A/N: It appears I will be running up a endless litany of apologies for late updates – my excuse is that I foolishly take on too many projects at the same time and can neither find the time nor the motivation to finish them all. Nevertheless, this story is not dead yet.

Dedicated to my dear friend RedLion.

Warning: Explicit violence and gore up ahead.

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Our Unforgivable Sins

Chapter II – That Which Lurks Unseen

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Sweet in its likeness to birdsong, the liquid notes of the flute filled the air, a pleasant reward for every ear that managed to ensnare them. There, they intertwined with the dulcet strings of fiddle and guitar, weaving together an auditory tapestry that was as beautiful as it was rustic. Drums and tambourine completed the ensemble, their thumps and jingles sounding rhythmically in a cheerful background beat. And so, in the brightly-lit hall of New Vale's rebuilt inn, the wordless rendition of 'O Merry Spring' was brought to life.

From his vantage point atop one of the many upended tables that lined the walls, Isaac contentedly watched as two hundred or so of Vale's residents – young and old alike – danced their way across the floor. His elbows were propped on his knees, enabling him to lean forward and nestle his head between his palms. A foot absentmindedly tapped against the leg of the table beneath him in beat to the music.

They – the Valeans – were hosting a village-wide party to commemorate the complete renovation of New Vale, in addition to showing their gratitude for the foreigners' help. It had been a hard ten weeks of solid labour for all involved, and what was better than luxuriating in the pleasures of dance and friendly company?

Using his sharp eyesight, Isaac easily picked out his recently reunited parents, Kyle and Dora Milton, from a corner of the crowd. Despite the relatively fast-paced choreography of the current song, they were revolving in a slow circle, seemingly oblivious to the tide of people shifting around them. His father's eyes were locked upon his mother's in the same hungry fashion as hers were locked upon his, as though to make up for the long years spent without seeing one another. Their connection was palpable even from a spectator's distance; it was something forged between two people in love – soul-deep and utterly, utterly real.

Isaac felt extremely happy for them.

All of his friends were on the dance floor, too, with the sole exception of Felix. Unlike Isaac himself, who sat within clear view of everyone, the dark-haired warrior was tucked away in the most obscure corner of the room, where nothing short of keen inspection would reveal him. Nevertheless, the relaxed slouch of his shoulders and the small smile on his face belied contentment.

Their aquamarine tresses a beacon against the comparatively drabber shades of the Valeans' hair, Mia and Piers were presently dancing up a storm in the centre of the hall. It was apparent to everyone that the Mercury Adepts were naturally talented in this department, having picked up the wide assortment of dance steps in no time at all. Graceful and fluid – in accordance with their element – their movements were a pleasure to watch for any casual observer. Indeed, Isaac had noticed several others eyeing them with a mixture of admiration and envy.

Garet, on the other hand, was hilarious to watch, if not so much for the unfortunate partner involved. The latter – a pretty brunette in her late twenties by the name of Yvonne – had not been previously informed of Garet's 'bumbling' ways, so it seemed, and was now suffering the consequences of her ignorance. Apparently, Garet's infectious enthusiasm more than compensated for his left-footedness, for they made it to the end of the song with relatively little discontentment on her part.

Ivan and Sheba, however – this, Isaac was rather embarrassed to admit – could not be found. Their smallness of stature (even for their ages), combined with their propensity to effectively vanish in crowds, had resulted in Isaac seeing neither hide nor hair of them since the evening began. Oh, he might have occasionally caught a glimpse of straw-yellow hair, but said glimpse often disappeared by the time his brain caught up to his eyes to register what he was actually looking at.

Inexorably, his eyes strayed to Jenna, who was paired with the rather winded-looking innkeeper.

Her hair had long escaped the confines of its ribbon, and now hung fetchingly around her shoulders like a silken, mahogany-red shawl. Her eyes, sepia crystals infused with the colour of the setting sun, were sparkling with excitement and joy. Exertion flushed the sides of her face pink, drawing emphasis to the high cheekbones and bold curve of her nose. She looked strong – full of life and unconquerable spirit.

She looked absolutely stunning.

Then, as though she felt the touch of his gaze, she somehow untangled herself from the crowd and materialized in front of him in response.

"Isaac!" she exclaimed; Isaac couldn't help but notice the breathless quality of her voice. It was distracting. "Come on! Stop being a killjoy and join us! You've been sitting there for the whole evening already, can't you spare a minute or two to have fun?"

