NAMCO Tales Studio, Ltd. holds the exclusive rights to all characters and story elements appearing in the video game Tales of Symphonia. The following story has been created for entertainment purposes only and no profit has been made by the author.

The Swordsman and the Summoner

Chapter 14: Mizuho Mishap, Part 3

Deep within Gaoracchia Forest, at the border of Mizuho, Lloyd touched down and waited for Sheena to do the same. Putting his wings away reintegrated the mana they used into his body's overall mana reserve, and gave him a brief feeling of euphoria. It ended when the physical exertion of flying caught up with him. He hunched over, panting, while Sheena called her rheiard back into the wing pack.

"I don't have a lot of experience in this sort of relationship," he said, "so I'm not sure how many other ways I can apologize."

Sheena frowned. "I'm not mad at you, Lloyd. It's just that Suzumebachi was my friend. I recommended him for this mission, and now he's dead."

Lloyd wanted to hug her, but they were near enough to Mizuho, where "even love must be conducted in secret," that he kept a discreet distance. "It's not your fault," he said. "Suzumebachi knew what he was getting into."

"Did he?"

Lloyd nodded. "Yes. But that's not all that's bothering you, is it?"

Sheena bit her lip and shook her head slowly. "Mizuho is both a family and an army. I'm supposed to mourn for family, but, if I get this broken up over one death, how can I lead an army?"

Lloyd moved as close to her as he dared, close enough to take her by the hand. "Do you remember what you told me after you powered the mana cannon, how your village sent you to Meltokio as a peace offering? It sounded like slavery to me. Still does. But you said you were happy to go because it meant you were being useful to your people."

She nodded.

"Would Suzumebachi have felt any differently?" Lloyd said. "You accepted your mission willingly. So did he, and, if he's anything like you, he died with a smile on his face, knowing he'd served the village well." He paused before adding, "Your grandfather is a good leader. The villagers follow him because they know he loves them. When they hurt, he hurts. He takes no death lightly but manages to go on living because they're depending on him."

"You've never really talked with Grandpa," Sheena said. "How do you know so much about him?"

Lloyd shrugged. "A guess. He'd have to be pretty great to raise a wonderful person like you."

Sheena smiled. Lloyd hadn't seen one of those in hours.

She said, "Here's a relationship lesson, koibito: If I had been angry with you, a remark like that would've pacified me completely."

"What does it get me when you're not angry?"

Sheena giggled, closing the distance between them and threading an arm around his waist. "Why don't I show you?"

When their lips parted moments later, Lloyd said, "You are going to be a great leader because you care for your people, not in spite of it."

She gazed into his eyes. "And you'll be by my side, won't you?"

"You don't need my help to be a great leader, Sheena." At her look of dismay, Lloyd added, "But I'm not going anywhere."

She nodded. "Thank you, koibito."

He squeezed her hand. "Let's go inside."

"All right." She turned, intent on keeping her hand linked with his until the last practical moment, and saw—

"Orochi?"

The ninja stood, regarding the pair pensively. Just how much he had seen or heard they could not know. He bowed stiffly to each. "Next Chief, and her ever-present escort, Lloyd Irving, it is a solemn day. Come, the chief wishes to see you."

Sheena nodded and released Lloyd's hand. Saying no more, she followed Orochi into the village.

Lloyd trailed behind, uneasy at the cold look he was sure he'd spotted in the ninja's eyes.

■□■□■

Presea crept as quietly through the underbrush as a young girl dragging a fifty-pound axe could creep. Thanks to the raucous carryings-on of the soldiers she was trying to slip past, it was quiet enough. Ahead, Colette motioned frantically for her to hurry. Presea flashed a hand signal telling her to stop. The last thing they needed was for a soldier to notice Colette's frenzied waving.

Most of the morning had been spent in a silent march steadily southward, interrupted only occasionally by attacking monsters, typically, hares, night raids, and killer bees. Colette's temper seemed to get shorter each time Presea stopped to perform her cleaning ritual. At last, Presea had settled for quick wipe downs with a gore-encrusted cloth. A few days' treatment like this would ruin the axe, but she supposed her friend was more important than her weapon. She'd buy a new one whenever they reached a town. It was well past time for an upgrade anyway, but she'd always liked this axe, her Gaia Clever. She'd carried it into the final battle against Mithos Yggdrasill that had ended the world regeneration journey.

Her attempts to stimulate conversation failed miserably, so she'd secretly been relieved when Colette hushed her suddenly at the edge of a large thicket. The relief soon evaporated when she found out why. Through the break in the thicket Colette indi­cated, Presea saw six soldiers. Advanced scouts for the king's army, no doubt, and they were way too close too Iselia. What bothered her more, though, was their unusual number. Her knowledge of Meltokio's military told her scouting squads usually consisted of four men. This was a squad plus two, meaning two more soldiers could be nearby. She and Colette needed to get away and get away fast.

