Kane proceeded cautiously, eyes fixed on the cave's dim interior. Jack followed close behind him, but the others waited several paces away. There was something in there, alright - Kane could hear a soft swooshing sound ahead of him, like the breathing of some creature, only not quite - but it was too dark within for him to see more than a few feet from the entrance. Though the stones outside were rough, inside seemed more like a house than a cave. The floor was smooth, polished stone, as clean as the floors of Cornelia Castle. The walls, though curved in places, were likewise worn smooth, with here and there an unlit torch set in a bracket at head height. Kane tapped Jack's shoulder and pointed toward one. The mage gestured, his eyes flashing briefly, and torches flared throughout the cave, revealing a heavy wooden door in the cave's back wall.

The light also revealed the source of the noise Kane had heard before. There in front of the door a broom worked away, seemingly under its own power, sweeping the floor in broad, hissing strokes. The cave was otherwise empty.

"I wouldn't have thought to use magic for light housekeeping," he whispered to Jack.

"Truly, the evils of black magic know no bounds," the mage responded in a flat voice.

"Is the broom likely to attack us?"

"Only if we track mud inside."

"I can never tell if you're being sarcastic or not." Kane turned back to the others, waving them forward. "It seems safe enough," he called.

As his shout echoed down into the cave, the wooden door opened revealing an old woman. "What now?" she said, her creaking voice loading as much annoyance as possible into those two words.

She was staggeringly old - Kane wasn't sure he'd ever seen anyone so old - her face as parched and sunken as a bare skull, her eyes clouded and white. She was shorter than Lena, almost as short as Shipman, and when she stopped in front of Kane, all he could see of her was the broad hat she wore, similar in shape to Jack's drab brown one, though hers was a faded red and well past its best days. "Who are you, then?" she asked.

He turned to his companions, crowding in behind him in the cave's entrance, but his father gestured for him to speak first. He licked his lips, considering his words. After a long pause, Jack elbowed him in the ribs, cocking his head toward the woman as if to say, "Get on with it."

"Well, ma'am, we're the… the Light Warriors… of prophecy." Beside him, Jack sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It wasn't Kane's most eloquent moment, he had to admit.

The old woman laughed, a series of short, sharp wheezes. "You don't sound too sure of that!"

"Nevertheless," said Jack.

She seemed to notice Jack for the first time and broke into a wide grin - she was missing several teeth. "Oh, hello, handsome! Now, you, I like."

Behind them, his father chuckled. Kane exchanged a glance with Jack, who shrugged. With the scarf covering his face and with his long leather coat, the mage could perhaps have been called "mysterious", but Kane would hardly have thought anyone would find him "handsome" with that ridiculous hat on. To the woman, Jack said, "You mean him, right?"

"They did say she was blind," Kane whispered.

He had thought she wouldn't hear that, but the woman put her hands on her hips and fixed him with a sightless glare. "Young man, I may be blind, but there's seeing things as they are and there's seeing things as they will be, and you are going to age into a stooped old man with a gimpy leg." She gestured in Jack's general direction. "This one though, sixty years from now, he's still going to be one tall drink of water."

Lord Redden guffawed at that. Jack shifted in embarrassment, clearing his throat, and said, "We're looking for the witch Matoya. Morgan sent us."

"That's me!" she said. "What brings you all this way?"

"We need advice," said Jack.

As his friend began to explain their errand, Kane turned to his father, muttering, "He's only half a hand taller than I am."

Lord Redden, still grinning, patted his shoulder. "Women care about that sort of thing, son."

Behind him, Lena said, "It's true," and blushed furiously when they both looked at her. "Well, it is."

He looked to his father again, who pressed his lips together in an apparent effort to contain a laugh. Lord Redden twitched his head toward Matoya, who raptly listened to everything Jack said with a strange smile on her face. Obviously, Lena was picking up on the old woman's preferences. Jack, for his part, seemed to be uncomfortable with the attention, his voice growing quieter and quieter as he went on. I guess it is funny, Kane thought.