Without giving him a chance to reply (or protest, rather) she reached out to clasp his hand. He nearly jerked back from the contact; so intense was the frisson of electricity that raced up his arm. Her palm was not smooth – years of sword-fighting had worn calluses into the otherwise unblemished skin – but the simple fact that it was her palm he was holding sent his heart catapulting into his ribcage not unlike the way it often did in the heat of a deadly battle.

(And frankly, between Jenna and a deadly battle, he'd choose the latter.)

Powerless to resist, he half-reluctantly, half-eagerly let Jenna drag him out of his seat to the dance floor. His heart aside, the acrobatics his stomach was currently performing would outdo even the elaborate manoeuvres of Izumo's odori. Elation comprised only a fraction of what he felt; anxiety and dread were by far the dominant emotions, and with them, came a light-headedness so vehement that he could faint from it.

Oblivious to it all, Jenna closed her other hand around his – sending another jolt shooting up his arm – and moved herself between his widely spaced feet. Her proximity nearly undid him – she was so close that all he had to do was bend forward to kiss the shell of her ear (not that he would do that; it was highly improper to demonstrate such physical affection towards one other than his intended). Rose soap, perspiration and a scent that was uniquely hers filled his nostrils, until it was all he could do not to stand there and simply breathe as if she were the essence of life.

"Are you alright, Isaac?" Jenna's distinctive alto echoed in his ears, low in not an unpleasant way. "You look kinda… flushed."

"What?" he garbled, too distracted by her voice and the shapes that her lips formed around it to take much notice of the actual words spoken. "Don't worry, I'm fine. I'm fine."

The elegant, dense arch of her brow rose skeptically. "Honestly?"

He tried to assure her with a smile, but judging by the way her mouth turned down at the corners, it must have looked more like a grimace instead.

"Look, Isaac," she said, a thread of uncertainty weaving itself into her voice, "if you really don't want to do this, it's okay. I guess I shouldn't have pushed you into it without asking first –"

"No, no, it's not like that," he interrupted, almost forcefully. "It's just…"

It's just that I don't want to make a complete fool of myself in front of you.

Apparently that was what Jenna needed to hear, for the hammering peal of a drum roll sounded then, and she increased the pressure of her hand around his to the point where even the soundest escape scheme was all but impossible. (Not like he was in any condition to actually escape, anyway.)

"Enough dallying, the song's about to start!"

Then he forgot everything as she whisked him off into the next dance.

It was 'Spring Melts My Frosted Heart', a nostalgic, slow-paced song designed to stir the more sentimental side of weary souls. Had Isaac been sitting alone with the ear of his heart out to the music, he would have taken the time to savour the bittersweet melancholy of that subdued melody, those quiet cadences. As it was, he was deriving no pleasure whatsoever from attempting to execute the dance steps (correctly) in his highly nervous state – how could crossing one's left foot over the right suddenly become so difficult?

Therefore, in a spectacular example of gallantry gone awry, he trod on Jenna's feet – several times. This elicited an equal amount of annoyed grunts from her, and he blushed repeatedly in mortification. The song's conclusion – when it finally arrived – filled him with such overwhelming relief that he nearly slumped into his partner, only managing to right himself in the very last instant.

"Geez, Isaac, you're terrible at this!" Jenna burst out immediately after, an expression of thorough disgruntlement on her face. "And to think you're so graceful in battle!"

Red suffused Isaac's cheeks once more, both at the unintentional compliment and the very intentional not-compliment of his dancing ability – or lack thereof.

"Well, I'll go partner Piers, shall I?" she quipped, jerking her thumb at said Lemurian, who was now twirling a starry-eyed Valean woman across the hall. "He seems much better than you, so at least I won't be getting sore feet after this song!"

With that, she disengaged herself from him, before flouncing away dramatically in the opposite direction. The loss of her physical closeness was less acute with the buffer of his embarrassment in place, but it still stung nonetheless. Watching Jenna resolutely proceed to carry out her promise – request Piers for a dance – caused his heart to contract still more painfully, especially when the handsome Mercury Adept unhesitatingly relinquished his previous partner for her hand.

They had just assumed the correct positions when the music started again – a light, upbeat rhythm accompanying the insanely fast trills of the fiddle. A small, disconnected corner of his mind recognized the song as 'Across the Whitewater Rapids', but the greater part of him was focused on the dancing couple. Their movements were elegant and fluid, one perfectly choreographed step transiting seamlessly into the next. Undisguised delight was evident in the sparkle of Jenna's eyes, the broad upward curve of her lips.

