on the path to freedom, no matter how I resisted. I thought I could move on – that I could forget everything – until a woman who hated me handed me an empty book – and somewhere, in that cacophonous silence, the Crystal began laughing.

So I returned to the place of my exile – to the nothing world that had birthed me. Terra's light had been dimming for centuries, but now its Crystal was dying. The blue light was gone, leaving a dark world illuminated by glittering, bioluminescent organisms. It was like walking through the stars in the night sky.

In the distance, the remains of Bran Bal were glowing faintly. I had destroyed the village, but the technology was organic, and the machinery was already attempting to heal itself. I crossed a darkened bridge and gazed down into the glassy water below. It was black and sparkling. If I had destroyed Gaia's Crystal, their world would have lost its light, too. The flowers would have curled back into the soil, and the animals would have retreated into darkness. The Gaian people would have fallen almost immediately.

I wondered if Gaia's Crystal could cast its eyes upon Terra. I didn't truly want to know.

I walked through the ruins of Bran Bal, stepping over broken tubes and shattered machinery. In the darkness lay the remains of a doomed mission, and the burnt husks of our meaningless existence.

In the tunnels beneath the village, I found the crystals where I spent so many years absorbing information. I ran my fingers along their smooth edges and was surprised to find them glowing faintly at my touch. I wondered what knowledge remained within them, and for a moment, my fingertips blazed with the temptation for more – but no, those days were over. There was nothing of value those crystals could teach me.

I wandered from the labs and out into the wreckage. It was cold now, and quiet. Dots of white light drifted lazily through the air. I walked to the cliffs along the edge of the village and stared down into the black abyss. I wondered how many Genomes had lost their lives in the fire – how many monsters. I brought Nirmali to Terra the day of its destruction, and left her body behind. She was just one more victim of my fate. Perhaps Garland killed her, or Zidane, but in the end, it was simply knowing me that ended her life. Nirmali was just one more wound for me to bear, one more burden of sorrow. I couldn't save Leutwin… I sent Jane to die… I failed Asha… and I condemned to death the little Black Mage who carried what remained of her existence…

In that moment, I resented the book Beatrix gave me. I resented Zidane for nearly ruining his own life to save me, and Queen Garnet for allowing it, and Beatrix for trying to seek value in it. There was nothing that could be attained. I was created for one purpose: ultimate destruction– and I had not even succeeded in that. There was nothing left for me now but to accept my fate.

My fate…

I peered over my shoulder in the direction of Bran Bal. From that distance, I could see the hollowed remains of Garland's observatory. The red, orb-like tower was partially collapsed, and glowing embers of light drifted from its wound. I stood slowly, ash falling from my clothes, and returned to the soulless city. Each step filled me with dread.

Where would he keep such knowledge…? I wondered as the twisted ruins loomed above me.

Inside Pandemonium, near-darkness spiraled towards an even darker sky. Five thousand years of Terran preservation… It was hard to wrap my mind around the absolute waste, that Garland had lurked in this observatory for fifty centuries, alone, with the doomed task of resurrecting the people who'd left him in his own prison. For a moment, I thought I might feel sympathy for Garland. He and I were not so different, in a way. He, too, had been created for no purpose but to complete his task and hand over his body to our civilized parasites.

Why, then, would he create another to suffer his fate? How could he be so cruel? Perhaps that was the reason for Garland's disdain, that when he looked upon me, he saw the futility of his own existence. I was not a fool, blind to my own hypocrisy; I knew the Black Mages were an echo of my own pitiful creation – but there had been mercy in my design, however twisted. I would never willingly give the Black Mages souls, that they might be aware of their accursed existence. I would not do to them what Garland had done to me. Unfortunately, I had not predicted that the Black Mages would develop awareness on their own. If had known –

But no, that was a lie… Even when I realized the Black Mages had awakened, I manipulated them and tossed them aside, just as Garland had done to me. Had I known, somehow, deep in my genetic code, that Garland would discard me? Was there a self-destruct program inside me, woven so deep into my being that I acted subconsciously upon it?

In the center of Pandemonium was an organic structure, like a church organ comprised of teeth. In its heart was a red orb – a compressed mind still alive in the dying vessel. I pressed my palm against it and watched it light up at my touch. Voices whispered behind my eyes, and I itched to probe deeper. Mentally, I began reaching into the machine, when suddenly, a voice cut me off.

"Stop!"

I wrenched my hand away and the light receded. I grit my teeth in frustration.

"Mikoto…"

I could feel her eyes upon me, though she could not physically be there.

"Leave me alone…!" I hissed.

"Have you learned nothing, Kuja? Why unlock doors you know only lead to darkness? I have knowledge of Garland's fortress. If we work together – "

Snarling, I slammed my fist down on the machine. Something stirred inside it – a meager pulse that flinched away from my anger.

"What do you know?!" I shouted, whether at Mikoto or Garland's machinery, I had no idea.

"Kuja, please…" I was surprised to hear desperation in Mikoto's voice. It was wrong to hear emotion in a Genome. They were supposed to be soulless, mindless, merciless drones; they were supposed to stand like cattle while I suffered!