Too late.

"Well, what have we here? You're a pretty little thing." A large man held Colette sus­pended in the air by the front of her blouse. In his other hand he held a menacing-looking knife. Its blade, black-lacquered and jagged with embellished serration designed as much to frighten as to rend flesh from bone, was wet with blood from a fresh kill. He said, "You wouldn't happen to be Sylvarant's Chosen, would you?"

"N-no," Colette said, "you're mistaken."

He shook his head. "You're a horrible liar, cutie pie. We've been briefed. We know exactly who you are. Where's your protector with the two swords? I want a crack at him."

Fear fled from Colette's eyes, and she gripped the man's wrist. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she recognized the sound of snapping bone, but externally, she paid it no heed. "I have no protector," she said. "I'm alone."

No longer concerned with secrecy, Presea hefted her axe to her shoulder. Her plan—take down the one holding Colette, and then escape on the rheiard. The smart choice would be to usher Colette onto the rheiard while she stayed behind to fight in case the scouts had archers or long range magicians, but she knew the girl too well to believe she would, even in her current funk, accept the sacrifice.

As soon as her axe touched her shoulder, she was pushed forward, and the axe ripped violently from her grasp. She stumbled and fell face first into the dirt. Ignoring the pain from abrasions on her face and hands, she wheeled around, intent on fighting her attacker, barehanded if necessary. Instead, she lunged desperately to the side as her own axe struck the ground where she had stood, tossing up stone and chunks of earth.

Her attacker was a soldier, the eighth man (as Colette's attacker was the seventh) she'd been hoping to avoid. He raised the axe above his head and brought it down executioner-style again and again, just missing her each time. He had strapped at his side an axe as big as Presea's, suggesting he was no novice with the weapon. But the way he swung her axe suggested his weapon of choice had once been the sword. He'd soon tire himself out if he couldn't appreciate the difference between swordsmanship and axe-play. Then again, perhaps not. She dodged another swipe. Sufficient endurance, particularly if it were Exsphere-enhanced, could compensate for bad tech­nique.

The soldier tangling with Colette cried out. He could no longer control the fingers below his broken wrist, but Colette held him in a tight grip. He swung his arm, frantically whipping the girl to and fro, but could not dislodge her. "Let go," he begged. In a moment, he came to his senses, reared back his knife, and thrust it forward. Colette gave his hand one last vicious twist before letting go and pushing away, barely avoiding the stab. She cried out as she bruised her rear on the ground. Her blouse was ripped open in the front and the pieces draped over her arms so that it impeded her movement. Without hesitation, she ripped it off, revealing the black t-shirt beneath she'd taken to wearing for warmth.

The soldier cradled his broken arm, and bellowed for his companions to help.

Through the thicket burst the other six. They surrounded the fighters, closing in on Colette, but providing a wide perimeter for Presea and the wild axeman who still showed no signs of slowing down.

From the corner of her eye, Presea noticed a soldier drawing two swords. No shield. His defense would be lower. Positioning herself directly in front of him and waiting just a moment longer than usual to dodge the axeman, she rolled under his legs. The faux-Lloyd tried to catch the ill-placed swing with both swords, but the momentum was so great it sent the swords crashing to the ground and left him with a fatal gash in his chest. He spent his last moments cursing and gurgling blood. And, as Presea hoped, his swords were left unattended on the ground. When the axeman turned to resume his fight, she whipped past, snatched up one of the swords, and sliced into his knee. After training with a heavy axe, she found a sword almost too easy to swing. She kept at her cat-and-mouse game with the axeman. As her sword's former owner had demonstrably proven, blocking wouldn't work. After a particularly forceful swing left the axe embedded in the ground, Presea dashed behind the axeman. Once there, she sliced the tendon that connected his foot and calf, laming him. For good measure, she did the same to his other foot. He fell to the ground, never to walk again.

Out of eight, three down. No, four. Colette's chakram dripped with blood. Four down. Four to go. How many more could they kill before the crew wised up and stopped fighting one-on-one?

She surveyed the remaining soldiers, and noticed something. Two magicians. And one mumbling a—she recognized that spell. She threw the sword, impaling the magician's forehead and preventing him from raising his dead allies. She picked up the faux-Lloyd's second sword and prepared to charge the other magician, but the chain of fireballs he sent her way left her staggering in pain.

Healer. Kendama-wielding magician. Axeman. Knife-wielder. Double swordsman. Man with greaves (on arms and legs). Did one of them..? Yes, one of Colette's chakrams split as it connected with an enemy's chakram. And—no, that was impossible. Other than Kuchinawa, no Mizuhoan had ever worked for the village's enemies, at least as far as Sheena had been able to recall. Would Kuchinawa teach the village's secret card arts to an outsider? No, his twisted code of honor wouldn't allow him. But here was a card fighter; nowhere near Sheena's level of power, but still brutal. The rapid-fire cyclone seals sending Colette into an unplanned retreat proved as much.