When Jack concluded his explanation, Matoya nodded. "I can read the aether for you. It's no trouble. I'll need to read each of you separately first, to get a feel for you, but the whole reading will only take a few hours. "

Kane started when Jack elbowed his ribs again - the woman was waiting for a response. "Very well," he said.

She wheezed another laugh. "We'll start with you, as you're obviously in charge. Follow me. The rest of you lot wait outside. This could take a while."

She hobbled back the way she came. After a firm push from his father, Kane followed. The chamber was dark, lit only by one low fire obscured by the bubbling cauldron that hung over it from a tripod in the room's center. He could make out several tables, and the witch navigated effortlessly between them in the poor light. Though he stepped carefully, he soon bumped one of them, rattling the objects upon it and causing some creature to snarl. He leaped away, hand flying to his sword, but stumbled over another of those brooms sweeping nearby and fell hard.

"Alright there, boy?" the old woman asked. She may have been laughing at him.

He lay on the smooth stone floor, his left shin aching where he'd banged it on the table leg on his way down. The broom had already recovered and was sweeping by his feet. "It's a bit dark in here, ma'am."

"I do apologize. I don't often have company." She muttered something. Throughout the room a series of candles caught alight with a tiny thump. "How's that?"

He stood, better able to see now, and saw that the creature he'd disturbed was only a potted plant. It growled, snapping a mouth full of thorny teeth, waving stubby tentacle-like vines so wildly that its pot rocked back and forth on the tabletop. "What is this?" he asked.

"Ochu sprout. Nasty buggers, but their aloe can heal almost anything." She waved her hand and a chair scraped across the floor in a clear space near the fire. "Sit there. I won't be a minute," she said.

He backed away from the potted ochu, taking the offered seat, and surveyed the rest of the room. The tables were covered in bottles of various sizes and bundles of dried herbs. A small, lumpy mattress occupied one corner, the bedding on it shoved into an untidy pile. There were more of those brooms, but no sign of any other living thing.

The witch went to one of the more crowded tables and he watched her pick things up one by one, smelling the herbs, running her fingers over the differently shaped bottles. Sometimes, she would carefully measure out one of the ingredients, hobble over to the cauldron, and add whatever it was to the concoction. When the cauldron's contents began to steam, she muttered something; her white eyes lit up just as Jack's did when he was casting but a smoky purple Kane hadn't seen before.

Only then did she approach Kane. She waved again and another chair scooted over to meet her, stopping behind her just as she began to sit. She reached out, eyes still glowing, and grabbed his face with both hands, roughly.

"Ow!" he said, surprised at the strength in her bony fingers.

"Hmm," she said. "Yes, I suppose you are handsome enough, in your own way." She turned his head this way and that, seeming for all the world to be looking not at him but through him.

Idiot, he thought. She can't see anything.

"But I can," she said.

"What?"

"I can't see with my eyes, but I can still see the aether. And the aether flows, like a river that goes on forever. You might say I'm better at seeing upstream than most. Downstream, though, downstream is easy." She released his face at last and sat back in the chair across from him. "A true son of Cornelia. You love it, don't you?"

"I…" He hadn't known what he expected, but this wasn't it. "Yes."

"Thought you'd spend your whole life in the city, hmm? Never wanted to leave it. Planned to put in a few years in the guard corps, wait for the higher-ups to retire, see if you couldn't snag a position for yourself… You any good with that sword you wear?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation. There were few things he could be sure of anymore, but that was one of them. Still, the accuracy of her summation stung. His goals sounded so petty when he heard them in her voice.

She tsked, waving a hand dismissively. "It never would have worked. You'd have toiled away in obscurity. It's just as well you left when you did, while you still loved your kingdom. Had you stayed, that love would have festered."

"Never," he said, again without hesitation.

"Oh, you're certain of that? You could have continued to live in a kingdom where black magic is unfairly outlawed, now that you've befriended that tall fellow outside? A kingdom where your king would keep that pretty little soul reader in the castle like a pet? You think you could know these things and still love that place?"

He opened his mouth to protest again, but couldn't. She was right.

