The Balance and Contrast of Yin and Yang

by Frozen Aura

FF6 postgame. The Returners hope to advance the Kingdom of Figaro in the post-magic, post-Kefka world. But strangely-evolved monsters and a decaying ecology aren't so courteous. And the Empire's demise has left a power vacuum all over the southern continent. Heroism may even be questioned. First person narration, from both canon protagonists and OC's. Book one of two.

21. The Tense Calm

Chapter 21: The Tense Calm

Unless they're restrained or incapacitated somehow, cornered enemies are the most dangerous and unpredictable kind.

We learned that lesson the hard way, after the second riot in the Albrook dungeon killed several guards and soldiers before it was contained. Some of imprisoned nobles committed suicide, as their life of unearned luxury had been stripped in ways they'd never imagined. The captured troops and guards however, weren't so quick to roll over and die for real. They simply played dead while the prison guards opened the cells to remove the bodies of deceased captives. The living captives assumed the roles of their dead counterparts, waiting for the jail staff to remove them from the cells. Once out, they used their limited strength and the element of surprise to get the upper hand. They even tried passing as Nyufalng personnel, but when they didn't know the password required to enter and exit the prison complex, their secret was blown, and the riot commenced.

We learned something from that experience.

The Tzenish troops were pulling back in droves. The horn tone that signaled for retreat sounded again and again, matching the frantic pace of the foot soldiers as they stepped over their dead comrades. We didn't give chase, as our plan was not to chase them, only to funnel them into the basin's northern entryway.

Cornering them would ultimately prove disadvantageous. As we'd learned from the dungeon riot, cornered enemies are the ones who fight with every last ounce of strength and zealotry. They'll fight without reserve, a single thought filling their minds; to either win or go down fighting to the very end. The larger the group, the more intense the fury, as the enemy numbers will feed from one another's adrenaline. Only if they have a means to escape will they keep that berserk fury held inside.

We gave the remaining Tzenish troops that means of escape…or so they believed.

I spurred Chithagu forward while gripping the reins of his saddle. Ambrose sat behind me, also holding the reins. We kept the fleeing survivors in our sights, watching them rush up the incline which fed into the northern mouth of the basin. Sure enough, they dog-piled into the space from which they'd entered, their numbers fewer and their spirits broken.

They were exactly where we hoped they'd be.

Explosions flared up from the rocks atop the basin's mouth. Huge yellow fireballs flamed outwards, sending giant clouds of smoke puffing up with each blast. And while the clouds drifted upwards, something else rained down.

Rock chunks broke away from the cliff walls that formed the entry channel, creating a hailstorm of solid stone. The escape route we'd set up for House Virnone's military forces had now become a death trap like the basin. Several debris chunks smashed against the floor below, crushing troops by the dozen. Entire squads were buried by the unnatural rock slide. They'd rushed into the mouth void of second thoughts, and were unable to comprehend that even a retreat path had fast become a grave.

The last explosions went off, and the last blankets of dust floated up and spread thin. We could finally observe the results, and declare our victory.

There were no signs of life in the piles of rock shards, but atop the cliffs was much different. There was movement, plenty of it. Something on the Corporal's gauntlet flashed, and he let go of the rein to answer the radio. After a string of 'yessirs', he clicked off the com-link and said, "No survivors were found in those rock heaps. The newbs did their part well. And it didn't require any augmentations, just some good old-fashioned TNT."

The 'newbs' was a slang term for our younger, lower-ranking members, some of whom had yet to finish basic training. Witnessing this battle and setting off those explosive charges would likely complete their course. After all, what better way to harden rookies for combat than to actually have them watch a battle from afar, and even take a backdoor part? While most of us laid waiting down in the basin, the Colonel and some Lieutenants oversaw the newbs atop the entry cliffs. Under the officers' command, the rookies set off the explosives at the precise moment, when the enemy was retreating down below. Before the fight, Tzen's numbers were too great to bury in that channel completely, but once we did our part in the basin, the rookies could do theirs. We gave the Tzenish force a perceived means of escape, but it was really just another mass tomb in the end.

"If they keep up this great work, you won't be calling them newbs for long." I couldn't resist cracking a smile, even though Ambrose was behind me and unable to see it. "They'll be promoted very quickly, earning the ranks of Corporals."

"Ajalni, when they reach Corporal, I'll be ascending the ranks of Sergeant. I'll still pull rank on them, just as I can pull rank on you." Though I couldn't see his face, I knew Ambrose was smiling from the tone of his voice. "You're not even a Private."

I could only chuckle. "Oh really, I'm Ruqojjen and Yithadri's…'foster niece'. That should count for something."

I'd never seen Ambrose's humor style. Though he wasn't stiff and rigid by any means, I'd not seen him display a facet of shits and giggles until now.

The humor was appreciated, because now came a less-invigorating task. We'd won this battle. Not a single Tzenish soldier had escaped from this basin. With victory boosting our egos, it was time for the cleanup; tending to our wounded and collecting the dead, both ours and the opposition's. Our own losses could feed the Divine post-mortem with their blood. Even in death, our Nyufalng brothers and sisters could do something. As for enemy losses, we'd gather them up, bring them back to Albrook, and decide their use later on.

change in s & n

Sabin lived with Marielle in a multi-room cottage on the northern edge of my capital. Their dwelling was along a mountain trail at the base of the Hyaxulan Range, part of a growing neighborhood. Various residents had already set up walls to form clearly defined backyards, and Sabin and Marielle were no exception. They planted a vegetable garden in that yard, and a Marielle kept an average flower garden in the front.

I knocked on the front door, sure that my brother was home. He'd not been around the castle and usually ate dinner at this time. Sure enough, the locks rattled and the door opened. "Edgar. The King pays a visit to the commoners. Come on in." I took him up on the hospitality.

The front door led into the living room, and to the left of that was the kitchen. I followed him there, where Marielle was busy at the stove preparing supper. "Greetings, Your Majesty." The priestess looked up from the pot of boiling soup.

"Pull up a chair, big bro." Sabin's hand rested on a cabinet door across from me. "Will you be joining us for dinner? I'll set you a place, if so."

"No thanks. I just ate. I'm here to ask you some questions."

"Oh, the King turns to his younger brother for wisdom and knowledge now." He smirked snidely, but I knew it was just his style of wit and humor. "Ask away." He sat down across from me at the round wooden table, a full place setting before him.

I was straight and direct. It was the best approach with a subject like this. "I want to know about the blitz art. How does it differ from magic? And how is it related to Ziegfried's techniques of," I tried recalling the gladiator's terms from my discussion with him "charging one's soul energy into their weapon."

Sabin's face lit up immediately. I thought he'd jump out of his chair, but he stayed put. "Soul energy!" he beamed. "I know that term."

"So there are similarities between you fighting styles." It was my turn to blurt out. "I'd been wondering about that."

