The Restoration: Part VI
Dark.
It was an unnatural place, one that sent shivers down the spine and struck fear into the hearts of even the boldest spirits that wandered the great, dark abyss of the dead. It was a realm that seemingly consisted of nothing but imagination and power. It was uncontrollable, unpredictable, a land where chaos laid under delicate hold by a single, fierce hand.
That hand belonged to the Mastermind.
He had shaped the lost realm – the Dark Realm, he called it – to match the desires of his twisted mind. There was only sky, a dark, swirling abyss of storm and thunder. There was a lashing wind, a vile howl that haunted the souls of those unfortunate enough to hear it. Within the chaotic mass of cloud and darkness there was but one earthly formation: a small island, hanging in the unnatural air, whose soil was black as night.
There were four dark figures standing on this island. The armour of the first was darker than the stormy skies above him; the hair of the second crept down his back like a dragon's tail; and the skin of the third was pale as chalk to match the feather entwined in his locks.
The fourth stood aloof from the others. He could scarcely be distinguished from the land beneath him, shrouded in a cloak darker than ebony, a living shadow born of the night. He stood at a precipice and watched the shifting storms around him. He was content, though no soul could have gleaned such knowledge from the sight of his motionless form. Beneath the darkness of his cloak, nothing could be seen.
"They've begun searching for me," he said, his voice little more than a chilling whisper emanating from the bowels of his cloak. "They've been warned by the Coalition. Not altogether unexpected, but..." A single, sinister chuckle escaped his lips.
His gloved hand rose, reaching out to the chaos before him. His fingers pinched the air, bending the very fabric of the Dark Realm to his whim. Before him, the clouds began to swirl, sweeping together in a whirl of darkness, penetrated every now and then by sharp bolts of lightning, etching patterns across the gloom.
An image began to appear, faint at first but steadily clearer with each passing second. The dark man watched as Cecil's likeness emerged, seated at a table with many others and engaged in serious discussion. "They have begun to reunite," he muttered in the same evil whisper. "I remember this one… so noble and brave, such bold courage. But he cannot hope to match my power. None of them can."
He flicked his wrist, and the image within the cloudy vortex began to shift. It was soon replaced by one of Butz at the helm of the airship, soaring through the clouds to a land far in the distance. "I see loss in this one… I sense fear. He thinks of someone else, he fears for her. But there remains a strong spirit within him." He chuckled evilly. "No matter. His spirit can be crushed as easily as the rest."
Another flick of his wrist. This time, Duran wafted into view, gazing off into the sky. The dark figure chuckled again. "This one is interesting… infallible loyalty. A thirst for vengeance. And… anger. Anger that is quick to rise. Such is the recipe for a swift downfall."
He flicked his wrist once again. "Hmm… interesting," he said quietly as Terra, Edgar and Sabin winked into view, speaking with the man named Kain. He studied the scene for several moments. "There is one among these pitiful humans that does not belong. But soon it will not matter… soon the worlds will no longer be apart. Soon, the world will be as I have always dreamt it – as I have always remembered it."
He gazed into the clouds for another few moments before finally closing his outstretched hand. The swirling mass vanished in an instant, and the image along with it. "To every end, there is a beginning," he whispered, "for without beginnings, nothing could exist… The worlds shall return from whence they have come… The Restoration will consume all…"
A sudden silence, save for the howling wind. If it had been possible to see through the infinite darkness beneath the ebony cloak, one might have seen a look of subtle amusement.
"They have a name for me," he said. "They call me… Mastermind…"
He began to laugh.
The very air of the chaotic realm seemed to ripple in reply to his mirth, the peals of thunder and howling wind growing in intensity. The noise was deafening, the light blinding. The three other figures behind him glanced nervously around themselves.
The Mastermind turned his back on the precipice, his cloak sweeping majestically around him, offering a brief silhouette of his shrouded body. He looked over the three men standing in a line before him. Each had been brought upon his respective world for his own purpose, his own role in the Restoration. They stood before him now as defeated men awaiting their judgement.