These eight were a cruel mockery of the Chosen's group.

Three dead. Two incapacitated. Three to go.

Regaining her bearings, Presea charged the Genis-wannabe. He rushed the comple­tion of his current spell, and all but one of the ice spikes it created missed her. The one that connected, however, pierced her leg, and sent her face first into the dirt. She tasted blood.

He swung his kendama, and the ball on a string slammed into her skull. Presea groaned. As she'd so often done with the real Genis, she underestimated this man. He moved toward her, tucked the kendama into his belt, and drew a sword.

She raised her own to mount a defense. He slashed at it, purposefully connecting with the blade, causing it to vibrate and loosen her grasp. Damn it! She wasn't used to one-handed weapons! A final slash sent the sword flying. The condition of her leg meant she couldn't run. Probability of escape—three percent. Trying would be pointless. The soldier raised his sword. Instinctively she closed her eyes but a moment later opened them. If death came, she would meet it eyes open, unafraid.

■□■□■

Chief Igaguri bowed to Lloyd, his aging posture deepening the degree and duration of the honorific. "Your presence honors us, Lloyd Irving," he said.

Lloyd returned the bow, and repeated the formal greeting Sheena had taught him. "I am honored to be in your presence, Chief Igaguri."

Once the customaries were out of the way, the war briefing began in earnest. It was far more formal an affair than Zelos's council two days prior, and far more informative. Whereas Zelos had approached the group with suppositions and half-formed theories, Mizuho's spy network had solid proof of the king's schemes in the form of a dispatch from the late Suzumebachi Hidagawa—God grant his soul rest—but, unfortunately, no definite plan of action. Upon learning the truth, Lloyd almost wished he could forget it.

"Og...do...ad?" Lloyd sounded out the word.

"Yes," the chief said, "Ogdoad. The term pre-dates Mithos by perhaps thousands of years."

Lloyd scratched his head. "That far back, huh? I thought everything from that time was long forgotten, except for maybe by Dad or Yuan. Would Yuan know anything about it? He wasn't there, but maybe he's heard of the story."

"We will dispatch an agent to seek his counsel immediately," the chief said. He snapped his fingers and pointed at a ninja in black standing near the back. The ninja bowed low and exited.

"Everything from that period is long-forgotten, Lloyd," Tiga said. "Indeed, Mizuho's memory stretches back to before the worlds were separated, and the name was a mystery to us."

"Then, how do you know where it comes from?" Lloyd said.

"Suzumebachi's letter," said Tiga, "came with several leafs from a translation of an ancient text. The text wasn't in his handwriting. We assume that, instead of copying the leafs down as he should have, he stole them, was caught, exposed, and—"

"That's why he died." Sheena concluded.

"Yes," Tiga said. "The leafs tell of an ancient religion whose followers held that the world was created by four pairs of deities representing the concepts of water, air, dark­ness, and eternity."

"Us," Sheena said, "That is, the Chosen's group." At Lloyd's quizzical look, she explained. "We're the group of eight that remade this world. That's where the reference comes in, right Grandpa?"

"Yes, Granddaughter, we believe so."

Sheena continued. "Raine and Genis are eternity because half-elves live a long time. Lloyd and I have dark pasts. Zelos and Colette received the gift of flight as Chosens. That's air. But how do Regal and Presea represent water?"

The chief smiled. "Maybe you're overanalyzing the reference."

"Perhaps," Sheena acknowledged with a blush.

"So let me get this straight," Lloyd said. "The pope and the king have teamed up. To regain the pope's love, his daughter Kate has outfitted a group of eight with powers and weapons similar to our friends, essentially creating a—what did you call it?"

"A Dark Ogdoad," Tiga answered.

"A Dark Ogdoad."

"That is what Suzumebachi's letter indicates, yes."

Lloyd groaned. "We gotta work on that name."

"Are they Desians?" Sheena asked.

Tiga shook his head. "The pope's seething hatred of half-elves makes this unlikely."

Sheena acknowledged the point and added, "I bet even using Kate is galling him."

"Kate." Lloyd frowned. "Why would she agree to help her father after all he did to her?"

"He's the only family she has, Lloyd," Sheena said. After a quick survey of those gathered in the hut, she continued. "I wouldn't trade my time in Mizuho for anything, but I'd give an awful lot to know my real family."

There it was again, Lloyd's desire to comfort her. And in the one place on the reunited world he couldn't. Is she doing this on purpose? One look in her eyes told him she wasn't. One look into Igaguri's eyes told him it was time to continue the briefing. "Anything else we should know about them?" he asked the chief. "They don't have any angels, right?"

"No, assuredly not," the chief said.

"Or summoners," Lloyd laughed. Sheena was the first known summoner since the Kharlan War four thousand years ago. "Why aren't you guys laughing? Tell me they don't have a summoner."