Overcome with rage, I whirled around and threw magic into the walls of the observatory. The ground shuddered as a thin layer of the ancient stones crumbled.

"Please, Kuja…" Mikoto reached out to me again. "Terra is dying, and if you remain there, you will die with it. There is still some good that can be gained from the planet if you would let me help you. There is knowledge locked within Pandemonium, but there is also – "

"Shut up!" I shouted. "Shut up! What do you know of good?! You are just like the others! You think I do not see through you?! I know what Garland bred you to be! I have helped you defeat him, and perhaps now you would use me as he did! What do you seek, Mikoto?! Biological blueprints?! Chemical weapons?! Go on! Live out your legacy!"

Though Mikoto was silent, I could feel her shock resonating through my mind. When she finally spoke, there was genuine hurt in her voice.

"Kuja, I… I understand that you have been through something terrible, but please… do not assume the worst of me…"

"Leave me alone!"

With a cry, I threw a vortex of magic into Pandemonium and cracked a support beam down the middle. Smoke began to fill the air.

"I am not your ally!" I shouted. "Nor your friend, nor your brother! I am your prototype for a mission that was never going to succeed!"

"Please, Kuja…"

The emotions in Mikoto's voice only fueled my anger, because I knew it was puppetry. I, too, had imitated the Gaians and mistook my theatrics for emotion. What did either of us know of emotion?! Mikoto was a fool to think I did not see through her charade!

"I do not wish for you to seek sinister knowledge on Terra," she said softly. "I believe we can start a new mission – forge a new life for the Genomes and the Black Mages - and perhaps there is wisdom hidden in Pandemonium, if you would only let me help y– "

I clapped my hands over my ears and fell to my knees. "Silence!"

The Null Magic washed over me like a shroud. Cloaked in the magical barrier, I hid from Mikoto's sight, where her voice could no longer reach me. Shuddering, I felt my strength leave me. The patterns of light on the walls began to flicker.

There wasn't much time. The planet sensed my presence, however feebly, and would drag me down with it. Trembling, I crawled back towards the machine and reached weakly for its core. When the orb touched my skin, it glowed less brightly than before.

Closing my eyes, I let my mind flow through the machine and into the roots of the planet. There were wounds in every direction – dark blots where the labs and the crystals had shut down forever. In a strange way, I lamented their loss – the crystals had been my only teachers, however cold and ineffective. The few semi-conscious reservoirs I found I quickly siphoned. Information shrieked through my mind like a storm.

The ground shivered and the lights began to phase out. Like ink pouring down a drain, the world around me spiraled into darkness. What had begun as curiosity swiftly turned to revenge.

"You are a worthless rock!" I shouted to the sky. "A parasite feeding off our very existence!"

All my life I had suffered in the service of Terra – in her great and glorious restoration – and she gave us nothing in return. Now I sucked the energy from Terra, depleting her resources and pushing her towards death. Reaching deep into her core, I felt for her black heart and crushed it. The world dissolved into screams, and I retreated from Terra's veins as they ruptured. Still clutching the red orb in Pandemonium, I squeezed my eyes shut and focused all my power on escaping. The blackness was speeding towards me. With a cry, I wrenched my arm back as a crack of thunder shot through my skull. I stared down at my hand and saw black blood oozing from my fingers. Ash and debris began falling as the tower of Pandemonium crumbled. I staggered backwards, panting, and tried to teleport. My magic failed me. I stumbled to my hands and knees as my energy drained into the black hole where Terra's Crystal had been. My life was still intricately woven into the planet – a failsafe to ensure my mission was completed.

With black blood running from my lips, I collapsed to the ground. Even with the knowledge that I was meant to die, the thought of dying at the hands of Terra sent a surge of rage and desperation through me. I screamed in pain but focused every last thought on the years I'd spent alone in the soulless city. I remembered the impassive eyes of the Genomes and my own mind numbing beneath the blue light. I recalled every moment of betrayal as I traveled between worlds and saw for myself everything Gaia provided that Terra could not. I remembered every time I hid in Terra's trees – how I huddled under hollow flora and wrapped myself in meager shadows. I remembered Garland's cold, white eyes as he gazed down upon me, too apathetic to be disappointed. I felt pure hatred – a hatred that erased everything else from my mind.

And then a blinding light seared my eyes and I staggered back into snow and mud. Tilting my head back, I gaped at the cloudy, gray sky above me. When I fell to my knees, red feathers rained down around me to dot the snow like blood.

I was back…! I had leaped worlds in ways even Garland could not! As the shock bled away, however, so too, did the last of my strength.

I caught a brief glimpse of familiar, sandstone ruins rising from the snow before me. I laughed as I recalled my own words to Shamila:

"The meaning of life is to get to the inevitable punch line!"

It was all a joke – it really was – and I laughed and laughed until even my voice had faded.

;

A/N: Phew! That was a journey. Hope you enjoyed the ride! Chapter 3 will take us back to our more regularly scheduled programming. The plot can't escape me that easily! Thanks for reading, and I'll see you all next time!