Isaac looked away.

Well, at least she's enjoying herself now.

His sigh inaudible in the cheery hubbub around him, the Venus Adept turned back to reclaim the seat on his table. A few steps forward was all he managed to take before halting in his tracks.

Someone was already there. His short legs were crossed at the ankles, and his small hands clasped in his lap. Compelled by a mysterious force that defied comprehension, Isaac's vision narrowed down to two enormous, otherworldly purple eyes.

"Ivan?"

"Hello, Isaac."

The fifteen-year-old's greeting was rather graver than occasion warranted, prompting Isaac to examine him more closely. The seemingly neutral expression would probably deceive most other people, but Isaac was too familiar with the planes of that face not to detect the tightness around the mouth and eyes. On second glance, Isaac decided that Ivan's posture was also too rigid, what with the awkward stoop to his back and the closed angles of his arms and legs.

Concern filled him in an instant. "Ivan, what is the matter?" he inquired urgently.

True to Isaac's estimation, the other boy fidgeted uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the level of his dragonhide boots. The words he spoke were surprisingly frank, however. "There's something really important I need to tell you. Before I go."

"Oh?"

"Not here, though." He glanced up and around quickly, indicating the boisterous and crowded hall they currently occupied. "Why don't we go outside?"

"Sure."

They made it to the exit completely unnoticed. As the door to warmth and jovial company closed behind him, Isaac immediately felt the night air settle around him, the chill of its embrace seeping through his skin and into his very bones. Ivan, however, seemed to be unaffected by that same chill; he was instead scrutinizing a nearby bush with such intensity that Isaac feared it would erupt into sizzling motes of Jupiter Psynergy.

Minutes passed between them in uneasy silence. Finally unable to bear the tense anticipation any longer, Isaac cleared his throat awkwardly, and proceeded to stumble over the words of his opening request:

"So, um, what is it that you… wish to tell me?"

Ivan's head turned ever so slowly in his direction, apprehension visible in every line of his body.

"Isaac, I –" he abruptly gritted out, before stopping just as abruptly. "No." He shook his head in apparent frustration. "How do I begin this…"

"From the beginning, of course."

At Isaac's small attempt at humour, a faint smile curled the corners of Ivan's lips, but faded quickly. "Isaac – " he started, before visibly grounding himself to take a deep breath and start again, "Isaac, there's a dream I've been having again and again for a while now."

Comprehension clicked. So this was what Ivan wanted to discuss all those mornings ago. "Is it the same one? Y'know, from that morning?"

"Yes. This kind of dream… has a tendency to come true."

Isaac, who was accustomed – and rather uncomfortably, at that – to the truth of Ivan's prophesying, sobered up in an instant. "It's not good, is it?" he demanded, simultaneously worried and afraid.

Large violet eyes turned to him, sorrow in their depths. "No, it's not good at all. I'm afraid something – terrible – is going to happen to New Vale."

No wonder he couldn't say this inside, Isaac rationalized. The intent glint in his companion's eyes made him realize that he had spoken that aloud, and he hastened to clarify his statement, ensuring the words came out of his mouth this time by conscious effort. "That is – everyone'll think you're jinxing them, if they heard. Not that I do," he added emphatically, "of course."

Ivan gave a smile to show his appreciation of the sentiment, but it did not reach his eyes. "That's one of the major drawbacks of being born a Jupiter Adept, I suppose."

Nodding in grim agreement, Isaac promptly launched into his next question, for fear the conversation would lose its momentum and force Ivan into reclusiveness once more.

"Ivan, what's going to happen?" He immediately cast his mind to the worst thing he could think of. "Will someone – die?"

Ivan looked away. His voice was barely louder than a whisper when he answered, "…Yes. More than one."

Isaac's eyes widened. "Who?"

The other boy was slower to turn back than he was to look away. It became apparent why – the expression on his face was neither something to be readily conjured nor forgotten in a heartbeat. Unshed tears glimmered in those overlarge purple eyes, making them brighter than they already were. Lips were peeled back to reveal clenched teeth, and the lines of that heart-wrenchingly young face were contorted – as though he was in pain.

He is in pain, Isaac corrected himself, suddenly aware of what the Jupiter Adept would say even before the words themselves were spoken. His heart squeezed forcefully in sympathy. Because he doesn't know.