"Drawn from a source inside of you, unlike those old esper stones you once collected." Marielle stepped over and took the empty bowl from Sabin's place.

"You also know about it?" I asked as the mystic pulled a soup ladle from a hutch drawer. Despite her tall athletic build, Marielle didn't have any combat experience, and had no interest in learning a style, from what I remembered. "Since when have you taken to the blitz?"

She laughed, filling the empty bowl. "I haven't, but spirit energy is not exclusive to fighting techniques. Don't forget, I'm a healer." She grabbed another bowl and filled it up.

"Of course." I laughed, happy to have not one but two experts on the subject in my company. "Well, that answers part of my question, what fuels the blitz moves. But still, how do you power them using this…internal spirit energy? I know yours are done differently than Ziegfried's. He 'channels' his energy into a weapon. You often didn't need one for your more ambitious techniques."

Marielle placed the two bowls on the table and headed off to a different corner of the kitchen. Sabin took a whiff from the steaming bowl. "Mmm. Smells good." He cleared his throat. "Why are you interested? Do you want lessons now?"

"Not quite. Ziegfried is teaching some new moves to the troops, as I'm sure you know. But I'm curious as to what he's teaching them. I barely know anything about these spirit-to-weapon fighting skills, save for their having no connection to espers or magic." Marielle returned with a bread basket. Though I'd filled myself with a hearty dinner at the castle, I gladly accepted one of the cornbread biscuits. "He referred me to you, since you're a teacher of the arts and styles in question."

"I can only discuss my arts. I don't know his." Sabin glanced at Marielle, who took a seat and uncorked a cider bottle. "As we've both implied, spirit energy is a very broad term. My blitzes are but one variety."

"And my healing techniques are another." Marielle poured a drink for herself, filling Sabin's glass afterward. "Inner soul energy has many offshoots and derivations. In fact, I'd say it's got more forms than your old magic."

As the unmarried couple began dining on their soup meals, I let this new revelation sink in. Sabin and Ziegfried were both unfamiliar with each other's skills and techniques, despite using a common root source. Aside from the basic steps, neither expert could tell me about the other's talents. "You know, maybe you should come to the army base and see the gladiator instruct my legions. Maybe then, you and he will gain knowledge of one another's specialties. It's the only way to really compare and contrast these differing arts of the same origin."

"Edgar, I always knew you'd make a better King than I. Thank you for proving my point once more." He bit off a chunk of cornbread. Crumbs decorated his smile of confidence.

It was settled. I thanked my brother and his love for their time, and let them indulge in Marielle's garlic and onion soup, reminding Sabin to use a few breath mints when he was done.

change in s & n

Reveal it slowly.

That was Maduin's suggestion for how I'd reveal my secret to Leonard. I had plans to make it a step-by-step process.

The first step had already been planned. Now came the task of actually doing it. Tracking down Leonard wasn't the easiest of activities, but I'd done it before, even if I went out of my way to locate the Narshean. We both lived in the industrial town but usually met up here in Figaro City.

But in spite of the distance and spent travel time, I knew Leonard could be found as he exited his workplace. I waited, watching the gates of the dairy farm complex. His shift concluded at this hour. There he was, in his typical leather jacket and olive green fatigue pants, complete with cow saliva stains.

I waved as he passed through the farm's gates. "Waiting for someone?"

He spotted me and approached. "That's more applicable to somebody else. And just who are you waiting for?" His voice wasn't serious at all.

"Oh you." Neither was mine. "Anyways, I'm glad we met. I've more knowledge for you."

"I'm all ears, Professor Branford. Teach me."

We both broke into snorts and chuckles at those words. Leonard could make himself laugh, and for someone who kept to himself for most of his life, he wasn't half bad at passing on that levity.

At last, we regained our composure. Leonard pointed toward the short cliffs that descended to Figaro City's beaches. "Why not some splendid scenery for this new lesson on…whatever."

"Of course." I followed him to the short stone wall at the cliff's edge, with the sandy beach not twenty feet below. Most of the beach-goers had pulled back from the water line, as the evening tide was coming in. Leonard watched the shoreline. He certainly had taste in settings.

I crossed my hands atop the short wall. The first step would begin now. "Leonard, I don't blame you for doubting the story from a thousand years ago, about the human queen and the esper knight who fell in love. Historical accounts of that time were largely destroyed, and legends resulted as a means to fill the gaps. But, there's another example of human-to-esper love, from a totally different source."

"Are you quoting another centuries-old reference?" He didn't sound convinced, but this reaction was expected. I'd been vague thus far.

"No. A more recent source, words from the espers themselves. Remember, we did collect a whole trove worth of esper magicite. That's what remained of them when they died. Before some of them perished, they described a romance between the two worlds."

Leonard's eyes focused on mine. He wasn't downplaying my story now. "Human and esper romance?"

"Yes, and it's far more recent than that one from the buried castle. In fact, it could've happened in your lifetime, though maybe not." Something that I'd not really considered was now verbalized. "How old are you exactly?"

Leonard's answer came without delays. "Twenty-four." So he was older than me by only two years. Maybe he'd been alive when my parents met one another, though he couldn't have been much older than a year and a half at most.

He didn't show any signs of disbelief. Maybe he was just going along with my flow. If he wasn't curious now, he'd be soon. I embellished the tale I'd learned from my first contact with Maduin. "This one esper was very specific when describing a young, orphaned peasant girl from the Albrook vicinity. She was fleeing the Imperial army when the seal between the two dimensions, placed when espers fled for sanctuary after the war, suddenly weakened. She found herself swept into the esper world."

"She met with the locals in that world." Leonard was following my story, taking words right out of my mouth.

I shifted my weight against the masonry wall. "As you could expect, most of the locals thought she was power-hungry, and this caution was in order, considering the fate espers experienced from humans a millennium prior. But one esper in particular saw light in this woman, and took her in, despite getting ostracized from his peers."

"Hmm." Leonard scratched his chin, his grayish blue eyes drifting slowly from one side to the other. He was definitely considering the tale's next twist. "And they had a child?"

"You guessed it," I commended his intuition. "Congrats for completing the story." I had taken the first step, and would end it right here, before mentioning that child's fate. I still hadn't mentioned myself, even though I'd been talking about myself through the whole story. A true-to-life romance between a human and an esper was enough for Leonard to swallow right now. If I piled on more details, he'd likely choke on surprise. The first step would have to go smoothly if I were to advance.

So far, that first step was going just as I'd wanted. "So it really was biologically possible for a human woman to carry a child of such intense magical power, without the unborn child's power killing her." Leonard made a statement, not a question, about the romance which crossed dimensional boundaries. "Physically possible, but hardly a normal practice." He stretched and looked off. The sky had darkened some while I'd been speaking, though the lighthouse to the southeast hadn't come to life yet. The rippling waves became more pronounced and reached further inward. "If a human-esper bond was forbidden in both lands, that child must've had one miserable childhood, filled mockery, ridicule, persecution, you name it."