Beside Tiga sat a female ninja, whose hair was weaved into a complicated bun. At that moment, the bun came undone, and the pin that held it up fell to the straw mat floor; everyone in the room heard it drop.

■□■□■

With all his strength, Dirk pulled at the rope. He'd started off with gentle tugs, and worked his way gradually to his current any-harder-and-I'll-throw-my-back-out yanks. Satisfied the binding would hold he descended from his perch atop one of the two newly-erected wooden towers, and once on solid ground, stood back to admire his work.

A tremendous log hung suspended from ropes between four towers—the two new and the two old that had served the village as lookout towers. When the back ropes were cut, the log would swing forward, slamming into whoever stood in the village gate­way. Since no fortifications capable of withstanding an army could be built in so few days, he'd dedicated a substantial portion of his build time to constructing and strategi­cally placing traps to keep the invaders busy once they breached the gates. The one he'd just finished, though lacking in style, would pack a wallop if deployed at the right time.

"It's incredible, Dirk!"

"Oh, I don't know, Genis. I suppose it'll do the job, but it's a bit crude for my taste."

"Crude? Are you kidding? You constructed the towers at precisely the right distance for the ram to strike here—" Genis stood in the center of the gates "—and thus deliver the maximum force possible. And you calculated the angle without using advanced instruments. Incredible!"

After Raine, Zelos, and an insistent Frank Brunel had left in search of the runaway girls, Genis had been depressed. Finding out about Presea's unique age problem had done little to dissuade the thirteen-year-old half-elf from still regarding himself on some level as her knight. He'd wanted to help search for her, but one look from his sister shot down any hopes he had of displaying his gallantry to his crush that day. Sitting here, unable to do anything, stifled the sparks of his emerging manhood. So Dirk had done what he could to focus the boy's thoughts elsewhere, involving him in putting the finishing touches on the few remaining uncompleted traps. He puffed up his chest. All those years raising Lloyd had made him an expert in child-rearing if ever there was one.

Once Genis had calmed himself somewhat, Dirk said, "You seem to be inheriting your sister's bent for excitement. We'll call it "Scientific Mania." What do you think?"

Genis's face went as ashen as his hair. "Dirk, I'm begging you, do not repeat that to anyone. Raine would never let me live it down."

He laughed. "All right, lad. My lips are sealed." He settled on the ground near one of the towers, and stretched out with his head resting in his hands. Soon, Genis joined him.

"Can I ask you something," he said, "about Lloyd?"

"All right."

"Remember at the council how Lloyd was so adamant about defending Iselia? And today, he suggested we should abandon it," Genis said. "Is that just Lloyd losing interest like always, or is there a deeper meaning?"

Dirk considered the question carefully before answering. "I think it signals a shift in his priorities."

"That's what I was afraid of," Genis groaned. "Now that he has Sheena, losing the village won't be such a blow."

"No, I dinnae think that's it, lad. Lloyd cares deeply for the people of this village. He'd risk his life for any of them." Dirk paused. "But there was a time when his love for people was exceeded by another emotion—his hatred for the Desians. Before the regeneration journey, he would have fought tooth and nail to defend an empty village just to keep them from having it. He's growing up, putting personal grudges behind him. I couldn't be more proud. He's been changing for a long time, and I think receiving Sheena's love made that change permanent."

Genis rolled over, placing his back to the old dwarf.

Dirk said, "Does it bother you that Lloyd is with Sheena now?"

"Lloyd was my best friend," Genis said. "He isn't anymore. We're all different people since the journey ended. I've got my studies and my political activism. But when I'm not keeping busy, I start thinking, and I realize everyone is leaving me behind. It scares me.

Dirk placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "You're the youngest member of your group, lad," he said. "Many of your friends are adults already, while others, Lloyd, Sheena, and Colette, are becoming adults. They're striking out on their own, leaving behind the lives people have constructed for them, and creating lives of their own. It's a difficult transition. If you were their age, you'd be going through the same thing."

"But I'm not their age. I'm a part of the lives that others constructed for them."

"They don't mean to hurt you, lad, and this doesn't mean you're not still their friend," Dirk said.

"But they will hurt me," Genis concluded.

"Ah, lad."

"No, it's okay, Dirk," Genis said. "I'll just make sure to enjoy the time we have left."

Before Dirk could reply further, Genis changed the subject. "Do you intend to stay for the fight, Dirk? You're not really a fighter, and you've done more than enough to help."

Dirk reflected grimly that he'd just borne witness to the truth of one of the primary vows: Pride precedes a fall. Great parenting skills, indeed. What a fall!

"I'm not sure, lad," he said. "Yesterday, I would have stayed for sure, but since I woke up this morning, and especially since Lloyd left, the desire to get to the mountains and underground is stirring up in me. It's taking all the willpower I have to not go running off right now. But I can wait until Lloyd returns."

"Any mountains in particular?" Genis said.

