A/N: Sooo thanks to your guys' reviews, I went and changed Layle's age in the fic, and also fixed a typo. And then I added another one. OTL I was really so lost where to go for this chapter…I knew what was going to happen, I just wasn't sure how I was going to put it into words, hence the whole not updating for several weeks. (Surprisingly enough, I was not scared away from you pointing out my errors.)

On another note, I finally got the download for the FFCCTCB OST!

Thanks for your reviews, guys! You really don't know how much they help me improve. (Or do you?)

I do not own Layle, Belle, etc., etc.


C H A P T E R 2: BLAZE

It's been a couple days since Layle's father committed suicide. Layle himself hasn't quite grasped the concept of what happened, though he's sure his father isn't going to come barging through the door any time soon, especially considering the Altifaria guard carried the body away only a few hours after Layle and his mother had discovered it.

Speaking of the door, there's been lots of knocks at it over the past few days. It's mainly been the locals dropping by the give their condolences. Layle's mother isn't the one to answer them, though. She's locked herself up in the bedroom for the past few days, and Layle is starting to get worried about whether or not she's alright. Surely she's been out to do, well, things, right? Of course, of course. Just because he hasn't seen her doesn't mean a thing.

Layle supposes he can't really complain (not that he has been) considering he hasn't really tried to draw her out of there. Thinking about it now, he wonders if there's anything in his power he could do. Sure, he could always just…open the door. Though it's locked, Layle's pretty confident in the fact that he could get it open if he did that thing.

He would, but he didn't think using it would really put his mother in a better mood if he attempted to reach out in such a manner. It just seemed 'that thing' was such an easy way out of troubling tasks.

He wasn't even entirely sure what to refer to it as at this point. Both his parents really didn't like talking about 'it.' He guessed they were powers, but really, the way his mother looked at him whenever he used them—it felt as if he had some sort of growth spurting from his hand. Really, he didn't see what was so bad about it. If his parents—er, parent, would just get over whatever fear it was, life would be so much easier. The crop would surely multiply; their family would probably be safer too, and really—

Layle's train of thought is pulled off its track as a knock comes at the door. It only now occurs to him that he's been standing in front of his mother's bedroom for that past twenty minutes. He shakes his head and makes his way downstairs.

Opening the door, Layle's greeted with a face he's begun to categorize as 'familiar.' It's a woman with dark honey hair and a strong, pronounced nose. She's shaped like a tree, really; slender in the middle, a big top of curly hair, and wide lower body. She squats down and inspects Layle's face.

"Hi, sweetie," she speaks with a slight impediment; she is, to Layle, the epitome of what a Clavat woman ought to be. Her voice is sweet and nurturing and she has kind eyes. "Aren't you cold in this creaky old house?"

Layle can't say he quite understands her meaning; the first signs of fall are only starting to set in, and it had only sprinkled just yesterday. He replies with a polite 'no,' and peers over her shoulder to see if there's any reason for her to be asking. It looks a bit windy out, if anything. The sky is overcast with clouds that have been loitering for what seems to have been forever by now. What sorts of clouds are pathetic to the point that they don't look pretty or make rain?

"Is your mother home?" Layle looks up. He's been looking at the floor for quite some time, he realizes. He nods embarrassedly and she stands up and invites herself in; Layle can see that she's carrying a basket, presumably filled with…lady things, he guesses.

She stops, however, midway to the staircase and calls outside the door for her son. This woman—Layle can hardly believe he hasn't asked her name—has been visiting his mother since the day of the incident. He thinks he ought to be thanking her for doing whatever it is she's been doing for his mother, but he hasn't really felt talkative lately.

Only a few minutes and several shouts from his mother later, another Clavat boy trots into the house for the third time this week; he looks maybe ten years older than Layle.

"Hi, Blaze."

The teen blinks and grins. "You remembered my name this time!"

Of course he remembered it this time. Is he honestly expected to remember names after only two me—

A hand comes down onto Layle's head and ruffles his hair. "Don't look so grumpy," he says in his nasally, yet up-beat voice. "It was only a joke."

Layle smiles at this. Though he hasn't known Blaze for too long, he's rather taken a liking to the guy. He's nice enough and funny (when Layle gets the jokes, of course). "You sure are serious for a—how old are you again? Five?"

"Six," Layle corrects, looking up at his funny looking face. His features are, well, strong, to say the least. It seems like every single part of his face wants to poke out at Layle—especially his nose. Layle doesn't mind, though. Blaze's eyes really make up for it. They're soft—like his mother's. Not only that, but no matter how funny looking his face may be, he always has a grin on, and Layle has to admit he likes that. It's nice to see. Just as Layle starts to look at it, though, Blaze's grin falters.