For all intents and purposes, she didn't have a childhood at all. It was taken from her, by a piece of headgear known as a slave crown. The first step had been successful…and more. Now Leonard was referencing my own lack of a youthful past, though he clearly didn't even realize it. After all, he didn't know that I spoke of my parents and myself. I held nothing against him, but now that I'd accomplished my task, it was time for a change of discussion. "Sounds like you could relate, but I won't remind you of your childhood," I said, and added mentally, Or my lack thereof.

With the sun going down, the last of the beach-goers were packing up and heading home, passing us after climbing the rock stairs leading down to the sand. A nearby lamp pole flickered on, causing a certain object to shine and jar my memory.

It was among the first things I'd noticed about Leonard, and one of the most consistent since. I took an interest when we had lunch at Ghearn's Coop, but our lunchtime chat about the espers' less violent side was the topic of that day. Now, having left that subject for the moment, I had the perfect reason to bring up this constant but subtle detail.

I pointed at it directly. "Leonard, now it's your turn to be the storyteller. Where did you get that pendant?"

"This?" He cupped the pendant in his right hand, tracing the double hex design with his thumb. "It's actually custom made."

I tilted my head to see the pendant from a different angle. "You mean you created that design yourself?"

His thumb stopped at the design's midpoint, and he released his grip. "Not quite. I saw the design in a book, and brought an image to a local silversmith up in Narshe."

"A book?" I repeated, very curious. "What kind of book?"

Leonard didn't answer immediately. He first glanced off at the lighthouse, its lamp flashing to life, illuminating the darkening sky with its rotating yellow beam. "A book of fables and legends, fictional obviously."

"Is that design some kind of lucky charm? You wear it almost every time I see you. It's got some obvious sentimental value." Why else would he wear it so frequently?

"Well, it…" He lifted the neck ornament between this thumb and index finger, then let it go. "I just…like the design."

"Really?" His answer didn't sound ambitious. I expected something more. "Maybe it's a good luck charm. You wore it when you passed out from the moth's poison, and I found you moments afterward. My presence on that mountain trail was a stroke of luck in your favor."

I tried understanding the pendant's high value, but my wild guess missed the mark. "Not because if this, if you're implying that much." Leonard pointed at the strange symbol. "In the said mythology book, this design wasn't used for bringing good fortune. It has no such meaning."

Than how come Leonard wore it so often? What value did it have? Admittedly, it was a nice piece of artwork, but aesthetics alone didn't explain why he wore it so often.

It didn't matter. I was just mildly curious about the icon. If Leonard adored the mystery design for looks and looks alone, he could wear it all he wanted. I too wore some of my jewelry for that same purpose.

Behind us, a train horn sounded. Our ride back to Narshe was approaching. "I guess you'll be heading back up to Narshe?" I pointed at the train tracks.

"I might not be going alone." Leonard spoke with deliberate intent, his voice more sure than when he described his necklace.

"No, you won't. This is commute hour." I smiled and laughed, already walking towards the boarding platform. Leonard naturally followed.

We showed our ride passes to the platform sentries and climbed the stairs up, just as the train in question pulled to a stop. As various passengers exited its door, we joined the entering crowd and took seats along the wall. Leonard leaned back, but I sat straight, thinking about our most recent conversation.

It was only a first step, but it was a real step. Leonard was convinced that humans and espers really brought up children together, rare as it was. Likely, he didn't think much else of it, since magic and espers were no longer in this dimension. But he believed me, and in time, I could take that next step.

change in s & n

"So they've finally built that new weapon." Ruqojjen folded his arms and observed one of the five-barreled orb cannons.

As we cleaned up the battlefield, the Captain ordered pieces of Tzen's new artillery be collected and brought back for analysis. Qaurjaeda happily ripped one such weapon from its parent armor. A dozen or so metallic projectiles were also gathered by our side. Tzen's new military invention was placed inside the aero-dome hangar, the ideal location since it was here where large machinery was examined and maintained.

"Yeah, and this weapon proved even more deadly than those photon cannons, despite its ammo being little more than spherical ten-pound paper weights." I grabbed my chest. In the days since the battle, my fractured ribs hadn't mended completely. "I took one in the boob, and my armored bra only kept the bones from breaking. Two of these orb shots even put a dent in Sdalsyra's face, as I'm sure you've heard." After the blood fest, Sdalsyra had only to drink the blood of dead enemies to heal her wounds. Since I wasn't a Pung Thoshidei, I relied more on conventional medicine and first aid.

Dried blood was smeared on two of the cannon barrels, life blood from our brothers and sisters in arms, splattered there as the metal ball shots cut them down. Having seen how just one shot could obliterate a person's entire skull, little was left to the imagination.

"Spring-operated, fed from an ammunition tube placed inside the mechanical upper arm, fires reusable ammunition." The High Shenthaxa detailed all the features of this formidable new addition to House Virnone's toolbox. His voice was stoic, even though his words spoke of the weapon's more impressive and dangerous features. "Now we've proof that Tzen is advancing. This weapon is likely a sign of things to come. Both their efforts and their weapons are becoming more ferocious." He looked at me. "Ajalni, you know what this means?"

I'd been thinking about it on some level, ever since we'd gathered up the losses from both sides and piled them into our land cruisers. "Tzen is pissed, or will be, when their brigade of 5'000 strong fails to report, let alone return."

The last time we spilt Tzenish blood, the targets had been some leftover squads, survivors from a narrow victory against Marandan troops. Those deaths could easily be blamed on retaliating Marandans. This was different. This wasn't a small-scale unit, but a full brigade which had recently won a decisive victory against Maranda. The surviving Marandans fled in one direction, while the Tzenish brigade went in another. We'd slaughtered that brigade, but we couldn't set up Maranda to take the fall.

This was a defeat that House Virnone would not forget. They'd double their efforts once again. They might actually ignore Maranda for a while, as the Duke's army had been subdued for the time being. House Virnone would stop at nothing to learn how its legion was killed. Maybe they were questioning if Sireck and Edrina's forces were responsible, or if some other entity had been involved. Either way, House Virnone's wrath would be upon us.

"Tzen won't be turning the other cheek anytime soon. More will come, with a lust for vengeance," I theorized. A little common sense goes a long way. "So what's your plan to counter such moves? Do we brace for an assault here, or go on the travelling offensive again?"

"Ajalni, If Tzen wants to learn who devoured that brigade, they won't launch another blatant offensive. They'll be less obvious, less direct. They'll try gathering info on just who attacked their forces." So he'd been thinking like I had. Or more accurately, I'd been thinking like him. As my 'surrogate uncle', he taught me a lot, often without even trying directly. Just spending time around him had its effects. I got more of an education from him and Yithadri than I had from Jrysthovuh's official schooling system. Schools only taught what the Council permitted, which wasn't very much.