"Aye." He pulled a crinkled map out of his back pocket, unfolded it, and smoothed it out on the ground. It was a rough outline of how the reunited world might appear, having been made by superimposing maps of Sylvarant and Tethe'alla on top of one another. It was wrong in a few of the particulars. He knew this from the brief glance he'd taken at Lloyd's map some nights before. But the region wherein his interest lay was represented perfectly. "There," he said, pointing to a spot in the map's center.

"That's near Mizuho," Genis observed. "You know, if you wanted, when the search group returns, one of us could take you on a rheiard. You could stop by Mizuho and say goodbye to Lloyd while you're at it. You could even meet Altessa. He's a dwarf too, and he helped us out a lot on the journey."

"You don't know how tempting that is, lad," Dirk said, "but...no. I can't really explain why, but this is a journey I feel I have to make on foot."

"Okay." Genis shrugged, "But that offer is open-ended, right up until we see the king's troops poking their pitiful heads over the horizon."

"You've got a way with words, lad."

"Heh, I got straight A's in Creative Writing."

They passed the time after that boast in relative silence. Occasionally, Genis would ask about one of the theories underlying a trap, but Dirk had little aptitude for technical explanation, preferring instead to show how a device worked. And since springing a trap for a demonstration was out of the question, Genis soon stopped asking.

After twenty minutes of silence Dirk had slipped into a light doze, leaving Genis to ponder his place in his friend's new lives. I'm happy for Lloyd, he decided, but I don't want to lose his friendship. Maybe it's time for me to make a life for myself. I could sign up for a semester at Sybak or Palmacosta Academies.

"Hey, Short Stuff, stop daydreaming!"

Genis shot straight up. "Zelos, did you find the girls? Where are they?"

Zelos ushered his search party into the village. When they had entered, he tossed a bundle in front of the half-elf, and slammed shut the newly constructed gates.

"That won't stop them," Raine said.

Genis unwrapped the bundle, and dropped it in horror. Inside were pieces of a broken axe—he'd recognize Presea's Gaia Clever anywhere—and a broken chakram. The wrapping itself was Colette's blouse, her blood-soaked blouse. Genis charged the gate, but Zelos pulled him back.

"They're not dead. Tell me they're not dead!" he screamed.

"Genis, there's no time—" Raine said.

Zelos grasped his shoulder. "We found clothing and broken weapons, but no bodies. Do you hear me, Genis? No bodies."

"Then they're still alive! Why aren't you out there looking for them?"

Zelos pointed to the sky. "That's why," he said.

Genis gulped. In the skies above Iselia flew a veritable army. Some were mounted on dragons or similar monsters. Some were monsters, horrid winged creatures, the likes of which had given the Chosen's group no end of trouble on their journey. And some—No!

"How did they get rheiards?"

"No time for questions, lad." By this time Dirk had awakened. He grasped the boy by his shoulders. "Lloyd's swords. He left them in your house this morning. Find them. The material blades cannot fall into enemy hands."

"What about you?"

Dirk lifted his heavy sledge hammed onto his shoulder. "Same as the others. I'm going to fight."

■□■□■

Sheena burst out of the door, cursing herself for her tears as she ran. Her behavior was that of a child, not the future chief of Mizuho. Despite this realization, she did not stop running until she reached the crops at the edge of the village. It was bad enough the opposing side had a summoner. She'd half-expected that. The king had access to records from her time at the Elemental Research Lab. Hell, the Lab had taught her to summon. Being the best candidate for summoning did not mean she was the only can­didate. But to learn they had someone who could perform card arts, Mizuho's secret card arts—Oh God. Tell me they didn't find my diary. Please don't let this be my fault.

"Next Chief."

"Orochi! You startled me."

The ninja emerged from the early evening shadows that concealed him. "What troubles you, Next Chief? We have long been friends, have we not? Please confide in me so that I might help."

"Thank you, Orochi, but—"

He moved closer. "But I am not Lloyd. Is that what you intended to say?"

She shook her head. "No, my friend, no."

It is unhealthy for you to confide everything in an outsider."

"Outsider?"

"Please, Next Chief. I mean no disrespect, yet my words are true. It is obvious from the way you fled at the mention of card users among the king's troops that your troubles are related to Mizuho. Lloyd understands little of our ways. Perhaps if he were to marry one of the young girls he would—"

"Marry? What did you say?"

The ninja shook his head. "Did I misspeak? I was not suggesting he marry. I was only making an observation that, were he to do so, he would become aware enough of our ways to offer you comfort." Orochi moved closer.

Sheena stepped back. "Orochi..."

"Perhaps I am making a suggestion." He nodded, a quick up-and-down motion. "Permit me to make a list of all the girls who are of age. He may choose from them. I will act as his daihyo if he so wishes."

"Lloyd is spoken for."

"The Chosen?" he asked. "Yes, that is appropriate, don't you think?"

"No."