"You feel like this fate was thrust upon you, that you were driven out of your home with no choice in the matter." She reached for one of his hands, though how she knew where it was, he couldn't say. "I will let you in on one of life's great secrets, son of Cornelia. Just because this thing must be done, and must be done by you, does not mean you don't have a choice. Tell yourself you're doing it to save Cornelia, if it helps." She patted the hand she'd grabbed, then released it. "I have what I needed from you. Send in another."

He headed back to the door, surprised at how bright it seemed outside. Shipman stood nearby, inspecting the broom that still swept there, and he squealed when Kane grabbed his shoulders and propelled him into the witch's dim room.

She had seen much, but she hadn't seen everything, he thought to himself. For example, she hadn't seen that it wasn't Cornelia he loved. But her advice had been sound: he didn't need to save the whole world. Just one girl.

"Look at this one!" Lena said.

Jack looked at the clam. It was identical, as far as he could tell, to the last three she'd pointed out, but she seemed happy about it. He walked with her on the beach in front of the witch's cave, both of them barefoot, her telling him what she knew about the seashells they found as the waves soaked the hems of his pant legs. Across the water, clouds were gathering, and he could see distant lightning, but the breeze here was still light.

It had been a long afternoon. Jack and Redden had discussed black magic for a while, with Jack describing the finer points of ice spells. Ice, more than any other element, depended on a mage's skill at moving the aether in a specific way, a task made more difficult by the red mage's inability to see the aether. Lena and Thad had sat with Lord Orin, learning the northern monks' style of meditation, until Thad had grown bored and wandered off to explore.

When Kane emerged from the cave almost an hour after he had gone in, reluctant to talk about what the witch had said to him, Jack had thought it prudent to lead Lena away, just in case. The guard was quiet now, thoughtful, sitting on the beach with Lord Redden as Orin methodically worked through his traditional fighting stances nearby. Jack wondered what Kane and the witch could have talked about for so long. He was no seer himself, struggled to read the aether as far as an hour into the future, but one thing he did know was that it didn't take an hour to read it. He was certain the witch had had their measure the moment she met them, which meant she had another reason for speaking to them separately, and Jack found that extremely worrying.

"These ones are my favorite," Lena said, holding out a small conch shell, no longer than her thumb, a tiny spiral at one end with gray stripes down the sides. "The ones at home get much bigger. As large as a man's head."

He took the offered shell, peered closely at it. He started to hand it back to her, but she was already bent low, inspecting something else in the sand, so he slipped the little conch into his pocket. "You're not from Cornelia?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Onlac. It's a fishing village on the north sea."

He remembered a map he'd seen at the home of a scholar in Melmond on his way to Cornelia. "I've heard of Onlac. Interesting Leifenish ruins in that area, yes?"

"That's right," she said, smiling up at him. "Most of them are in the water, north of the harbor, but we have a few in the village."

Before he could ask her about the ruins, Thad shouted to catch their attention. The boy waved to them from the cave mouth. "She asked for you next!" he called to Lena.

Jack walked her to the cave, taking a seat beside Kane after he'd seen her inside. Thad plopped down beside Lord Redden, holding up a fat blue book etched in silver. "See what she gave me?"

"What have you got there?" the bard asked, pulling his pipe from a jacket pocket.

"It's a magic book! She had a whole trunk full of them in there, from before she went blind. She said I could take this one."

"May I?" Jack asked, holding out a hand for it. When the boy passed it to him, he flipped through the pages, scanning the book's contents, a history of black and white magic with sample spells. "Looks like an Adept's Grimoire," he said.

"What's that mean?" said Thad.

"It's a primer on magical theory," Jack explained, returning the book to him. "Did she happen to tell you if you'd be able to learn magic at all?"

"No, but she said I had a lot to learn."

Kane grinned. "That's an understatement."

Thad stuck his tongue out at him.

"What did she tell you?" Jack asked.

"Nothing really. She said a boy like me needed a good education, and that all of you would be my teachers, and then she gave me the book."

"Surely that wasn't all? You were in there for ages!" Kane said.

"I wasn't in there half as long as you were!" Thad shot back at him.

Kane scoffed. "I only spoke with her a few minutes. You were gone at least an hour."