"Stealth ops with spies." A woman's voice spelled out Tzen hypothetical plan. Yithadri joined us in the aero-dome's maintenance chamber. Though she still wore her typical bracelets, necklace, and headband, her ceremonial robes and sashes had been swapped out for more casual attire, a long-sleeved v-neck top and a pair of leather jeans, her 'everywoman' look.

The casually-dressed Nyufalng co-founder stood next to the founder, placing a hand on her hip, and hooking her thumb into a back pants pocket. Ruqojjen didn't notice, or more likely, he didn't care. Yithadri's gesture was nothing special now. At one time, it would've been a cue for something, and he'd have responded in kind. But this was now, not back then. Nothing remained of Ruqojjen and Yithadri's brief love affair. The couple knew that if they were to form and lead an organized movement, they'd need to focus on their leadership and minimize personal commitment. As the story went, they fornicated but once and laid the romance to rest, agreeing on a platonic, business-like partnership.

The two figureheads examined the sphere launcher some more. "There's a high chance that Tzen will try some espionage, hoping infiltrate our territory using spies passing themselves off as merchants or the like," said Yithadri, now with both hands on her hips. "When the Envoy came a few months back, they were simply curious about this region. Now, they'll be downright suspicious."

"It's just theorizing," I added, "but I've wondered about such a prospect as well. Tzen won't take this defeat lightly. It's safe to presume we've just forced their hand."

Ruqojjen looked closely at the dried blood streaks on the cannon, tracing his finger along the stain's edge. "As I've said before, we should never respect our enemies as beings, especially with a cause like House Virnone's. But with that said," his voice remained objective, but lost that stoic tone "we can't afford to mock them as functional combatants, especially now. This," he rapped his knuckles on a cannon barrel "is proof positive of why."

Yithadri echoed his statement with her own words. "That's always been true for us. Look at the Council. Even the lowest of sub-human shit can still be competent where it counts. Why have we been training in such ruthless, brutal practices all this time? Until enemies fuck up and prove their incompetence, they should not be underestimated."

"So the plan is to establish defense measures against Tzenish covert ops here?" I asked.

"Part of it, yes, but there's more than just local efforts here." Ruqojjen spread his hands out, referring to Albrook with his gestures. "There's another, more sophisticated part to be done elsewhere." I let him speak, despite knowing the basics of the plan. "To really find out what Tzen's up to, we'll have to get inside with pre-emptive covert tactics of our own."

"We've stepped on toes and spit in faces by killing off that brigade." Yithadri folded her hands. "We brewed a shit storm, something we're very good at," she said with a laugh. "With Maranda crippled from their recent loss, we have one major enemy at the moment. We need to gather intel on Tzen before Maranda regains its lost bearings."

Both Nyufalng bigwigs had the exact same point. Killing the elite brigade had been a full-on act of war against House Virnone. Backlash would be inevitable if we didn't take initiative and counter their efforts. "So we're officially campaigning against Tzen's House now." I shrugged and grinned. "We already put Albrook's house in a messy grave, so why delay Tzen's demise." I looked up at Ruqojjen, a natural act given his height over mine. "Who's going undercover?"

The man almost chuckled, but stifled it. "Ajalni, is the answer not obvious? Who's great at causing mischief while sneaking around?"

His expression said it all. He wasn't just looking at me. "Okay, but alone? I don't recall much on Tzen's layout. I'll have to meet with a local contact."

"Of course, and I've already got one in mind. But there's some worthy help right here too." Ruqojjen spoke of someone else, though his eyes were still fixed on me. "Who around here is from Tzen, as we recently found out?"

"Corporal Guellad," I answered, feeling doubt while mentioning his name.

Doubt must've filled my voice too. Yithadri put her hand on my shoulder. "What's wrong? You don't think the Corporal can pull it off? He pretty much rescued you in the Kavaryts Basin. You're the last person I'd expect to doubt him."

As I did with Ruqojjen, I looked up to meet Yithadri's gaze. The Shamaness was tall as well, taller then Sdalsyra, easily as tall as Baokiydu, and topped only by Dyal'xern and Ruqojjen. Standing straight next to the Honored Shamaness, there were still a couple inches between the top of my head and the bottom of her chin.

"I don't doubt his capability," I admitted "but I'm skeptical of his willingness for such an operation. He fled from slavery and a fate worse than death, a fate with its own humiliating death at the end. If he also fled from horrendous memories, I doubt he'd want to return."

"You've earned another medal in foresight," Ruqojjen acknowledged. "Your observation is no doubt perceptive. But realize this. If you know Ambrose, you know that he'll do whatever he must to further his cause, our cause." He spoke as if talking about an old friend, as he referred to the Corporal by name. "He'll willingly revisit Tzen if he knows it will make that difference. Last time he was there, he knew nothing about this movement. Now as member, he'll have a new arsenal both physical and mental to face his fears, if that's your concern."

The Shenthaxa's endorsement of the Corporal put my doubts to rest instantly. "Ruqojjen, you're right once again."

This time he did laugh, briefly. "I'm not called 'High Shenthaxa' Kagasjori for nothing. Unlike nobles, I've actually earned my title."

Yithadri withdrew her hand. "Only two for the op? A small team is the only practical option for something covert like this, but the Corporal is only human at this time." Yithadri's eyes returned to my own. "I know you've got augmentations, but yours aren't the most potent, no offence."

"None taken."

"You and the Corporal will need someone with a higher class of abilities if you're going behind Tzenish lines," Yithadri reasoned. "Tzen's in a state of war now, and while they don't know about us, we're the ones whose blood they're truly after. This is a spy op that will likely involve spilling Tzenish blood. Someone with more powerful augments should accompany you."

Higher class of abilities. More powerful augments. Those words brought one association. "Pung Thoshidai," I named the highest of the Nyufalng, outclassed only by Ruqojjen and Yithadri themselves.

"First things first. We must develop a solid, concrete plan." Ruqojjen looked at something on his gauntlet. "It's getting close to dinner. Let's head back to the palace, find the others, and discuss our strategy over the meal."

The general tactic was already in place. I'd be doing some undercover spy stuff in Tzen. I was following in Morris's footsteps, but unlike him, I'd be raising some hell.

What was Morris doing by now anyway? We'd not heard from him in a while.

change in s & n

Locke and I lived in a modest condo in the town of Quildern, with the rugged Hyaxulan Mountains to the east and the flat Lucaissa Plains to the west. While Quildern was not a technology center like Narshe, it was situated in a far more versatile region. Just over the mountains to the east was Figaro City. The distance between our location and the capital was shorter than the distance between the capital and Narshe. Additionally, the train routes reached past our dwelling. We could go west through the Lucaissa Plains and arrive in Kohlingen.