"Gentlemen," he said, stepping toward them with open arms. The pale man flinched. "Death has come to you. Death has claimed your souls and delivered them to my Dark Realm, the Realm you may perhaps remember as your home, long ago. It would appear… that death has returned you to me."
He lowered his arms and paced forward slowly, each step reverberating on the black soil. "My servants… my children. Does each of you remember his purpose? Were you not brought upon the realm of the living bearing the task I gave to you? Have you forsaken me?!"
His last words erupted in a great cry of rage and echoed into the darkness. Each of the men flinched terribly.
The Mastermind stopped pacing. "The three Great Deities… their forbidden powers." He looked to the first dark form, encased in his armour. "The Shadow Demon, twisting the very fabric of the physical world to his will." He looked to the second, with his lizard-like hair trailing along his back. "The Great Dragon, wreaking chaos on the cosmos with his merciless flames." He looked to the third, the long feather dancing in the wind. "The Dark Angel, wielding command over the very essence of life and death."
He stepped forward once more. "These were my gifts to you... the gifts of Chaotis. The Great Deities placed their powers in my hands, and I offered them to you: the dark energies of the nether realms, enough power to wipe the five Goddesses from existence. Such limitless power… how can it be that you all failed me so?"
The man imbued with the power of the Great Dragon was the only one of the three who dared to speak. "But… my Lord," he said nervously, "I… I succeeded! I… the Goddess of Mana is dead, the Holyland ravaged—"
"Silence!" bellowed the Mastermind, making the island itself tremble. Two mighty paces brought him only inches from the man who had spoken. There was a long moment of tense silence before the evil whisper echoed again across the realm. "Succeeded, did you? You claim to have fulfilled your purpose?" He paused. "What was it you called yourself again, Corwyn? The 'Dragon Emperor'?
The man swallowed audibly before nodding.
The Mastermind grunted derisively. "I remember your time as self-proclaimed monarch. I remember how you fought to enter the Holyland. Do you not? I resurrected you in your time of need. I enslaved the soul of the Knight of Gold who killed you, so that he could aid in the fulfillment of your sole task. And when your minions finally opened the gate to the Holyland for you, do you remember how you demonstrated your appreciation of my generosity? Were you truly content with your power?"
Swift as lightning, the Mastermind's right hand met Corwyn the Dragon Emperor's throat, lifting him off the ground. "You weren't content, were you? Despite all the power you had – the power of the Great Dragon – you wanted more. You wanted the Sword, the power of Mana. You entered the Mana Holyland, and you left the Goddess alive!!"
Corwyn struggled to speak. "I… I killed—"
"Yes, you did," the Mastermind growled, "but only when she began to interfere with your own plans! You left her alive until she began to fight you, isn't that right? You forever had only your own interests at heart, and your foolishness could have put an end to everything I worked for!"
He dropped the humbled Emperor, who fell to the ground, choking. Disgusted, he turned to the man with the feather in his hair, the one bearing the power of the Dark Angel. "And you… your hunger for power nearly cost me the lives of the three Goddesses of your world. It is you who have truly forsaken me… Kefka."
Kefka was trembling violently, his chalky face even paler than it usually was.
The Mastermind began to walk around him, speaking softly as he paced. "You had them, Kefka. The Goddesses of Plague, Reason and Omen. Even despite their accursed Esper bodyguards, they were yours! But you didn't destroy them. No, you used their power to add to your own!"
He returned to Kefka's front, staring at him through the nothingness. "But they fought back, didn't they, Kefka? Oh, you weren't expecting that at all. It wasn't easy to control them, was it? They wrought their vengeance on the world itself. Did you even think of what you were doing? Did you not realize that the catastrophe that befell your world at their hands could have devastated all of the five worlds?!"
Kefka inhaled shakily. "I—"
"Not one word shall be uttered from your lips lest you be cast into oblivion!" The Mastermind's cloak seemed to react to his anger. "Let us not forget: even after your world was reduced to ruin, you still sought control! Instead of destroying the accursed Goddesses, you used them as bodyguards! Was their pitiful magic so important to you? Were your powers not far beyond theirs?"