An uncharacteristic harshness filled Ivan's voice when he finally spoke. "I can't say. It doesn't show their faces. I'm sorry."

Isaac was not so quick to give up, however. He had faith – boundless quantities of it – in Ivan. "If you were to make a guess, though," the Valean prodded, schooling both his tone and facial expression to one of gentle patience, "who would you say they are?"

Although it took him a moment to respond, it was clear from Ivan's tone that he was encouraged by the lack of censure in his leader's words. "If I were to guess, I'd say that they're someone familiar. Someone we're close to, perhaps."

"We?" Isaac choked out, the beginnings of something truly horrible coalescing in his mind.

Ivan's look of horror mirrored his own as he grasped the implication of his own words. "You don't think it's – one of us?"

"According to what you said, it's very likely."

The fifteen-year-old seemed to visibly deflate then, all of his spirit leaving him in place of a weariness that did not belong to his round, smooth-cheeked face. "Oh, Isaac. I'm sorry. I never should have brought this up. Now it'll be stuck in the back of your mind, constantly nagging at you –"

"No, Ivan, don't be sorry," interjected Isaac firmly, not wanting to add Ivan's misdirected self-chastisement on top of everything else. "It's not your fault that you can see things before they happen. Just one thing, though – is there any way to stop this?"

Ivan's narrow shoulders slumped. "I don't know. I've never really… tried to stop anything before."

"Well, maybe there's a chance to stop it." Determination forged Isaac's tone into one of steel. "Maybe what you've seen is something that can happen, like one of the roads life can take if the right conditions are met. Destiny can't be completely set in stone, can it?"

Ivan looked up at him, his eyes somber. "Yeah, I guess," he said. "I hope you're right, Isaac."

It seemed that any further discussion of this topic had reached its end for the time being. Even so, Isaac felt that whatever he had gleaned from it was utterly inadequate. Someone – maybe two someones, who were exceedingly familiar, at that – would die, the manner in which remained unknown, as was the possibility of circumvention. There was nothing useful that could be done with this information – he would simply be branded a rumourmonger were he to spread such vicious tales of another's impending doom around the village.

Imbued with the divinity of Psynergy or not, soothsaying amongst Valeans was treated with suspicion at best, or blatant dismissal at worst. Nothing of the Adepts save those of Fire and Earth alignment featured in Valean lore; centuries of isolation had eventually erased all tales of those other wonderful and terrible powers which had, together, enforced the Sealing of Alchemy. Until Isaac embarked on that monumental quest to prevent the lighthouses from being lit – and consequently met Ivan – he never knew that the art of prophecy even existed.

And Ivan's prophecies always contained elements of truth (for Isaac had witnessed them first-hand, after all), proving that those old, superstitious beliefs were just that – superstitious. The question was: what were those elements? Two people couldn't just up and die without circumstances being manipulated to that end.

There had to be more to it – there just had to be.

"Ivan?" Isaac pressed on, his words loud in the unsettling quiet. "I know that this is a rather intrusive question, but… what do you actually see? In the dream? You – you don't have to answer if you don't want to," he added hastily when he noticed Ivan's hesitant expression.

It was a full minute later when Ivan replied – a minute in which Isaac thought he was not going to reply at all. "Blood," he finally said, his voice hushed with fascinated horror. "A lot of blood. Blood at the beginning and the end. Everything else in between is rather vague, but there are some distinct images. A serpent biting into its own flesh – I'm not sure what that means, though. Then there's people, surrounded by fog." He spread his arms wide, trying to convey what he meant with actions. "I think – I think the people represent the village-folk, and the fog, mistrust or confusion or something along those lines. And there's this plant which I don't recognize – it grows by the riverside, and has fluffy, purplish leaves. The serpent's lying in a bed of these, then the people come and chase it off, but in the end, it returns to die on that same bed."

Silence followed the conclusion to Ivan's speech once more, enveloping the two Adepts in the stagnant aura of grim speculation.

Blood. That was the unquestionable symbol of violence, Isaac thought. Perhaps a dispute or something similar would occur in the village, where weapons were drawn, and –

But he couldn't see it. Valeans were pacifists by nature, exempting his and his comrade's deviation as a necessity of their quest (nonetheless, he had little stomach for bloodshed, and would only use it as a last resort). Murder had no place amongst them – they were far too small a community to allow suspicion between fellow villagers, since whatever damage thus inflicted would be collateral. Additionally, Vale had a high standard of moral conduct to abide by – it was either that or be ousted altogether.