The previous week, we'd done just that as a means to celebrate Setzer's thirty-first birthday. As the Falcon had been immobilized and neglected by the capital's maintenance crews, the next best option for the gambler to indulge his lifestyle was the Onham and Larhay Chocobo Derby, the twice-a-year chocobo race held in the semi-rural edges of Kohlingen. When we pitched the idea, Setzer almost exploded with excitement. He stayed with us in the days before the event, sleeping in our living room as our condo had only one bedroom. Despite his riches, the two of us paid for Setzer's admission, allowing him for 'more gambling money', in Locke's words.

The gambler thoroughly enjoyed himself, as was our primary intention, but the two of us also had our share of fun. The races attracted their own helping of traders and buyers all throughout Kohlingen. Though I wasn't curious on the details of Kohlingen's merchandise, Locke did some exploring, if only to compare Kohlingen's market supply and demand to local ones here in Quildern.

As it happened, he'd made some discovery while doing such, a discovery he'd brought up at least once per day since, and a discovery which I believed he was grossly overemphasizing.

Normally, our dinner table discussion related to our vending business, but this evening was different. Locke's choice of dinnertime conversation material was, by now, an unwelcome change.

"I don't understand." Locke stabbed his grilled lamb chop with his fork, less intent on eating and more focused on rambling.

"I don't understand this fixation," I said back. "You've been mentioning it every day since the derby, and now you're polluting our meal with it. Give it up."

A rotating carousel-type spice rack was on the table between us. Locke spun it around. Shakers of cloves, thymes, marjoram, and cinnamon passed on my side before Locke stopped the rack and grabbed a shaker tube of parsley. He sprinkled some onto his meat and cut out a slice. "I can't Celes. You know me."

I spread a tiny sliver of butter on my sliced potato. "Yes, I do. I know you're a smart person, and I know that we live in a world where magitek Empires and legendary espers no longer exist. We've been living in that world for three years, and counting." I glared at him a little. "Your obsessive behavior should've perished with Kefka. Move on."

"I just don't get it," he said before taking a drink from his mug. "Don't you find it a teensy bit odd?"

"I've no fucking idea what you're even talking about." I swallowed a forkful of potato and cut a piece from my own lamb chop. If I showed no interest in his babbling, maybe he'd at last get over it.

But Locke Cole was a tenacious man, for better or for worse. "Okay, maybe I'll explain it for you."

I laid my fork and knife down on my plate. If I heard the details of Locke's babble, maybe I could better call him out on its pointlessness. "Do that. Now I'm curious, what's so screwy with this…thing you don't get?"

He took one more sip, set the mug down, and stared into my eyes with purpose. "Remember when we last saw Joe, in the capital? We were on our way to talk with Setzer, and the gem merchant was observing the construction zone of a plumbing add-on."

"Yeah. So?"

"And remember what he said? He used to live here in Quildern because it's more scenic, but sold his wares in Kohlingen, as it's more populated."

"So what?" I scoffed, taking a drink from my own cup. "So he lived in one city and worked in another. Lots of people do that. Leonard commutes from Narshe to work at the capital's farm, and Terra sometimes watches kids in Figaro City, despite also living in the mining town. Having distance between work and home is hardly abnormal." I tried putting him in his place. "If anything, you're abnormal for thinking of it in such terms."

Locke wasn't humored from my sarcasm. Not that I wished to entertain him at the moment, but he wasn't seeing stuff from my logical point of view. "I gathered some data while exploring the swap meats around the derby, and learned that precious stones aren't in high demand up in Kohlingen. Joe lived here, but peddled his products over there." He pointed to the northwest, towards Kohlingen. "He went out of his way to do mediocre business in town that's not really after his goods, despite its larger population. In fact, he could've easily made greater profits by staying here." Locke's index finger pointed downward. "Stones like his sell better here in Quildern. That's what I find so odd. He lived here and knew nothing of the local demand for his supplies. How can such a fact go unnoticed by a local merchant?"

"Joe never said he was from here originally," I reasoned, cutting around my chop's bone. "As I recall, his hometown was lost in the great collapse, and he drifted around until winding up here. Not being a Quildernite native, details like the ones you mentioned would be lost on him. He could've presumed that Kohlingen was a better market because of its larger population." I swallowed, gripped my utensils, and stared Locke down. "Joe doesn't even live here any more. He lives in Figaro City, and he's making much greater profits there. Poor Joe's been through enough lately. He doesn't need to you degrading his intelligence like this. You sound excessively critical of him for some reason, and I thought you were beyond these one-track-mind fixations."

I waited for Locke to reply, but he went back to his meal without a word. I'd finally gotten through. At least, if he didn't share my logic, he'd stay quiet on the matter. The rest of our meal was spent in silence. Joe didn't need Locke calling him an ignorant moron, especially on a moot point relevant to the past, not the present. The treasure hunter had already breached Joe's privacy when asking about the merchant's ill friend. Joe forgave him, only because of Locke's good intentions when asking. The peddler lived elsewhere, so bringing up Quildern's gemstone market wouldn't have any real benefits. Joe probably didn't care at this point.

Hopefully, Locke would cease to care about Joe previous, outdated business ventures.

change in s & n

According to Ziegfried, some in the Figaro military already had weapon tricks up their sleeves, tricks that were comparable to some of his own. Again, this was an astounding revelation, but it was also vague. I had to see these tricks in question for myself.

The training room of the command center was packed. Troopers and officers had gathered to watch and learn, as had Cyan, my brother, and I. Finally, this was a chance to compare Sabin's blitzes to Zeigfried's weapon skills.

Rodney Hayne was up. The Staff Sergeant was demonstrating a weapon technique of his own, using his favored twin short swords. The target was a large burlap sack stuffed to the gills with desert sand.

"On your time, Hayne," instructed Ziegfried. Though he bore no uniform or military rank, he was given a privilege to issue directives during these training sessions, as he was the only one who knew the specifics.

Rodney eyed the sandbag before him. His fingers flexed repeatedly, inched from his swords' handles. At last, the matching blades were drawn with a single, synchronized ringing noise, both swords readied in one smooth motion. The weapons glinted at they reflected light from above. Or were Rodney's blades actually glowing with his transmitted soul energy? Swishing noises marked his cutting motions. First came the left blade. A high-pitched scraping noise announced the blade's contact with the overstuffed sandbag. Sand exploded from the incision as Rodney lifted his other sword. More sand filled the air following the right blade's cut. The top half of the sandbag didn't just fall, it flew across the room, spinning at least four flips and spewing sand about like dust before landing at the feet of the nearest observing troops.

The on-looking soldiers cheered as Rodney raised both his swords proudly. The speed and strength he demonstrated when chopping through that sandbag were incredible. Using mere handheld weapons, the Staff Sergeant created force which rivaled that of an airship's propeller. The gleam of the sword blades vanished. That's when I understood, the gleam was no reflection of light, but a result of spirit energy.