The Mastermind began to step away, and then paused, looking once again at Kefka. "You should consider yourself fortunate that those pitiful humans who stood against you were able to destroy the Goddesses themselves, or my wrath would be far worse."
He finally crossed to the man in dark armour, the man holding the power of the Shadow Demon. "Now, Exdeath… your tasks were more difficult than the ones entrusted to these two. When those blasted humans inadvertently created their Cleft of Dimension so long ago, I failed to predict that the Lunarians' arrival would force the Void into it." He paused. "One mistake… a single mistake I needed you to correct."
He paused. "You filled me with hope, Exdeath. After Kefka turned his back on us, after the repeated failures of our so-called Dragon Emperor, I thought that you, at least, would succeed. You bested the cursed Cleft of Dimension, you merged the divided world, and you released the power of the Void from its thousand years of imprisonment."
The Mastermind bowed his head. "So why did you not use that power to finish your work? Why did you not kill the Goddess of Aura when the ultimate power in the universe rested in your hands? She still lives, Exdeath. She has remade the four fragments of the Mana Stones. As we are now, with all of the other Goddesses dead, she can't resist us easily… but she fights. And she is holding us back."
He backed away from Exdeath and returned to the precipice, extending his hand once more to the swirling clouds. The vortex formed again, and the Goddess of Aura, the Elder Tree, appeared within it. "Do you see her, gentlemen? The Coalition will no doubt be aware of her existence by now. They will tell the humans of her world, who will go to her for answers. We must not let this happen."
He turned his back on the vortex, which continued to swirl. "You… your failures… they will never be forgotten. But I shall give you a chance to amend the wrongs you have committed. The Goddess of Aura must be destroyed. With her finally gone, the Restoration will proceed according to our plans, the plans I devised so many years ago. And this time…" He surveyed them once again. Exdeath, still standing in stony silence; Corwyn, his breathing ragged; Kefka, still trembling, but his face twisted with badly-concealed anger. "This time… I will not accept failure."
He looked once again at Kefka, whose features were still contorted somewhat as he attempted to conceal his fury. "Ah, and Kefka… I have a special task for you."
He spun around, his cloak flapping in the wind, and flicked his wrist toward the vortex. The swirling changed, this time revealing an image of a man with long, purple hair, stealthily edging across the floor in a dark room, where a man slept in a bed in the corner. The Mastermind watched as he quietly opened a small chest on the other side of the room, removing from it a round, pointed object, and studying it curiously for a moment before stuffing it in his robes and hastily sneaking out once again. The sleeper in the lone bed remained unperturbed.
The Mastermind turned once again and looked at Kefka, whose expression was no longer one of contained fury but had now changed to one of mixed awe and desire. "You will find him, Kefka," said the Mastermind, savouring the words as he spoke them, "and you will deliver the object he has stolen… to me."
As Kefka's face fell, the Mastermind paced toward him, coming to a stop no more than two inches from his face. "And remember, Kefka," he said menacingly, "I will be watching you very, very closely."
All Kefka could do was nod.
At that moment, the soil on the ground a few feet away began to stir, and then rose up in a dark, swirling cloud. The Mastermind paced toward the churning mass, crossing his arms and watching. The soil began to form the shape of a body, and as it fell away and returned to the ground, another hooded figure emerged, covered in his dark cloak, his gloved hand holding a long, menacing scythe. His jaw and a few strands of wispy, silver hair were all that could be seen of his face beneath his dark hood, and when he spoke, he revealed his fang-like teeth.
"I received your summons, master."
The Mastermind nodded, glancing back at his three servants. "Witness, if you will, the newest of my apprentices. Let us hope he does not follow the example you three have set."
He turned back to the new arrival. "Come. I have an important task for you."
He led the way back to the precipice, flicking his wrist a final time toward the swirling vortex. The image inside shifted slowly, and soon revealed the World of Lavos. They saw Melchior and Lucca, and they saw the Epoch. The Mastermind watched them work for several moments, lapsing into a contemplative silence. Beside him, the new arrival studied the scene intently, and presently began to chuckle under his breath.