(Besides, he didn't want to believe that someone he supposedly knew was capable of committing such an atrocity.)

A freak accident, then? Some attackers from outside? Or an invasion of wild animals, mutated by the streams of Psynergy that now flowed uninhibited across the land?

Mind reeling with an ever-growing list of possibilities, Isaac decided it was probably best to move on to the next symbol.

A serpent biting into itself – he couldn't figure out the meaning of that, however. In Valean lore, serpents came in two forms – the legless, smooth-scaled kind that lurked in the undergrowth, and the terrifyingly enormous, winged dragons that wreaked havoc upon all that was in their path. Somehow he felt that Ivan was referring to the former, that kind that embodied treachery in its stealthy, silent movements.

Surely, none of his friends would betray him, or orchestrate someone else's murder? Right? Right?

Not Garet, not with that easy smile and cheerful attitude? Nor Felix, who had the steadfastness of loyalty burning in his eyes?

Surely not Jenna, who embodied the radiance of Sol himself?

She could, y'know, a voice at the back of his head sniggered malevolently. All it takes is for something to force her bit by bit into a corner, until she cannot handle anymore and – breaks. Like a little porcelain doll…

Unbidden, the image of said doll appeared in his mind's eye, but with Jenna's features painted onto its previously bland face. The doll fell to the ground, shattering into thousands of pieces, with each piece containing a tiny portion of Jenna's eyes, Jenna's mouth, Jenna's hair…

He recoiled violently.

But as deliciously horrifying as that may be, the voice persisted, you seem to be forgetting someone else…

Who? challenged Isaac, angry that such darkness could even be lurking in his innermost thoughts at all. WHO?

Yourself.

Snapped out of that line of thought by the disturbing revelation, Isaac found himself in mental limbo for a moment, undecided on what to think for fear that it would backfire on him. It was then that the perfectly innocuous topic of the plant arose, liberating him from his quandary.

He latched onto it for dear life – or for the sake of preserving his sanity, rather.

Ivan's description – fluffy, purplish leaves, grew by the riverside – sounded awfully familiar. The contrasting mix of sweet and caustic flavours was foremost in his mind, but he was no more knowledgeable than Ivan on the subject on its uses. If only he'd paid more attention in those horticulture lessons back then (rather than childishly conjure daydreams of epic quests in which dragons were slain and damsels-in-distress, rescued)…

"Isaac? Isaac?"

Shaking his head in an attempt to banish the last cobwebs of thought from his mind, Isaac slowly reverted to the present. Gradually, the perception of his surroundings sharpened – where he once sensed nothing, he now felt the unpleasant tingle of cold, heard the muted echo of music emerging from the inn, saw the glimmer of concerned purple eyes looking into his own.

"Sorry. I was just – thinking about what you said."

Ivan seemed to be on a different train of thought altogether. "Are you… are you going to tell the others about this?" he blurted suddenly, distress colouring his young voice in thick, uncontrolled waves. The raw sound of it made Isaac want to cradle the smaller boy against his chest, had he known whether such actions would be untoward or otherwise.

He compromised by saying in a soothing voice, "Ivan, if you really don't want them to know, just say so. I can promise to keep it between us."

"No, it's… not like that," Ivan spluttered, unconsciously imitating Isaac's words to Jenna from before. The irony was not lost on the Valean. "It's – it's just – "

The fifteen-year-old's reluctant, fumbling words died in his throat when Isaac strode up to place a hand on his shoulder. "Ivan," he said solemnly, trying to convey his understanding in the solidarity of his gaze, "I know what you're saying. You don't want to keep secrets between friends, but you don't want to leave something like this hanging over their heads. I wouldn't, either."

Recognizing Isaac's words for what they represented, gratitude welled up in Ivan's purple eyes. The sight of that face – its expression so naked and earnest – wrenched painfully at Isaac's heartstrings; it took all of his willpower to keep from turning away.

"Thank you, Isaac."

And with those three words, the uncomfortable tension that had surrounded them since the beginning of their conversation finally dissipated.

Satisfied that they had reached some sort of resolution, Isaac gently removed his hand from Ivan's shoulder, yet still maintaining their close proximity. They stood like this for a moment more, basking in the warmth of each other's presence, as the merry noises from within the inn slipped underneath the entrance door to wrap around them.

"Y'know, Isaac?" Ivan's voice was soft and somewhat nostalgic. "I'm really glad I've met you."