Impressive as it was, Rodney's demo didn't wreak havoc like Ziegfried's Hyper-drive technique. Still, Rodney's move was quicker. I couldn't say which move was better.

Without saying a word, the champion of Dragon's Neck approached the lower half of the sandbag. His long sword was drawn. Rodney assumed an offensive stance. The two men squared off for a second, until Ziegfried said "Go." Both of Rodney's blades were pointed forward, and the Staff Sergeant rushed the gladiator. Ziegfried deflected the twin sword charge, parrying the two blades to the side. Rodney sidestepped, flowing with Ziegfried's motion instead of against it. This threw the arena champion off a little, but with a back step and a twist, the gladiator not regained his footing and spaced himself away from Rodney before the NCO could strike. The gladiator swung his long blade from side to side at waist level, a common keep-away tactic.

Rodney assessed the passes of the long sword, looking for the perfect moment to enter and disrupt the horizontal pattern. He chose the precise moment, rushing in with his shorter weapons, swinging his right sword down onto Ziegfried's piece while readying a thrust with the left. Ziegfried's reaction was to duck and sidestep, pulling his sword out from beneath Rodney's. The NCO's thrust motion carried him forward a step, but he quickly turned before Ziegfried stood up to full height. When they faced each other again, all three weapons were emitting that strange glow.

Rodney swung high in a wide cross from his right, and Ziegfried answered with an upwards parry. The two blades collided, and a small but ample bang rang out. A cloud of sparks burst from the intersecting weapons, a combo of friction and, if I presumed correct, clashing waves of channeled spirit energy.

Ziegfried remained on his feet, but Rodney was sent reeling. He landed on his right side with a thud. "And I lose again," he groaned, but smiled upon holding up his right hand. "Though at least I still got the blade in my hand, unlike last time."

The gladiator knelt down and offered his hand to Rodney, who sheathed his right sword and accepted the help. "Your technique is impressive, but your energy level has yet to withstand my own."

"Awe shucks," remarked the slightly disappoint Staff Sergeant once he'd gotten to his feet.

"1st Lieutenant Edderbricht," Ziegfried called out. As Rodney sheathed his other sword and rejoined the crowd of troops, Paul emerged carrying his favored melee weapon, a long-handled morning star with a long point on the top. The weapon had both swinging and thrusting options. He tossed his crude ponytail off his shoulder and held his long mace in a ready position. Paul and Ziegfried eyed one another, until the former nodded, prompting the latter to raise his long sword for an overhead strike. The long blade came down upon the pole mace's shaft with a loud metallic bang that resonated for a second afterward. Paul forced Ziegfried backwards.

The champion gladiator pointed his blade forward from chest height, parallel with the floor. The long sword's business end was glowing yet again.

Paul was less subtle in his movements. He spun the long mace vertically in front of himself. Though I could not make out its physical details, I could see an aura coming from the long morning star. Both men were 'charging' their weapons.

Ziegfried raised his weapon high and stepped up to Paul, whose mace was a blurry windmill of shapeless lights by this point. I assumed nothing, but waited for the weapons to collide once more. Finally, pole mace and long sword were brought against each other. The results were not fully unexpected, but there were still surprises to be found.

The noise was more spectacular. A sharp drawn-out crash like muted thunder burst from the two interlocked weapons. A brilliant ellipse of light flashed between them, its color flashing between white and vague hues of blue and yellow.

The elliptical blaze pulsed for a moment as the two men pushed against one another's melee arms. Then, both warriors were pushed away from each other, the blaze flaring out as like a transparent white bubble. The noise resembled a low rumbling wind, blended with an energetic humming. A sudden breeze hit my face, causing me to blink. Sand on the floor was blown about, and several observing troops uttered curses and exclamations of awe.

When the unnatural breeze died, the white energy bubble faded, and the noise stopped. Paul and Ziegfried faced off, weapons ready, sans that glow.

Had the flash, rumble, and wind current been a result of clashing, discharged spirit energy? It looked as if Ziegfried pulled another Hyper-drive, which Paul somehow blocked and deflected using a similar technique of his own.

Sabin's eyes lit up, and not from any channeled spirit energy. He leaned in close and whispered. "A force-field of sorts, much like my aurashield blitz." I gave him an acknowledging look but said nothing, my attention on the technique demo.

The champ of Olistes took a kneeling position and swung from his left. The Lieutenant countered with the balled end of the mace. This was simply a collision of weapons. No thunderous bang, no flash of light, and no artificial breeze followed this clash. But I did notice a small glint in the butt end of Paul's mace. The pummel end was smaller than the head end, lacking spikes to boot. Yet the 1st Lieutenant was able to spin the pole by the shaft and use the butt end for parrying. After repelling Ziegfried's blade, Paul spun his mace and delivered a second blow using the pummel tip. Another metallic bang, and Ziegfried's long sword went flying from his grip, clanking on the tile floor and skidding several feet away.

"Disarmed," said Paul in his usual voice, a gruff voice that sounded like he'd not spoken in years, or days, more likely. Paul wasn't much of a talker. Not that he was unfriendly. He just never spoke unless he had a reason to. He was much less outgoing than Rodney, and had more in common with Ziegfried in that regard.

"For the moment, I am," announced Ziegfried, "but only for the moment. Losing your grip on your piece is a very common issue, and as such, there is a means to deal with it." He reached for his long sword, a dozen feet beyond his grasp.

The blade quivered, as if another breeze was nudging it. Then, it slid along the floor, before lifting off the ground and returning to the gladiator's outstretched palm, almost retracing the path it took when Paul knocked it from Ziegfried's grip.

More cheers came from the present military staff. "Disarmed no more." Ziegfried faced the army personnel, bowing as though he'd just won a match in the coliseum's fight pit. He was getting a similar applause, on a smaller scale.

"Do you recognize that…weapon retrieval technique?" I asked my brother.

"No. I've never seen something like that before," Sabin answered, his eyes locked on the highly-talent gladiator before us.

As the cheering subsided, the collection of military troops began firing off questions faster than an auto-crossbow. I could barely decipher one question before the next cut it off.

"Ladies and gentleman." Cyan stepped next to the gladiator and raised his hands to shoulder level, palms down. "Calm yourselves. Have patience, and ask Sir Ziegfried your questions one by one."

Ziegfried gave the Doman a nod of thanks. As he'd already confessed, the arena's champion fighter was hardly a teacher. His greatest challenge thus far was not in the Dragon's Neck fight pit, but here in the military command center, dealing with excited military troops, each with his or her share of twenty questions. The overwhelmed Ziegfried turned to Cyan's teaching expertise to help him through.

Cyan was doing just that right now. "You first." He pointed to a female soldier in the crowd.

"Was that telekinesis, or something like it?" asked the young woman.

The gladiator reached out with his blade. "Not at all. You can't move just any object like that. It's all part of the spirit energy process. To move your weapon without physically touching it, you must first imbue it with spirit energy. Even then, once you're separated from the weapon, you can only move it towards yourself. There's no multidirectional use."