"Then his teacher. Or the young one, perhaps. Both options are available to him."

"No, Orochi."

"Ah, then it is someone I do not know." He stepped closer.

"N-no, it..."

He was face-to-face with her, close enough that she could see the impressions of his nose and mouth through his facial covering. "Who then? It cannot be you. Your respon­sibilities as chief would make that impossible."

"Why would you say that?" And why am I so afraid of you right now?

"Once you are chief, you will need to remain in Mizuho. And he would not be content to stay here with you. Yet there is someone who would."

"Orochi, no..."

She tried to run away, but he seized her arm. He peeled the layers of fine blue silk from his face and head, revealing to her the true form of his face for the first time. "Does my face please you, Sheena? Am I not handsome? No woman had seen my face since my mother died. She told me I was handsome, but I want another opinion. I want yours."

"Please, Orochi, don't—what are you doing?"

He kneaded the flesh of her arm, and put an arm around her waist drawing her to him. Leaning forward, he brushed his lips over hers, exerting only the barest hint of pressure.

Oh God! Where was her voice? Why couldn't she scream! Lloyd! Lloyd, my true and only love, please help me!

Orochi pulled back and slid his mouth along her face toward her ear.

"O...ro...chi," she wheezed

"No," he whispered. "Taisuke."

"What?"

"Call me Taisuke. It is my true name. Come, love, tell me yours."

"No...no..." Lloyd, where are you?

"Orochi, get your damn hands off her!"

Out of the darkness of evening he emerged like a gallant knight, the one man on whom she could always depend. He was here, and everything would be all right.

...So naïve... Mithos observed from his perch within her mind. ...You should know better than anyone what comes next...

Oh, God, please no.

...Yes, my child?...

You're not God, Mithos.

...I'm the closest thing to a god you'll ever see, mortal...

"I invoke the ch—"

"Orochi, no!" At last she regained her voice.

"Quiet, woman!" he snapped.

"I am not speaking as a woman. I am speaking as your Next Chief!"

"As such..." came a voice from behind Lloyd.

Grandpa! When did he get here?

...Terribly sorry. I guess I distracted you. If you'd like to withdraw from reality and rest for a while, I'll gladly take over. And I'll return control to you as soon as you ask. I swear...

No! Can you even still do that?

...You know, I'm not really sure. Let's find out...

Go to hell.

...I'm much too comfortable here...

"...you should know better than anyone not to interfere in the issuance of a chal­lenge." Her grandfather looked at her disapprovingly. Why? Couldn't he see what this man had done to her? She sighed. She could already tell this night wasn't going to end well.

■□■□■

Presea stared unafraid into the eyes of the sword-wielding magician. She'd beaten men and monsters far more powerful than this peon. She'd faced Mithos Yggdrasill in combat and lived to tell the tale. If this man killed her, it would negate none of those accomplishments. If you're mean to kill me, come on! I will not cower in fear! I will not close my eyes! She realized she was having an emotional response. Pride she felt, and defiance. And self-confidence on a level she had never experienced. If death came for her now, it would find her in top form.

But death did not come. It was prevented by a chakram crushing the magician's throat.

Presea wasted only a moment watching him breathe his last. Then she turned to face her savior. Colette, dressed all in black, her blonde hair streaked with someone else's blood, strode forward, with a confident swagger to her hips, her chest swollen either with pride, or, more likely, labored breathing brought on by the ferocity of battle. Zelos had a word for that sort of look. What was it? Ah, yes. Bad-ass.

In Colette's eyes, though, was no confidence, just exhaustion and hollowness. She knelt by Presea, and without a word, set about healing her injuries.

In a moment, the pink-haired girl was as good as new. She bent her leg a few times to work out the kinks, and surveyed the battlefield. Not a soldier was left standing. Out of the eight, only two were even left alive—their initial combatants, the knife-wielder with the broken arm and the crippled axeman.

Colette retrieved the black knife and pressed it against its owner's throat. He tried batting it away, but, as the blood pooling at his side and staining his shirt attested, he was in no condition to resist her.

"Wait!" Presea called. "We need to interrogate them."

Colette acquiesced, but kept the knife in place.

Presea approached and asked, "Who are you?"

He spat at the ground, showering Presea's shoes with blood.

Colette twisted the knife, and he groaned. "My friend," she said, "asked you a question."

"We...we're your worst nightmare, little girl. We're you, or at least the king's answer to you. We're the Ogdoad. Unbeatable..."

"We beat you," Colette insisted.

"Unstoppable..."

"We stopped you!"

"We're going to kill the Chosen's group..."

"You failed—"

"He's not listening, Colette," Presea said, "He's not even aware of our presence." The look in his eyes told her, through shock and blood loss, he'd already checked out. Lucidity had abandoned him. He'd die in madness.

"The king's Ogdoad is pretty pathetic if it was beaten by two little girls," Colette said, before she slid the knife across his throat. At Presea's look of horror, she shrugged and mumbled, "Mercy killing."