"I understand, Master," he said. "It shall be done."
There was another brief moment of silence, followed by the Mastermind's own raspy chuckle. "Excellent," he whispered. "Gentlemen… it would seem that our work has begun."
His sinister words echoed into the nothingness.
The sun was beginning to set in the World of the Void, and the dimming light gleamed through the large windows of Castle Tycoon's throne room. Inside, Faris sat anxiously in her throne, unsure of what to do with herself. She'd been out searching for Lenna all day without any luck. The soldiers continued to scour the grounds, venturing as far as the seashore in their search for the missing princess.
Nobody had seen any trace of her.
Faris had been trying all day to understand what was going on, but try as she might, she inevitably found herself lost. All she knew was that one minute Lenna had been standing there with them, and the next she'd disappeared. She refused to believe her sister was dead… but she didn't want to think about the other possibilities.
What if she did end up in another world somewhere? What if she were trapped, or in trouble, or worse? And would she ever be able to get back? And when the worlds began to merge, would they ever find each other again? Was there any chance that she'd ever again be with her sister?
She wondered how Butz and Cara were doing.
Just then, a pair of soldiers entered through the large doors on the other end of the throne room, and Faris stood, eager to hear any news. She hurried over, dismissing their respectful bows, and put her hands on her hips. "Well? Have you found anything?"
The soldier on the left shook his head. "I'm sorry, Your Highness. There's no sign of her."
"Well, keep looking," said Faris irritably, turning away. "And next time, come to me with good news."
"Erm, Your Highness…" The other guard shifted uncomfortably. "We… we think it would be best to call it a day, and resume our search in the morning."
Faris stopped in mid-step, looked back to them, and then to the window. "What do you mean? There's still plenty of sunlight left!"
"We realize that, Your Highness," said the first soldier, "but some of the patrols are very far away, and it would be best if they returned to the castle before dark."
Faris started to say something else, and then paused. After a moment, she started again. "Right, send for all the search parties to return to the castle. I'm going back out there myself."
"P-pardon me, Your Highness?"
"You heard me," she tossed over her shoulder as she headed for the doors. "I'm leaving the chancellor in charge while I'm gone. Get the other search parties back to the castle."
She then turned a deaf ear to the rest of the guards' protests and presently found herself walking out the main gates and into the cool evening air. She soon began to feel the goose bumps spreading across her arms and shivered momentarily, but then resolutely braced herself and headed for the forest.
It wasn't long before she reached the border of the trees, and she glanced around herself, watching carefully for any sign of her sister's robes, or her distinctive pink hair. "Lenna! Lenna, can you hear me?"
There came no answer, and she shook her head resignedly. Was she really fooling herself? Should she just face the facts? It all seemed so futile, the long hours spent out in the wilderness calling for someone that couldn't answer back. And yet...
She shook her head and tried once more. "Lenna!!" She then put a hand to her ear and listened again for her sister's voice, and noticed to her astonishment that she could hear someone calling.
She looked sharply in the direction of the voice - she couldn't make out what kind of voice it was, but she was ready to try anything. "Lenna?" she called again, and waited, straining to hear...
Help... someone help me... please...!
The colour began to drain from her face as she realized that the voice was not her sister's, but that of an elderly man - and he was crying desperately for help.
She took off along the forest path, listening for the old man's cries. They grew louder and louder as she dashed alongside the trees. "I'm coming!!" she called, tossing glances between the trees, trying to find him.
She soon spotted him, and skidded to a halt; the old man stood, backed up against an old, thick tree, surrounded by forest goblins. He swung his cane toward them, trying to drive them off, but his leg soon gave out and he fell with a cry of pain to the grassy forest floor. The goblins cackled.
Faris bared her teeth, putting her hand to her belt, but the expression disappeared as she realized she had forgotten to bring her equipment with her. She glanced around herself, cursing out loud, and then looked back to the man, whom she could barely see as the cackling goblins advanced on him.
His eyes met hers, and he cried out once more. "Help! Please, I beg you! Help me!"