"So you can't direct missed arrows or rifle slugs using that technique?" asked another trooper.

"This technique doesn't work with most ranged weapons," stated Ziegfried while resting his long sword against his armored shoulder plate. "Because you don't actually touch the slugs or bolts when you're firing them, spirit energy cannot be channeled into said weaponry. However, this practice is commonplace for smaller throwing weapons, like discuses and boomerangs. Such weapons are often crafted for that very use."

The mention of boomerangs jarred my memory. Those curved throwing blades were among Locke's favorites. When he wasn't getting up close with small knives or magic-filled broadswords, the treasure hunter utilized long-range weapons like the wing edge boomerang and the full moon, a metallic hoop with spikes lining the outer edge. Every time he'd throw one, it would always return to his hand.

I quickly spoke up. "Our friend Locke Cole favored some of the weapons you just mentioned. Do these pieces grant the wielder ease in performing the technique?"

"They do make it easier to channel the spirit energy, yes. Some non-magical relics also grant or enhance fighting abilities." Ziegfried finished his reply before addressing another trooper.

Relics. Many of them were void of magic and still made life easier in ways worth noting. Some increased dexterity, others reaction time, and there were others that boosted the wearer's agility.

In a world without magic, new possibilities were coming to light, some of which I knew about already, others which I'd only discovered as of recent. Blitzes, relics, and various other techniques involving an individual's spirit energy would prove more than vital.

What you don't know about your own world is enough to be a whole different world in itself. The Empire and Kefka were literally becoming more outdated with each passing day.

"T'is time for a brief recess," declared Cyan. Ziegfried immediately departed the training room, quite eager to free himself from the army's growing list of twenty questions. One of the troops carried a broom and dustpan, cleaning up the spilled sand from Rodney's demo.

I thought about weapons and relics for a moment, until a woman called my name. "King Edgar, have you a minute?"

Deanne Sarholme stood next to me. The 2nd Lieutenant looked over her shoulder at the doorway to the main hall.

I smiled. "Yes. It's the perfect time, though I must be brief." Deanne pointed to the hallway outside, and I made my way past chattering soldiers to the door. In the hall stood Chancellor Pierre Gurdeaux and Minister Antonio Larsone. "Greetings gentlemen, what can I do for you?"

The look on Pierre's face was rather stale. "My liege, I've good news, and depressing news. Which first?"

My throat was dry. The answer should've rolled off my tongue, but I was hesitant. "What's the good news?"

Antonio exchanged a glance with Pierre. "The Reservoir Guild completed the most recent stretch of plumbing, and is ready to move on to the next."

"Fantastic." I swallowed, prepared for the hard part. "And the depressing news?"

The two men eyed one another, unsure of who'd give me the dreaded reply. It was the Minister who took a deep breath. "Well, as I'm sure you know, the construction zone is moving further into the more densely packed regions of town."

"Yes, that means progress." I stopped, unsure. "Or does it?"

"It's been moving thus far, King Edgar," said Pierre. "You're correct on that."

So why the depressing news? Was there some obstacle to the construction process?

Antonio held up a folder he'd been carrying. "Sire, I think it's best if you see the displays." The Treasury Minister flipped through the pages until he found a graph of sorts. He gave me the sheet in question.

I read the figures. "Yes, I'm well aware of the parts cost."

Antonio pulled another sheet from the folder. "You must also be aware if this."

I took the second paper. It was a map of Figaro City. The areas of plumbing completion had been outlined. I was seeing a pattern. "Is that it?"

"I'm afraid not." The Minister frowned, and pulled out one final sheet. This was a maintenance report.

I observed all three papers, the bill, the map, and the report. Now I realized why 'depressing' was Pierre's choice word.

The Chancellor met my gaze. "You know what this means, Your Highness?"

Did I really want to?

change in s & n

The trains which connected Narshe to Figaro's capital weren't just pieces of transit. They were also quite functional in the convenience department. The seats were cushioned, comfortable for the long rides I took between home and the capital frequently, with blitz lessons or farm work being the top destinations. While the elevated tracks offered descent views of the town, I'd often ignore the scenery and sink into my own internal thoughts.

The train had just entered Figaro City from the northeast district. I had quite a ways before my stop in the farms along the south, so it was time for some introspective thought on a particular subject, and particular someone.

I'd been thinking about Terra more and more, especially since we'd last spoken a few days back. Once again, she'd been waiting for me at the train stop near the farm, waiting to speak with me about stuff that, while not urgent, was of importance to her.

Our discussions were meaningful to that woman, for whatever reason. She felt compelled to inform me about the history of espers, beyond the popular hysteria which was only half of the truth. Why she wanted to offer me this insight remained unknown, but I could definitely say it changed my outlook. Until our first official meal together at Ghearn's Coop, I'd been just like my fellow Narsheans regarding my opinion on espers. They were vile, sadistic, and unstable alien beings that bore no redeeming qualities and had no place in this world. Yet through Terra, I was reassessed that viewpoint. She never said that espers were collectively an innocent breed, but her words revealed far more than the infamous lust for destruction which had long stereotyped the ancient beings. As she'd interacted with various ones in the past, I could take her words as genuine. Had someone else quoted her in the exact same words, I doubted they'd even be half as convincing.

In this post-magic world, such details were meaningless. Why even consider magic and its beings when they'd long faded from our dimension. Terra knew this, I was sure, but she still felt it was essential that I know what she'd learned some years back. Regardless of her motivations, I could not just shrug off her actions.

There was a strong chance that she was opening herself up to me by sharing her knowledge. She'd saved my life almost five months back, and that obviously meant something to her. Granted, after what she did with her friends, the mere act of saving one life would seem humble in comparison, but I presumed nothing. What she did for me was benevolent, no matter how it appeared on her scale. Even if I first believed otherwise, that I was simply just another person in her life, it was obvious that she saw me through any lens but.

If she was opening herself up, maybe she hoped that I'd eventually reciprocate and come out of my own closet. I'd already been forced out more than once. That chance encounter with the irate, resentful woman at the train stop revealed too much for comfort. Later, after the Shedairah search, I had another chance encounter with one of their local contacts, Narshean Senator Arvis Wexler. Being that she was a mutual friend between us, Terra broke down at this confrontation. The dubious acts of my father and his partners in crime were revealed against my choosing. Edgar had known on some level about them already, but the others present received a crash course in my family's history.

I had secrets, and Terra knew that much. She didn't know what they were exactly, but she undoubtedly wanted to. I couldn't blame her, and was actually glad she was curious in that compassionate manner. Still, my past was a touchy subject for me, even among the right people, the best people with whom I could share it.