"Colette..."

Laughter drew their attention back to the axeman.

"Pathetic?" he said. "Maybe we are, but we're not the king's Ogdoad. They're the best of the best. Compared to them, we're worthless." He pointed toward the knife-wielder's corpse. "He knew that too, though his pride wouldn't let him admit it."

Presea made a face. The axeman hadn't been nearly as talkative during the fight. Now that she thought about it, he hadn't uttered a single word.

"We're rejects," he continued, "failed experiments. The king's Ogdoad is on a real special mission right now. But there's whole battalions of us rejects itching for a fight. You, with the super hearing, can you hear that buzzing? They're coming, and they'll reduce your village to rubble. As for you, you'll be dead long before they get here."

He unfastened the gauntlet covering his left hand and forearm and held up his Exsphere, his crestless Exsphere. He ripped it from his hand and threw it to the ground.

Before their eyes, his form changed. Already tall, he grew taller. The hue of his skin darkened; his eyes receded, and his nose caved into his skull, leaving a blood red orb as his only prominent facial feature. Bones cracked and splintered, spilling their marrow inside his body and out through tears in his skin. The same bones made new connec­tions, fusing themselves back together.

He'd been told to expect the pain, and the rage with its accompanying loss of mental sharpness and reversion to basic instincts. But he had also expected to be able to walk again. His transformation was complete, but his tendons had not been reformed. When he shook his leg, his foot flopped like a dying fish.

"Why?" he bellowed.

It was the last thing he bellowed before he felt a jagged blade pierce his throat. Then he felt no more.

"Presea, we have to go," Colette said, withdrawing the blade and sheathing it at her side. She seemed panicked.

"What is it?"

"I hear something. Rheiards. Dozens, maybe. He was right. A large force is moving this way."

"Back to Iselia, then?"

"No. We can't help them."

"Our friends are there. Lloyd is there."

"He doesn't need my help." Colette stamped her foot. "He has Sheena. Come on, they'll be here soon."

Presea exhaled and nodded. "All right, I'm coming. Just let me get my weapon." But her weapon was shattered; pieces of the blade lay scattered upon the ground. She cast dust upon them, one last cleaning ritual as symbolic thanks for all its service to her.

She thought perhaps she would take one of the swords she'd used earlier as a surro­gate weapon. Instead, she found a greater prize. There was still an axe strapped at the axeman's side. Her earlier evaluation of its worth had been wrong. The axe wasn't as good as hers. It was better. She read the name emblazoned on its handle: Kauket Clever. Interesting.

"Hurry!"

"Coming, Colette."

■□■□■

Lloyd moved his left arm in slow deliberate circles, concentrating on keeping his breathing steady. Now was not a good time for the old injury to flare up.

Derris-Kharlan

One year ago

The final battle with Mithos Yggdrasill

"There's still time, Mithos. Help us restore the world!"

"You understand nothing, Lloyd! You're pathetic!"

Lloyd growled in frustration. Mithos was being as dense as the armored-plating on his magitech behemoth. Why couldn't he see—? No time for brooding in battle. Mithos was charging Colette, who, in the midst of casting an angelic spell, lay defenseless at his mercy. And Lloyd knew he wouldn't show any.

"Colette, look out!"

Lloyd sent twin shockwaves of energy hurtling at Mithos, hoping to delay the leader of Cruxis long enough to reach Colette. Not pausing to see whether the double demon fang had been effective—As Kratos told him, the fool follows his attack with his eyes; the wise follows it with his feet. Translation: Don't wait to see if your attack has been effective. Instead, keep attacking—he rose through the air, feeling as if he had wings, and dove for his friend's position. But instead of attacking at the end of his rising falcon, he used the momentum to push Colette out of the way. He heard her land with a surprised grunt several yards away. He flashed her a smile, and then felt a searing pain in his left shoulder.

After the Battle

The gel Sheena had sent his way suppressed the pain, but the physical stress of finishing the battle had undone the effects of its healing. He'd been a little annoyed with her then, helping him when she should have been summoning. But then, he would have done the same had she been the one hurt. And after the battle, in all the excitement of becoming an angel himself and awakening the Great Seed as an anchoring point for the reunited world, he'd forgotten about the injury.

He'd assumed it had simply healed itself in the same way that all the other minor cuts and bruises had disappeared with the emergence of his great blue wings. Not until a few weeks later when his arm began to tingle and on occasion stiffen did he think much about it. By then, it was too late to heal with magic or medicine. He'd just have to bear it. He didn't mind. It was a small price to pay for the regeneration of the world. Besides, it only seemed to hurt when he used his angelic powers.

Present

He withdrew one of his blades, and inspected it in the firelight. Shiden blades. Of Mizuho make, they were good swords, sturdy, strong, and well-balanced. He'd used a pair briefly on the world regeneration journey. But they weren't nearly as powerful as the material blades he'd, like an idiot, left behind in Iselia. He took a few practice swings, reacquainting himself with their strengths and weaknesses.