Isaac sighed, this time in fond exasperation at the finality of his friend's unspoken farewell. "Ivan, we will see each other again," he said, his tone both forceful and gentle at once. "The Teleport Lapis, remember?"

The corner of Ivan's lips quirked up oddly. "Of course."

"And I'll send Garet over as many times as you need him to baby-sit you."

That earned an unmistakable sniff of contempt from his friend, but Isaac detected the undercurrent of amusement in it as well. He decided to expand on the joke.

"Or for you to baby-sit him, more like."

At that, Ivan could contain his amusement no longer, and promptly burst into a fit of high-pitched giggles.

"Making jokes at Garet's expense, are you?" he countered in a scolding voice once the initial wave of laughter had subsided, though the bright twinkle in his eyes rather ruined the effect.

Isaac smirked. "Garet's and yours." The unspoken 'not mine' resonated as loudly in the air as it would were it vocalized, sending them both into another fit of laughter.

"Come on, let's get you back to the party." Opening the inn's entrance door at the same time, Isaac placed a firm, but gentle palm between Ivan's shoulder blades, urging him forward. "You need to enjoy your last night here, lest someone runs up a tale about us Valeans being horrible hosts."

Still chuckling, they strolled back into the welcoming light.

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The lone silhouette against the backdrop of star-dusted sky, Jenna leaned back on the hay roof of her family's rebuilt house, eyes fixed unseeingly on the heavens above. Most of Vale's inhabitants were in their beds by now, and while Jenna complied with the preliminaries, having already changed into her knee-length nightgown (again, the cold didn't faze her), she was by no means sleepy. It was at this hour – right at the pinnacle before wakefulness crossed over into slumber – that she liked to reflect on the events of the day. And what currently had her mind occupied were the bittersweet farewells the comprised the afternoon:

If the merriment of a particular festivity could truly be captured and offered to the gods in exchange for weather blessings, then yes, Jenna would argue that it was possible. It was currently afternoon of the day following the party, and the conditions were inarguably the best Vale's temperate climate could offer. The sun, a shimmering sphere of molten gold, hung high in the wide expanse of uninterrupted blue sky. The biting chill of early spring had vanished in place of something at the milder end of the temperature spectrum, and the breeze was as a gentle brush against the exposed skin of her face and hands.

Altogether, it epitomized the most beautiful of days – a fitting tribute to the long-anticipated departure of her beloved friends.

Its sculpted dragonhead pointing proudly into the sky, the Wings of the Anemos lay upon the niche of unobstructed land that paved the route between New Vale and Vault. Carefully oiled wooden panels comprised the parallel rows that spanned across the length of its hull, and the gleaming frames of its metallic wings were outstretched in preparation for flight. Far, far above on deck, the tiny figures of Piers, Ivan, Sheba and Mia could be seen waving back at the surrounding crowd of Valeans, their frantic hands like butterfly wings against the sunlight.

Jenna's replying wave was just as frantic.

There it was; moisture had indeed welled up in the corners of her eyes – she could feel its hot, sticky vapour on her cheekbones – but she opted not to blink it out of existence. Her friends deserved her acknowledgement – her unshed tears, pitiable sentiments that they were, testified to that. As did the stranglehold of combined affection and sadness that enclosed her ribcage, suffocating her until she felt as though all her breath was knocked out of her lungs.

She would miss them – her friends. Oh, how she would miss them dearly.

Appearing first as ribbons of indefinable energy that emerged from the earth, the blue aura of Psynergy gradually engulfed the entire ship, its scintillating coils featuring with greatest prominence on the wings. Next, in the awe-inspiring fashion hitherto believed to exist only in the realm of dreams, it lifted the enormous vessel ever higher and higher into the sky, before stopping at some three hundred feet. A magnificent lunge forward, and then the Wings of the Anemos was gone, shimmering motes of Psynergy trailing behind in its wake.

The tears flowed freely down her cheeks, now.

Goodbye.

Wrenching out of that memory with considerable effort – some of it painful – Jenna then raised her sleeve to dab at her moistened eyes, before putting it away determinedly. She would see her friends again – that much she promised herself. Vast inconveniences that living on separate continents may present, they would not deter her from what she most desired – even if it required amassing funds that she did not have, or worse yet, uprooting herself entirely. Her ties were, after all, strongest to the ones whom she loved; her sentimentality with regards to her homeland – as powerful as it was – could only be insignificant compared to that.