Faris clenched her fists. Crouching like a predator, she let loose a fierce battle cry and leapt over the thrushes and into the forest.
The goblins had only enough time to glance in the direction of the roar before Faris' kick bowled them over. The first goblin collapsed into the other three, sent sprawling. But no sooner had Faris stood once again than they leapt to their feet and charged, claws thrashing toward her.
She moved faster than lightning. Her back foot whipped around and met with the lead goblin's jaw; an unpleasant crunch met her ears. But she couldn't let her guard down. The next two goblins leapt at her over the corpse of their comrade and bared their teeth.
Faris was faster. She quickly swayed to the side, dodging one of the diving goblins completely, and her hand lashed out, grabbing the second one's wrist in midair. The beastly expression on its homely face disappeared, replaced by dread as Faris swung it around powerfully, once, twice, and three times and finally let go, sending it sailing into its companion and watching with masked delight as they made painful contact with a nearby tree.
But the fourth goblin was upon her. It leapt onto her back, its claws scraping at her face. A cry of pain escaped her before she reached back, grabbing hold of a chunk of the creature's hair and pulling as hard as she was able. She both felt and heard the rip of the hair being pulled from the goblin's scalp and she was rewarded a cry of pain, the arms holding her relaxing just for a second.
It was all she needed. She used the added room and spun. The back of her fist connected with the side of the creature's skull. Its wail of pain was silenced instantly. It fell to the forest floor like a rag doll, pacified in death.
She stood, panting, eyeing the four motionless goblins around her. She hadn't had to use her fists for a long time, but she found that the Monk's power came as naturally to her as the day she had rested her hand upon the piece of Crystal.
Then she remembered the reason she had been fighting to begin with, and hurriedly turned to the old man, who was now attempting to stand. She rushed over, picking up his cane. "Here," she said, "let me help you."
"Thank you," the man said, his weary voice escaping his throat in little more than a hoarse whisper. He took his cane from her and leaned heavily on it as she helped him to stand. "That was quite a brave thing to do, Princess Sarisa."
"Princess…?" Faris repeated, her eyes narrowing. "You know me?"
"I know of you, Your Highness," he replied, grinning feebly. "Zokk has spoken very highly of you, and I can think of none other with such bravery that she would lend a sword, or... well, let alone a bare fist to an old man's aid."
She shook her head. "My sister would do the same. But did you say Zokk? You've come all the way out here from Tule? By yourself?"
The old man chuckled. "Alas, I came this far on the back of my son's chocobo, but those wretched goblins frightened it off—oh, dear…"
He was eyeing her face, and as she put her hand to her forehead she felt the few drops of blood that trickled down toward her eyes from the scrape left behind by the goblin's claws. The old man fished a kerchief out of the small pouch at his waist and offered it to her, but she waved her hand dismissively. "Don't worry about me. I've been through worse than this. But we should get you to the castle, it's dangerous out here and it's almost dark."
The old man put his kerchief away, but shook his head, placing a hand gently on her arm. "No, I will be perfectly fine on my own, but please listen! Fortune has blessed me, for it is you I have come all this way to see!"
"Me?" She looked at him curiously. "Why?"
"Word has spread across the land that young Princess Lenna has disappeared, and I have come to offer my assistance."
Faris shook her head. "We've had the castle's soldiers searching everywhere. I don't know how you can help us—"
But the old man persisted. "Please, Princess, I beseech you, hear what I have to say, for there isn't much time! Your soldiers are wasting their efforts searching here; I believe that the young Princess is stranded in another world!"
"How did you—" Faris started to say, but she then glanced around and lowered her voice. "How did you know about that? About the different worlds?"
"I'm an apothecary by trade," he said, "but I've made it my business to know things about this world that others do not. And I believe that the Princess's disappearance must have something to do with these other worlds. But there is not much time! She may be in danger!"
"Danger?"