"I was not!"

Lord Redden shook his head, frowning. "Lads, you were both in there an hour."

"How can that be?" Kane asked.

"I have a theory." Jack stood, reading the aether, and saw what he was looking for immediately, a current of power running slower than the others, like an eddy in a stream, centered on the witch's cave. "Excuse me. I need to have a word with our host."

Leaving the others on the beach, he entered the cave once more. With his aether sight up, he could now see that the aether ran slower still inside. Watching the flow, feeling the way it moved through him, he headed straight for the witch's door, but stopped before he pressed inside, for the door wasn't completely shut and he could hear what was being said.

"...don't know much about black magic," said Lena.

"Most people don't," the witch replied. "They think it's all human sacrifice and stealing people's souls. Stuff and nonsense."

Lena's voice was quiet. "Dark mages do those things." He hated to hear the fear in her words.

"They do," said the witch, and Jack couldn't fault her for her honesty. "But not all black mages are dark mages. With all the troubles, I suppose people don't realize how very rare dark mages are. Only one mage in a hundred is born with the talent, only one in a thousand of any particular skill." Here, the witch chuckled. "But I know of rarer white magics." There was a sound like a chair scraping the floor, and Matoya laughed. "Oh, sit down, girl. No need to hide it. I know a soul reader when I see one. Come now, I know you can't lie."

"It's no secret," Lena said, sounding defiant. "What of it, then?"

"I only bring it up so that I might offer you a word of advice: stop looking at souls and start looking at people."

He couldn't hear what Lena said, her voice too soft through the heavy door, but he heard the witch loud and clear when she spoke again in reply.

"You can't tell me you haven't looked at those boys out there and thought about how to mend their troubles for them, but they're people, not puzzles. Not everything needs to be fixed. Broken glass makes a lousy window, but it glitters brighter when the light comes in."

He leaned closer to the door, listening, but Lena didn't speak again.

"Not everything needs to be fixed," the witch repeated. "Not everything can be fixed. I know you're wondering about my eyes, but only one spell in the world is that powerful, and casting it is as likely to destroy you as it is to work. Sweet girl. I do appreciate the thought."

And then the witch raised her voice and called, "You might as well come in, handsome. We're done here."

Jack cringed, cursing under his breath. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop like that. He forced his embarrassment down, stood up straight, pushed the door open all the way.

At least a dozen tables filled the room, with Lena and the witch at their center. The witch smiled, but Lena wouldn't look at him.

"I'm sorry to intrude," he said.

"You're fine," said Matoya. "The girl was just leaving. Weren't you, girl?"

She rose quickly, lifting her hood as she did so. She wouldn't look at him as she hurried toward the door, head down, even when she bumped into him with her shoulder as she passed. Gods, I hope I haven't offended her, he thought, watching her aura trailing out behind her in his aether sight.

Matoya cleared her throat, catching his attention. Jack jumped at the sound, turning to face her. She stared at him, the purple corona clearly indicating that she was looking through time. Blind or not, he knew that in her current state she could see not only his future but his past, and there were things there he would rather not come to light. He writhed under that stare, feeling more exposed than when he had unveiled his scars in the Cornelian throne room.

He glanced about the room, avoiding her aether-assisted gaze. "I love what you've done with the place," he said.

The witch snorted. "I had a bit of time on my hands."

"Clearly," he said. "As you've obviously bent the aether to give yourself more of it. In apparent violation of the Black Mage's Oath, I might add." That was the thing he had come in here to say, before he'd made a fool of himself.

"Somehow, I doubt you'll be reporting me. Come! Sit! No need to," she coughed delicately, "linger by the door."

Three kinds of fool, he thought, feeling his face heat. She laughed that wheezing laugh of hers as he made his way to the chair Lena had left. "It was wrong of me to listen in on the two of you."

"Aye, it was. She certainly thought so, worried you'll think less of her because of what I said."

"Why would I…" He'd been worried she would think less of him. "What exactly did you say to her?"

"Oh, hardly anything at all. White mages are good at feeling guilty, that's all." She stared at him, or rather at his aura, for a long, uncomfortable time. Then she said, "The girl thinks very highly of you."