Of course, there was always the option of borrowing the ever-so-useful Teleport Lapis –

Sssrrrtt!

Startled out of her musings, Jenna immediately turned around towards the direction of the sound – from behind her. Familiar shadows and moonlit hay were the only things to greet her eyes. Far from being assured by the quiescence in her sight, she opened up her more exquisite senses, straining her ears in search for any other sounds, employing the temperature sensitivity of her Mars Psynergy to detect any traces of heat in the air –

There was someone there. And whoever it was had not bothered to make their appearance, which could only mean that their intentions towards her were less than good…

Obviously the other person had come to the realization that Jenna was now aware of him or her, and decided to make the best of their opportunity to attack. The black streak that emerged from seemingly nowhere was so unexpectedly huge that it caught Jenna off-guard, crushing her face-first into the hay roof before she could even move, much less summon a means to counterattack. She thrashed desperately under its equally huge weight, her mind flooding with ever-increasing panic as each flail of her limbs proved to be less and less effective…

She had to shake it off; she had to shake it off

Something struck her. Pain, sharp agonizing pain erupted at the back of her head, accompanied by the blurring of her vision and a mounting sensation of light-headedness. Her last thought was that she was fainting –

Then she knew no more.

-


-

Thump.

At the unmistakable sound of flesh impacting against hay, Felix jerked upright, his fingers clenching around an oil-soaked rag in the midst of polishing the Sol Blade. There was something inherently wrong with that sound – it was too heavy to suggest anything but a whole body collapsing upon the house's roof, the latter down from which it echoed. And while he was familiar with Jenna's nightly habit of retreating to that precarious spot to unwind, it could not be her who had made that sound – she was far too physically agile to be stumbling around.

Which could only mean one thing:

Intruders.

Seizing the Sol Blade, Felix rose from his sitting position in the garden flowerbed, whereupon his long legs carried him to the northern side of the house in a matter of seconds. Here, the land was elevated by the natural incline of the mountain, enabling him to scan the expanse of the house's rooftop without obstruction.

Jenna was nowhere in sight.

Immediately, his heartbeat accelerated from the soft flutterings of initial unrest to the loud, staccato pounding of full-blown anxiety. His grip tightened on the Sol Blade's hilt to the point where the sharp corners of the embedded gemstones were pressing into his flesh – not that he noticed at all. He was far too busy sweeping his eyes over the night-darkened landscape, searching – hoping – for any trace of that characteristic mahogany-red hair, for a sign that indicated nothing unspeakable had happened to his precious little sister.

Therefore, when he heard the unfamiliar, almost imperceptible footsteps of leather-clad feet, his sword arm twitched violently in response.

Thud-thud-thud.

They – the footsteps – pattered off in the direction of the woods, their echoes bleeding into the soil to emerge at his feet as disruptions in the native Psynergy rhythm of the earth. He lunged after them in hot pursuit, adapting his stride into that of a predator's march, silent and purposeful. The aura of Psynergy sprung up around him as he walked, engulfing him in a shimmering blue mist that neither touched his features nor the ground.

His keen eyesight made out twin silhouettes in a partial copse, one crouching above the other. Stray beams of moonlight snaked through the canopy to alight upon the latter's face, illuminating the clothed mask that covered all features save the eyes. Beneath him – for the greatest of bulk was undeniable proof that he was male – with the sprawled mess of night-darkened mahogany-red hair to identify her, lay Jenna. Her nightgown had collected in bunched folds at her waist, revealing stockinged thighs up upon which disgustingly grubby fingers were trailing against –

That – here, profane descriptions too foul to be articulated in words erupted in Felix's mind – bastard was touching his sister! Touching his Jenna!

Red filled his vision.

With scarcely a bleep of conscious thought, Felix conjured Odyssey out of the very air surrounding him, the Psynergy weave manifesting as a glowing trio of gargantuan swords. A split second later saw the swords hurtling through the night straight into the heart of Jenna's assaulter, exploding his ribcage to send blood and innards spraying in every direction. The momentum of the attack carried whatever remained of the corpse – that the man was dead at this point was an indisputable fact – several feet, slamming it into the tree behind with such force that an imprint was chiselled into the wood.

The triple swords already dissipating into tendrils of Psynergy, Felix crossed the distance between himself and Jenna with hurried strides. The Sol Blade made a soft, metallic clatter as it fell from his hand onto the ground; he was cupping her face now, two fingers pressed into the jugular of her throat. When his gloved fingertips invariably met with a pulse – its beat strong and unwavering, no less – he almost collapsed with relief.