The old man began to rummage in his pouch, searching for something. "There is a way to find her, Princess Sarisa. You have done me a great service this day, and this is the very least I can do to repay my debt…"
His hand emerged from the pouch with a small, velvet bag with a drawstring. He removed it slowly and held it up before his eyes. "These seeds…" he said. "These are the key to my knowledge. Through the power contained within these seeds, I can see that which others cannot. When they are exposed to magical energy, they burst open to reveal visions."
"Visions?" Faris repeated. "What kind of visions?"
"Any visions, Princess! By the light of a fire, they can show to the naked eye anything in this world that it desires to see! But to reach out to the other worlds, a simple fire is not enough. You will need a vast, almost limitless source of magical energy to find your sister, but if you do, I am sure that these seeds will show you the way to her."
"Where?" said Faris, tense, eager to find her lost sister.
The old man looked to the west, where the sun continued to set into the horizon. "You must know of the Elder Tree, Princess."
Faris nodded. "The Elder Tree… from the forest of Mua."
"Yes. That tree is filled with the most ancient, powerful magic. If you plant the seeds at its base, I am sure you will find the visions that you seek. But you must go! You mustn't waste time if you are to save her, Your Highness!"
Faris took the seeds, holding the little bag in her sweaty palm. These seeds… they would really lead her to Lenna?
She looked up at the old man. "Thank you… I don't know how to repay you."
He smiled at her. "You already have, my dear. But please," he said, leaning in closer. "Please make haste straight for the Elder Tree, and tell no one… please, tell no one of my seeds, my secret. I share them with you because you have done me such a great, selfless favour this evening."
She nodded. "I won't tell a soul, I swear."
"Thank you," he said to her, and she found nothing in his eyes but a kind soul and an honest heart. "Now run! Run, my child! And don't turn back!"
Faris didn't need telling twice. One last, grateful look at the old man, and then she dashed away from him, following the forest path back in the direction from whence she had come, and heading west, hurrying as fast as she could to the Elder Tree, so far in the distance. Her strong strides soon carried her out of sight.
The old man watched her, smiling. He began to chuckle. As he did so, the frail, white beard fell away, and the wild-looking fringe of grey hair on his head began to change colour, a wave of gold spreading through it. His bald scalp disappeared beneath more golden hair, and it trailed down his back like a dragon's tail. The wrinkles faded; his hunch disappeared and he stood up straight; his robes were flooded with emerald green.
Corwyn the Dragon Emperor stopped chuckling, but a smile still spread across his face, growing slightly, his lips parting to reveal his frightening row of triangular teeth. Satisfied that Faris would carry the seeds successfully to the Elder Tree – the hated Goddess of Aura – Corwyn permitted himself another small chuckle. He ran his hands underneath his hair and tossed it back, the golden waves gleaming in the last of the sunlight. Now, he knew, he would win back his favour with the Mastermind. Now, he knew, his wrongs might well be put right. And he might once again be Emperor, in a new world.
For the Princess unwittingly held the very instruments of her own doom, and that of every other human, in the little velvet bag she carried.
Still chuckling, he disappeared into the darkness.
In the World of the Moon, the night met Castle Baron carrying tension in its cool winds. The meeting had ended an hour previously, and everyone had attended – some reluctantly, others with obvious interest – and that following hour was consequently filled with doubt, worry, and varying levels of fear.
These conditions found Fabul's Master Yang Fang Lieden out on the castle's fortified walls. He stood with his muscular arms crossed and his eyes closed, his mind swimming in the same endless sea of confusion and uncertainty that had haunted Cecil the last two days.
Yang's mind had been trained to tame these sorts of uncertainties, though he would willingly admit that the tense atmosphere had an undesirable effect on his concentration. Under normal circumstances he'd have retired to his chamber to meditate, but he knew that while there he would be too close to the anxieties of others in the castle and so, accompanied by his own tempestuous thoughts, he sought solace in the briskness of the night air to cool the fires within him.
But unlike his companions, whose thoughts were clouded by shaken trust in Cecil – a fact that very few of them would admit to – Yang's thoughts dwelled only on where to go next, what could be done to fight this Mastermind of which Cecil had spoken. For there was more within Yang's consciousness than mere words; something within him told of a greater danger than even he could predict, and he hoped now to find his answers, secure in a place of fewer interruptions.
