Pulse
Dr. Mog wiped the sweat from his furrowed brow. Summer had begun, and the days were becoming hotter. He looked across his desk to the door of his cramped office; it was left ajar after his last visitor. Tyro had come to research into the moogle's personal files: reports and the doctor's testimony that he'd kept up since the very first day of cleansing the darkness from the record hall. Recently, the boy had been cold to Dr. Mog, though at least Tyro was no longer feeling hostile. For this improvement to the boy's mood, Dr. Mog did anything he could to help.
When Tyro realized he wasn't the only keeper on his mission, the moogle had to explain how Roaming Warriors came from parallel yet different realities. Each of these worlds had their own record keeper, and now the boy could regularly meet and even fight alongside these star-crossed allies (though admittedly, the connection between universes usually failed). It seems that simultaneously to Tyro finding out he wasn't alone, so too did most of the others in their respective home realities.
Dr. Mog sighed. It wasn't as if he too didn't empathize. The doctor knew how crushing it felt to realize... you're not special. Knowing this had made every sentence that he spoke ring hollow. It made every lesson feel meaningless. And Dr. Mog had known this for much longer than Tyro, having to come to grips with this existential anomaly for years. No matter how disheartening, they were born to follow through on their goals, and nothing would change that.
The little man scooted his giant armchair backward and plopped onto the floor. It was quite nonsensical that he had to literally climb or hop onto his seat whenever he entered his office, and even sillier that his feet didn't come anywhere close to reaching to floor as he sat. He told himself that the design was kept this way because a tall chair and desk exuded authority, and that with his wings it would be ridiculous to ever complain about a few feet of height disparity. And yet... he couldn't help but feel this was some easily avoidable oversight. When the doctor and the only record keeper in the realm were both shorter than the desk, there had to be some omnipotent god snickering at it like a joke. But when Dr. Mog considered replacing his furniture, he had to wonder if every other Dr. Mog in every alternate reality also had the same frivolous conundrum, or if they stopped holding out much sooner, and already had correctly-sized desks. But by now, Dr. Mog held sentimentality for his desk and armchair.
The moogle exited his office and headed toward the atrium. As he walked, the moogle eyed the Nightmare Dungeons warily as it passed from his line of sight. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted The crystal at the center had been glowing a luminous white and only growing in splendor and power. He expected it would only be a few more months until Tyro had to face challenges he was certainly not ready for. Would Tyro even bother? The boy's newfound plan to 'alter the records' might make up the majority of his time. Even now, as another seasonal holiday festival opened up in the event warps, Tyro was alone with this thoughts, planning and theorizing.
Still, perhaps there was nothing to worry about. Tyro had never failed so far, even when the boy was emotionally drained or busy. Tyro had even kept up his relic draws with a few Ultra Soul Breaks entering the mix. Everything seemed normal and hopeful. Admittedly, this time was different, sure. Tyro had reached the lowest limits of his temperament, but the boy got right back up. Our little record keeper was determined and lion-hearted. So much so, that Dr. Mog wanted to shed a tear. The little boy had been forced to be a man inside, to be properly responsible for all the lives he carried with him.
From behind, the moogle didn't notice a gleeful Kefka approach the Nightmare dungeons and begin to stare at the center, enthralled at the crystal. At this, if the crystal could feel anything, it would have been feeling grossed out and uncomfortable. Seemingly in response to this, the madman cackled.
Zone V
Gogo continued writing in his journal. He hadn't lived to be as old as he had without ensuring to cement knowledge into his mind. Though, he was curious as to the identity of the other Gogo, and wrote more on this in his little journal. Zone 6's Gogo was of few words. Upon meeting, all they would do is copy each other's motions, they were like mirrors for hours until they were pulled away from this bizarre dance. Gogo did notice bright eyes shine from beneath the face make-up under the wraps of a shawl of his counterpart. Gogo had to wonder whether the other mime was a spirit, a woman, or an old man.
It was as he wrote the words 'shiny eyes' that a noise perked the mime from his thoughts and the pen stopped. An echo reverberated around the area. It was difficult to explain, the sound wave was too distorted to decipher. But it felt... discomforting. Like something somewhere had gotten worse, but no one could place what it was. A creature of whimsy, Gogo skipped toward the direction of the echo's source. It was likely that he wouldn't find anything, and in a few minutes he would probably forget what he was headed for and become interested in something else. Gogo was, after all, a curious fellow.
Zone VI
Mog sprinted through the camp to find Locke. Upon hearing his name, Locke exited his tent. But, the moogle saw the man too late, and skidded to a clumsy stop before tripping on his own little feet. Without any effort, the treasure hunter helped Mog to his feet.
"Thankupo!" Mog squeaked. This reminded Locke of one of their first meetings, when the man had saved the moogle from falling off a cliff. Then and now, the poor creature was quite rattled.
"What's wrong?" Locke asked. He had taken the role of older brother to a few of the Sixes, like Terra and Mog. But recently, he barely saw the two of them outside of Realm 6 Events. Mog had quite a number of friends now; he would be 'the smart one' whenever he hung out with the beastmen, he would be fawned over by summoners, or he would even tail Dr. Mog.
"That psycho! Kefka! He's up to somethin' I swear!" Mog spoke fast and excitedly. At this, Locke was alarmed, but also skeptical.
"You sure? What can he do in here? We haven't had a villain pull anything funny in all the years we've been here," Locke replied.
"But if there's anyone that could muss things up, it's Kefka, kupo!" Mog retorted.
"Well, what makes you think something's wrong?" Locke asked. Mog took a deep breath.
"He was creepin' around as usual," Mog emphasized this, "Then he went to the Nightmare Dungeons and met up with some shady guys!" But this too, wasn't unusual.
"What, did he meet with up the Grays? Or, no. More likely, that's just where a lot of the villains hang out, right?" Locke responded, "Who cares if him and Garland and the rest of those obsolete nutcases snicker in the shadows?"
"That ain't all!" the moogle clamored, "There was a weirdish redflash that blinked from there for jus' a wee-second, and then I felt a echoing wave uncomfortableness, kupo!" Mog was making up words now, but Locke was beginning to take him seriously. He too had felt the wave of discomfort reverberate through his bones. But he wasn't sure what it was.
"The red light... it was at the same time that you felt this?" Locke asked.
"Yes, kupo!" Mog finished. But Locke didn't know what to make of this. Although Terra was the leader of the Sixes, this was pretty much in-name only. Locke and Celes usually picked up the slack. And yet, this felt out of all their scopes. But Locke had a duty to assuage his little friend's concerns.
"Don't fret, Mog," Locke said, "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about, but I'll get this info to the right people. And me, Celes, Terra, and even Tyro... we'll get right on it, okay?" The moogle notably untensed at this.
"And hey, thanks for bringing it to my attention. You did good keeping an eye out," Locke pointed out. A little bit of flattery went a long way with Mog, and he noticeably blushed.
"No problem, kupo!" Mog replied. Excited and relieved, the moogle went on his way. He figured he would seek out Umaro, to grunt and nod through another of Mog's stories. Meanwhile, Locke stayed put and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He wondered if perhaps it would be a good idea to keep an eye on Kefka himself before reporting to the others...