Uncaring of the gore splattered across her once-pristine nightgown, Felix grasped his sister's shoulders, and shook them gently.

"Jenna?"

Her response came a few moments later in the form of a stifled moan, but otherwise she did not wake.

Carefully, Felix returned the Sol Blade into its belted scabbard at his hip, before unclasping his cloak and wrapping it around Jenna's prone form. Then, with almost indecent tenderness – given the circumstances – he lifted her up bridal-style, and carried her back to their house.

Her weight was warm in his arms, her shoulders and knees fitting into the nooks of his elbows in a way that suggested she had always meant to be there. He didn't contemplate this further, though – his attention was directed into summoning the mystical Psynergy hand, the latter of which coalesced into existence from silvery-blue motes in the air. Its enormous, translucent fist closed around the house's entry doorknob and twisted, letting the door swing open to reveal the house's dark interiors.

Smoothly navigating his way to the dining table – the furniture was too sparse as of yet to present any kind of obstacle – he gently laid her atop it, then turned back towards the entrance. He didn't have time for her now. The intruders were rapidly retreating – he could sense them all now; there were twelve more of them – and he did not intend for them to escape.

Alive.

Proxian philosophy dictated that one should never let his enemies live, nor demonstrate mercy to them, for they would only return with greater vengeance to salvage their broken pride. It was a brutal philosophy – gratuitously so, as he had first thought – but with the passage of time spent in the company of the Fire Clan, he realized just how necessary it was. Anyone who resided in the harsh, uncompromising lands of the North could not be any less than brutal if they wanted to survive.

It was either to kill, or be killed.

With that belief firmly entrenched into his mind, Felix trotted back into the night (again, the Psynergy hand reappeared to close the door). Adrenaline surged through his veins, combining with a rage simultaneously hotter than Tiamat's flame and colder than Moloch's icy breath, to form something so potent that it was a wonder he didn't implode from the sheer destructive power of it all.

And this power was about to unleash itself upon its next victim. One of the masked strangers was squatting by the edge of a nearby rock precipice – the sentry doomed to lose his sentry status.

The pointed rock-cone of a Spire materialized behind the unwary man, and before he could take another breath, collided with the back of his skull. There was a sickening crunch where rock met bone and obliterated the latter, before the man collapsed to the ground, unmoving.

One down, eleven more to go.

And eleven idiots they were. Finally realizing their numbers had been rapidly deteriorating – by some unforseen force, no less – they opted to flee, hurtling as a single, writhing black mass into the woods. Cowardly bastards. Did they not realize that he could sense them as clearly as if they were right next to him, their panicked footsteps reverberating in ripples of Venus Psynergy across the earth?

It was patently clear, thought Felix in the split second with which he gathered energy for his next attack, that they were no organized criminals, just greedy opportunists. Their unified, haphazard flight indicated that much – true criminals would have split paths to disorientate their pursuer, and then reassemble stealthily to eliminate the latter.

But Felix couldn't bring himself to feel any mercy for them. They had come at a time where Vale was at its most vulnerable, to rape (his fists clenched harder at that thought) and plunder as their putrid, black hearts saw fit. To reward such evil with even the scarcest morsel of compassion would be an unforgivable mistake.

His decision long finalized, Felix brought his palm to the earth.

A wall of tangled grasses sprang up ahead of and around the masked intruders, preventing their immediate escape. Before they could even register what they were seeing for the expressions of bewilderment to materialize on their faces, the earth opened up in a devastatingly spectacular display of Mother Gaia, and swallowed them into its depths. Shockwaves resonated in its wake as mud and gravel knitted themselves back together at the surface, completing the burial to ensure that those fools would never commit another wicked deed ever again.

Then the world came to a shuddering silence.

Panting with exertion, Felix closed his eyes, finally feeling the tension that had gripped him all night lift away from his shoulders.

He had saved Jenna. That, in the end, was all that mattered – whatever the consequences that would follow.

For he knew, without a shadow of doubt, that they were not going to be good.

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A/N: Finally, we have some plot going!

It has just struck me how this particular story bears a marked resemblance to one of Sophocle's Greek tragedies (Oedipus Rex, anybody?). The readers already know what will ultimately transpire – the pleasure lies in watching the story unravel in a manner befitting that end, rather than the surprises and revelations that typically come along with a more action-filled plot.

Like it, or don't like it? Reviews are most welcome.