"Yang?"
Or perhaps not. Pulled once again from his meditation, the monk sighed deeply and opened his eyes. "Can I help you with something, Edge?"
King Edge Geraldine of Eblana emerged from the shadowed walls, crossing to where the older warrior stood. The now-solitary moon was beginning to rise from the horizon, and the soft glow somehow rendered the night a little more peaceful. Edge pulled the Murasame from its sheath, watching the glint of the light reflected on it.
Yang, in turn, watched him from the corner of his eye. He could almost feel the disbelief emanating from the younger man's skin… from his eyes. He was an excellent fighter and a natural leader, but there was more beneath the surface in far greater turmoil than Yang would dare to guess, and his senses told him now that Edge's distrustful nature was getting the better of him.
The younger king soon lost interest in his sword, and looked out to the sky. "So, Yang," he said casually, "what do you make of all this?"
"Nothing."
Edge chuckled. "Yeah, I know what you mean… Cecil's my ever-lovin' buddy and all that, but this time I think he's gone off his nut."
Yang sighed again. "You misunderstand me."
Edge glanced at him. "How so?"
Yang said nothing for a moment, staring off into the gleaming stars, seeking guidance. Finding none, he looked down to the grasslands before him. "I make nothing of this situation because what I think is of little importance. All that is truly worth concern is fact."
"And you think we've been given facts?"
Yang nodded. "I have no reason to doubt Cecil."
The young ninja sheathed the Murasame and leaned on the wall before him. "Right. So you actually buy into all of this… world-merging nonsense?"
"As should you."
Edge laughed. "I don't know, Yang. Seems too far-fetched for my blood."
A moment passed, and Yang laughed softly. Edge glanced once more at him. "What's so funny?"
"For a man who's been to the moon and back," Yang replied, "you're far more sceptical than I'd have imagined."
Edge couldn't think of what to say to that.
Behind him, the door opened once more, and Cecil strode through it. His expression betrayed his surprise when he saw his two comrades. "Yang, Edge… I, erm… didn't expect to find you up here. Is everything all right?"
Edge looked from Cecil to Yang, and then back to Cecil, and then his head drooped as he sighed heavily. "Yeah, I'm… we're fine. I'm going to go get some sleep." He stood upright once more and sidled past the Baronian king, whose eyes followed him with a look of bewilderment.
"What was that about?" he wondered aloud.
Yang looked over his shoulder. "I'm sure you really needn't ask that question."
Cecil turned to him, and then back to the door. "I suppose not. He's been acting like that ever since the meeting. I'm not naïve enough to think that's a coincidence." He then strode to the edge of the battlements, staring deeply into the moon. He wondered every so often if he'd see his brother's face within it, but he never did. Sometimes he forgot that he was staring at the wrong moon. Sometimes he remembered, but found that it didn't really matter.
Another few minutes went by before Cecil's voice broke the stillness of the night air. "Yang… do you think I'm crazy?"
Yang smiled to himself, almost as if he'd been expecting the question. "Insanity is subjective, Cecil, often in the eye of the beholder. Might I ask if you're truly looking at yourself with your own eyes, or those of others?"
Cecil sighed. "I'd say I'm guilty of both. It's funny, how the opinions of others can affect one's perception of himself…"
"And you perceive yourself as crazy?"
Cecil looked at him. "That wasn't my question. What's your perception, Yang? What do you make of all this?"
Yang laughed out loud. "You aren't the first tonight to ask me that question, my friend. And as I said to Edge, my opinion really doesn't matter… only fact."
"Doesn't matter…?" Cecil looked once again at the moon, and thought once again of his brother. "I wouldn't say that. Everything can seem so different depending on where you…" He trailed off.
Yang glanced at him. "Hmm?"
His eyes were lost in thought. "Where you stand," he finished.
Yang was silent for a moment. Then he chuckled, turning to the younger king. "All right, then. You want to know what I think? I follow my instincts, Cecil, and I follow those whom I trust. Both are telling me that something is wrong with this world, and I am willing to follow both to the ends of the Earth if need be."