Having the Next Chief of the village as your girlfriend, despite its catching you up in duels to the death, did have a few perks. With only a little cajoling, it had gotten the shop owner to open up for business just long enough for him to purchase the swords and a few gels right before the council had started. He couldn't use the gels during the fight, of course, but he'd probably need them afterward.

A knock on the door brought him out of his reflective state. He once again mentally thanked Tiga for securing these quarters for him. With at least thirty percent of Mizuho's adult population off on a mission at any given time, there had been no scarcity of avail­able housing, but still he appreciated the effort. "Come in," Lloyd said.

Sheena stood in the doorway, her gaze full of uncertainty. She whispered his name and, a moment later, flung herself into his arms, burying her face in his chest to hide her tears. After a time neither of them could measure, she kissed him, first tentatively, and then fiercely. At last pulling back, she said, "Thank you. I needed that."

When he had caught his breath, he told her, "You're the most important thing in my life. You know that, don't you?"

"It feels good to hear you say it."

"I would never leave you, not for any reason. If you asked me to give up hunting Exspheres today, I'd do it. It'd be hard, but I'd do it."

"Thank you for saying so, but I would never ask that of you. I couldn't. We both promised to finish this journey. Remember the lying penalty? That's on both our heads."

"I love you," he said.

"I love you."

They talked for a while after that about nothing of substance, preferring to leave the questions of summoners and the leak of card fighting secrets for another day and just enjoy one another's company. There was no daihyo yet. There didn't need to be until there were formal declarations. And at present, there were only Orochi's accusations. Lloyd did ask once about the conversation she'd had with her grandfather, but, when she'd told him she preferred not to talk about it just yet, he didn't press the issue. Another time, he tried consulting her about whom he should choose as daihyo.

"Oh no, mister," she laughed. "Whom a man selects as his daihyo is one of the factors the woman considers when deciding if he's worthy. You're not getting any help from me."

"Haven't you already decided that I'm worthy?" he teased back.

"Maybe, but that doesn't mean you can relax. I'm expecting some serious romancing from my man."

"Sounds like I've got my work cut out for me."

"Yep."

"But I guess you're worth it."

"You guess?" She feigned anger.

"Nah. I know."

She kissed him again, and, on a whim, kissed the tip of his nose. "I'd best be going," she said, "if I'm to be back with your observer on time."

She stood and walked to the door.

"Hey Sheena," he called, "You think Regal's a good choice for my observer, right?"

"Sure," she nodded. "He's fair, level-headed, and won't be prejudiced by your friendship."

"Would he also be a good daihyo?" He grinned.

"You dork! I told you—"

"How about Zelos?"

"Zelos!" she growled. "Stop trying to involve me—ha ha ha."

"Genis? Or Dad? We can get Origin to bring him back from Derris-Kharlan."

"Lloyd!" She was laughing uncontrollably now.

"I wonder if Yuan's busy."

"Yuan? Lloyd, I'm leaving now, and I don't want to be laughing like an idiot in front of my people."

He placed both hands over his mouth, silently promising not to say another word.

But she didn't see him, was purposefully avoiding looking at him. If he were trying not to make her laugh, whatever he did to avoid it would have the opposite effect. She took slow, deep breaths and opened the door. She made it to her fifth step before bursting into a fit of giggles.

■□■□■

On a field south of Iselia, two young girls continued their pilgrimage toward the House of Salvation. One felt acute guilt for having abandoned her friends and appre­hension at not knowing if they were all right. The other wondered why she was not feeling the same.

■□■□■

In the village of Iselia two warriors, a gentle healer, and a dwarven smith prepared for the fight of their lives, while another warrior stuck to the shadows, weaving from house to house, desperate to reach his home and the prize therein without attracting attention.

■□■□■

In a borrowed house in Mizuho, a lone swordsman, already missing his departed love, massaged a sore shoulder, before settling into a restless sleep.

■□■□■

A few houses over Taisuke, known to most as Orochi, sat cross-legged on his tatami floor mat inhaling the fumes of a bitter incense. When the door opened, and another man entered, Taisuke did not look up, simply said, "Hello, brother. It has been a while."

"Indeed, it has," came the reply, "Is all going according to plan?"

■□■□■

Self- Promotion:

Sheena's Diary, as referenced in this chapter refers to another story I'm working on: Dear Diary, Love Sheena. It's an introspective look at Sheena's life five years before the game in the form of short diary entries. It will be updated infrequently at best.

I've posted a few original fics, samples actually, on fictionpress dot com. My pen name there is "koinekid" the same as my pen name here. Check them out if you get the chance.

Note: "Sorry this chapter was so short," he said sarcastically.

■□■□■

Last Modified: 06 October 2006