"She does?"

"She thinks you've never lied to her. She can tell when people do, you know, or when they don't say exactly what they mean. You, though. She trusts you. So maybe you can see why I'm confused to find you standing outside my door worrying what I might tell her about you."

The cauldron behind the witch began to boil over, the fire spitting as the bubbling brew dripped into it. He went to it, found a long wooden spoon on the nearest table, and gave the potion a stir. It smelled unlike any potion he'd ever smelled before. He looked closer at the cauldron's contents. Where he had expected to see spell components, he saw instead several chunks of potato. "What is this, anyway?"

"Rabbit stew," she said. "Don't change the subject."

With the aether, he adjusted the temperature of the fire, then spooned out a bit of potato, using the aether to cool it slightly, and pulled his scarf down to pop the morsel into his mouth. Not bad, he thought. After he replaced the spoon on the table, hastily readjusted the scarf, and sat before the witch again, he said, "I never have lied to her."

"Omitted something, perhaps?"

"She doesn't have all the facts."

"She's read your soul. What more is there to know?"

"Surprisingly, a couple of very important details seem to have escaped her notice."

The witch cocked her head, leaning closer. Jack could feel the scrutiny in her stare. "Possibly you credit these details with more importance than they deserve."

"I doubt that."

She waved her hands as though shooing a fly. "I assure you, neither she nor your other friends heard a word on you from me. Better you tell them whatever it is yourself. But I did see one thing in the aether that you needed to know."

"Let's have it, then." He could feel the scarf slipping - he hadn't secured it properly - but he crossed his arms over his chest to stop his hands from fixing it. That would only draw more attention at this point. He sat back in the chair, trying to be casual.

"This fear of fire has gone on long enough. If you don't work through it, you'll put your new friends in danger."

A memory flashed into his mind, of a white mage standing alone against a six-armed monster as the forest burned around them. "Seems shortsighted of you to assume I'm afraid of fire because of a few scars," he snapped.

"Shortsighted? Is that your little joke? I'm blind. I can't see your scars."

He winced at his own rudeness. Possibly the woman's aether sight was not as omniscient as he had given it credit for. "Madam, I apologize."

"Hit a sore spot, did I? Hehe. No matter. At least you're spunky. That's a good thing - you hang on to that. No, handsome, I assume you're afraid of fire because you are."

"It might have escaped your notice, but I'm actually a fire mage."

"A fire mage, he says. And what can you do as a fire mage? You use it against your enemies, as a weapon, because you know they'll feel as much fear as you do. You use fire as a tool for destruction. When you can use fire to create, then I will believe you have no fear of it."

"I used it to save your dinner just now."

"And for that I thank you. I would offer you some, but I believe you have places to be. That was why you came here, wasn't it? To learn where you should go?"

He pulled his scarf back up, no longer able to stand feeling so exposed. "Just tell me already, so we can be on our way."

Author's Note: I don't know if any of you remember how very HARD FF1 was back in the day. You leave Cornelia and have to spend a few hours wandering around nearby, committing imp genocide (impocide?), before you're strong enough to make it to the next place on the map, a cave in the middle of nowhere. You know what you find when you get there? Nothing. Matoya isn't part of the plot until the events in Elfheim. But I always stop in to say hello anyway, because, well, it's on the way to the next location.

I always loved the cute little brooms that sweep on their own. You can talk to them and they tell you how to pull up the map screen. It makes the place seem wistful and friendly, in stark contrast to the part where the cave is FULL OF HUMAN SKULLS, a detail I elected to omit here as describing our heroes' discomfort with the sight was an unnecessary distraction. I imagine Matoya, leaving Cornelia because of the ban, blind and alone and homeless, found an old Leifenish ossuary and decided to move in.

Fans of Final Fantasy: Record Keeper may notice the special guest appearance by Sentinel Grimoire. At the time I wrote this, I figured if I couldn't have one, at least Thad could, but in the weeks since then I was fortunate enough to receive one during a Lucky Draw and it's the best thing ever.