He put a hand on Cecil's shoulder, holding his gaze. "Remember, Cecil, you will never be alone."
Cecil knew Yang had picked up on his turbulent thoughts of Golbez, and he nodded, patting the monk's hand gently. Yang then turned back toward the door, and Cecil watched him, his anxieties falling away somewhat. It was comforting to know that perhaps the most valued of his allies would stand by him. But he couldn't shake his fear that there might be no other who would.
For a brief moment, he wondered what his brother would think.
He then heard music, and began to glance around to find the source. His ears led him to the balcony, and he glanced over the edge to the storey below. He saw Edward sitting against the brick wall, contentedly playing his harp.
Cecil shook his head in exasperation, laughing to himself. "How long have you been down there, Edward?"
The music stopped, and the young bard looked up. "Long enough, I'm afraid. I didn't intend to eavesdrop, but sometimes my pursuit of a venue lands me in awkward situations."
Cecil chuckled again. "Well, since we're here, I might as well ask you the same question…"
"No, Cecil. I don't think you're crazy. Yang… well, I really can't tell what he thinks, but I don't think it would matter if he did."
Cecil paused. "And Edge?"
Edward absently strummed a chord. "Edge… I don't know. It sounds almost as if he doesn't want to believe you."
Cecil looked back to the horizon, his face grim. "That's what I was afraid of."
"He'll come around. Just give him time."
We don't have time, Cecil wanted to say, but he kept his mouth shut and instead contented himself with looking out at the stars. They were glowing brightly tonight. He could even see the moonlight reflected off the blue waters of the sea. This was the world he knew, the world he would always remember. But every so often, he found himself curious about the new world – what it might look like, whether the forest, mountains and desert nearby would still be there. Would he still be able to watch the sea? Or, come to think of it, would there be a sea to watch?
And in the back of his mind there was something else altogether, though he didn't want to think about it: would there be anyone left to watch the sea at all?
He looked back to the stars, and then something caught his eye. One star seemed to be glowing more brightly than the rest. He found himself staring at it, and his eyes began to widen as he realized the little spot of light was growing quickly. It wasn't long before he was certain it wasn't a star at all.
He quickly glanced downward again. "Edward! Look at the sky!"
The music stopped again, and the bard glanced upward, spotting the ball of light in seconds. He stood, crossing as far as he could to the edge of the battlements, straining to get a better look. "What is it?" called Cecil.
"Whatever it is, it's falling fast!" came the answer.
Cecil watched it as closely as he could, and it descended steadily, a mass of flames surrounding something… he couldn't decide what. And then as it moved nearer and nearer, he started to recognize the shape: a long, streamlined body that led to a point at the very front, its colour a dazzling white, though whether this was an effect of the flames he couldn't be sure.
He looked down once again at Edward. "It's some kind of vessel!"
"An airship?"
He looked back. "I don't know. Meet me at the castle gates!"
He saw Edward turn and run for the nearest door, and then started to run off after him, but he caught a glimpse of the plunging ship, and try as he might, he couldn't tear his eyes away.
It must have been an airship. He could tell now through the thick flames that it was, indeed, white, with two short, black wings protruding from its sides and a glass dome on top. And for a moment, he stopped dead, lost in his mind.
Because there was nothing like that in his world.
And if the ship survived the crash…
No sooner had the thought occurred to him than he looked back to the falling ship and saw it finally reach the ground. The sound of the impact resonated from the spot, no more than two thousand meters away, and echoed across the landscape, through the whirling cloud of grass and earth cast from the surface like ripples in a pond.
But Cecil scarcely noticed. He was already away and running. He was vaguely aware as he burst out of the castle gates of the clouds that began to drift across the sky and bar the moonlight, and the churning mass of dust, soil and grass was only beginning to settle. But even as he took off alongside Edward in the direction of the crash site, he couldn't push the excitement out of his mind at the possibility that he'd found it.
The proof he'd been waiting for.