His fingers tap on a part of Layle's right cheek. "You were wearing that last time, too. Wonder what you're hiding underneath that thing...?" He starts to peel off the adhesive from the bandage. "A battle wound?" he muses.

The six year old makes a confused face before he realizes what the frizzy haired Clavat is talking about—the medical patch that's used to cover up the crystal on his cheek. He flinches away as if Blaze's hand is a knife and mumbles a little something—though, he's not entirely sure what that something was. Blaze doesn't pursue it any further, (though he looks at the kid with a peculiar glance) and wanders over to the kitchen table before seating himself.

Moments pass by, and Layle's still standing at the doorframe. Blaze raises an eyebrow at him. "Hey, Layle," he says. "How long are you planning on standing there like some kinda zombie?"

After that comment, the six year old hastily shuts the door leading to the outside world and scurries to the chair opposite Blaze. The silence continues again after Layle stops squirming about in his chair. It seems like the table top is really very interesting to him.

"Don't you think it's weird?" Asks Blaze.

What? The table top? Layle scrutinizes it even more, leaning in closer to examine the wood grain. Layle feels an almost painful thump on his head. "I meant about outside." At this, the small blond looks over to the window. The sky's the same as when he last checked—dreary and boring.

"…I don't see anything weird," he says finally.

Blaze seems to snap at this. "Exactly! There nothing weird outside!"

Layle looks at him with that 'I'm a six year old and I don't understand' look, and Blaze takes this as a sign to elaborate.

"Haven't you noticed there aren't a lot of miasma streams popping up lately?"

That same look continues to radiate from Layle's face.

"You know! The things that make monsters?"

It takes another couple minutes for this to register in the younger Clavat's brain. After those couple minutes, an 'oooh' of realization escapes his mouth. Now that he thinks about it, he figures it must be weeks now that not a single monster has raided their crop fields.

"So that's good, right?"

"Yeah, but it's weird…It's like—" Blaze stops here, seemingly unsure of what to say next. He slaps his hand on the table after a short moment. "Like someone's gone and killed them all."

Layle can feel his face contorting at the word kill. "Why would somebody do that?"

The other blond takes a moment to consider this. "Maybe they were offered money."

"Do people really do that kind of thing?"

"What, kill things for money? Of course they do!" Blaze leans back in his chair and sighs contentedly. "That would be the life."

Layle's silence seems to urge him on, even here. "Taking down miasma streams for money—I'd be a hero and I'd be rich! Could you imagine how much people would pay for that?"

Even more silence—but that doesn't seem to bother Blaze at all; he continues as if Layle had replied.

"Yeah, it's too bad, though…" There's another sigh, this one out of sympathy for himself. "I can't do that since I'm just a normal person; I wonder if I'd be able to find a bearer to work with me," he says, more to himself than Layle. This is probably the reason he looks surprised when the other speaks up.

"What's a bearer?"

"Crystal bearer."

"…what's a crystal bearer?"

"Just these freaks of nature…I haven't ever met one; for all I know, they could be a myth."

"What's a my—"

"Don't talk while I'm talking."

"But you wer—" Blaze's glare stops him there.

"Now, listen to this," Blaze's voice suddenly fills with excitement—Layle can tell he's hyped up this type of thing before. "From what I hear, these 'bearer' guys—uh, crystal bearers, that is—have part of their body…" He pauses for what seems like dramatic effect, and leans over the table to invade Layle's personal space.

"Turned to crystal!" He adds in a quivering 'oooh' immediately afterwards and wiggles his hands and fingers all around, mimicking what would seem to be a ghost.

Layle doesn't seem to give him quite the reaction he wants, so he slouches back down in his chair. "You're really a downer, you know that?"


A/N: There was more that was meant to happen in this chapter but I think this is fine—I'll let the drama ensue later. Now I know what you're probably thinking—Blaze is out of character, right? Well, keep in mind that this is before his eye got turned to crystal, so I assume he'd be much friendlier.

WindGoddess Rune: I'll probably only update when I get inspiration, soo…

Thy True Self: Why yes, that is the origin of Layle's tagline you see there.

NotMeagain: I will try to keep that in mind with the author's notes, thanks. Back in the day when I used to read OC and script fics, A/N would show up all the time in the actual chapter itself, but now that I know it's not alright, I'll stray from doing so.