But regardless of how I felt on my end, Terra felt compassionate on hers. She was more than curious about what had been fucking with me for all these years. In the days and weeks after meeting Terra's circle of friends, I'd bonded with more individuals than I had in so many previous years of my life combined. If there was one person who'd influenced my life the most in a positive way, it could only be Terra. She'd saved my life, and that was influential by itself. That she had this amazing group of friends almost seemed like a bonus, with long-lasting benefits. When I first learned of her impressive Returner status at the Starnisden clinic, I was almost beside myself with awe. I never thought I'd be meeting that ragtag band of stars and wonders personally, never mind having one play a substantial role in my life, such as preventing my untimely, unnatural death.

After that, I felt like a mite in the shadow of Sayitheren's greatest. There was no modesty. Not everyone can accomplish what Returners do, but I didn't think Terra would view me as anything special after all she and her friends had been through, and survived.

As of recent, I was seeing how wrong I'd been to assume that. Terra and her friends never saw me as below them, and I had no reason to act as if they were above me. Sure, they had fame and a track record that I did not and likely never would, but in all other aspects the Returners were treating me as an equal. In time, I was doing the same.

The new conclusion was inevitable, and obvious. Terra and I weren't as different as I'd first thought. She had a special place in my life, and knew it in full. There'd be a time to level with each other, because I was increasingly aware that I had some place of importance in her life. I'd have to decipher what that place truly was.

And I was beginning to wonder if her place in my life was more than just that of a heroine.

change in s & n

It had been a while, more then fours, since I'd last set foot in Tzen. Despite that lapse of time, I still remembered a few things about House Virnone's territory. Some of them remained unchanged.

Tzenish aesthetic design was strongly built around straight lines and cube forms. Even rounded objects were often decked out in straight line patterns, lines that could intersect at many angles. Groups of parallel lines would cross with other groups and singular line stretches. This simple design style was visible just about everywhere I could look. Every single feature of architecture was fashioned like this in some way, from building facades, to patterns in stone walkways, to signage. Fine arts like wallpaper designs and handicraft work also made use of straight line formations. Recently, curves were becoming more apparent. Squares and rectangles sometimes had rounded edges, as were visible in certain doorways, windows, and sign shapes.

Other aspects were very different than before. One of the changes was clearly recent. Tzen was under martial law now. Fighting with Maranda before losing that brigade to some foe that was unlikely Albrook (our wonderful Nyufalng selves), House Virnone was expectedly becoming hostile and paranoid. Every possible entrance to the Virnone domain was tightly patrolled, with garrisons and makeshift HQ's established in various towns, Tzen's namesake capital being the mostly tightly guarded. This made getting there quite inconvenient.

The first stretch of travel was easy. After packing our essentials and treating ourselves to a hearty breakfast, the three of us boarded a land cruisers and ride north. For two and a half hours we enjoyed the luxury of such transit. However, just before clearing the remains of the Logrius Mountains, we had to disembark the armored land car. We'd barely crossed over into Tzenish land by that point, and if the land car went any further, we'd have risked arousing suspicion. On foot, we trekked through the woodland hills, enjoying an improvised lunch of trail mix and mountain spring freshwater. Then we came to our first real piece of business.

At the northern end of the Logrius range was the Tzenish settlement of Rosseaund. It was now a garrison town, a checkpoint that was impossible to avoid for anyone coming from Albrook's direction. Even if one chose to bypass the town and head northwest for the Dimofres Mountains, various patrols were scouting for anyone doing exactly that. To keep from invoking suspicion, we headed for the secured garrison directly.

The armies of House Virnone had Rosseaund completely under their control. As we'd expected, guards questioned us before we could enter. We had a cover story which they bought, largely because it was realistic. We were a family of three, brother, sister, and father. We'd been captured by Marandan forces and were fleeing our captors, our mother killed and our father viscously injured in the process, hence the bandages that covered his face.

Our story could've been unique, but it was nothing special. Tens of thousands from Tzen's lower and middle class lived in meager settlements along the Dimofres's eastern edge. The retreating forces of Maranda had vindictively sacked and torched various towns, which had survived the great collapse only to suffer demise from the Duke's army. With so many refugees, the military set up various patrols to reel them all into the garrison of Rosseaund. House Virnone was eager to protect its subjects because it could (what else) exploit the commoners' desperation.

Once a major trading hub, Rosseaund now served as a crowded refugee camp. At least we fit in perfectly. A 'widower and his two children' were just three more faces amid thousands. Our point of interest was nearest train station. The railroad still functioned, though the trains hardly ran on time given the security measures of the newly enforced martial law. But we had no specified schedule to keep. Our contact in Tzen understood that getting to House Virnone's capital would take time, what with refugees crowding as they were.

Finding the train station was beyond simple. Getting to it was the real part. All that stood between us and the station was a few thousand more refugees. The lines for the train stop extended well past a mile beyond its gates, forming along one of the major boulevards. Foot traffic from intersecting roads had been diverted overhead, as construction scaffolds were used for making on-the-spot bridges. To keep the waiting line organized, the military set up razor wire fences on both sides. Motorized armor units were included in these crowd control elements.

After four hours, we boarded the train at last. Once inside, we were crammed like sardines. Seats were first come, first serve, but small favors can be found by those who know what to look for. None of us got seats, but we had a view through the window. We could see the woods and fields of the Tzenish countryside, and even some ruins of former towns. Tzen's conflict with Maranda had ravaged the former's inhabited regions for the most part. Rosseaund and the capital were still functioning, though not without strict government regulations.

An hour and half later, the train finally pulled into a depot outside of House Virnone's capital. Another crowed awaited us outside the train car. However, the lines flowed faster. This was the capital, not an outpost which connected Tzen to the unclaimed land in the continent's core. This was the heart and soul of House Virnone's military monolith, an echo of the Empire from four years ago.

Tzen was flanked by dull, fortified walls. They enclosed a great deal of this southeastern corner. In these walls were gates through which people could enter, once they'd been granted permission. Foot soldiers were in charge of searching people and admitting them. Mounted cavalry and walking armor units kept close eyes on those awaiting entry. It took less than one hour to get from the train's platform to the front of the entry line.

Once there, our foresight was rewarded yet again. Just as they'd patted us down in Rosseaund, soldiers here were also scanning our bags, pockets, even our shoes and socks. They'd all but strip searched us. After some search and fondling, they let us go to the next gate.

We passed the first gate because we lacked anything that would raise eyebrows. We carried no weapons and wore no armor beneath our coats. I still had my tongue, which I'd presently shaped into a normal looking body part, but my 'brother' had nothing aside from his raw brains and brawn. We'd have to remedy this lack of equipment before raising any hell.

Fortunately, our 'dad' wasn't questioned regarding his bandages. His raspy voice made his injury tale more credible. His skin tone was unlike that of a normal person, but the color wasn't so off that it would catch the eyes of troops and guardsman. With his face and hands covered in bandages like so, his visible flesh could be overlooked as blister wounds.

Finally, the second gate, and the last obstacle between ourselves and Tzen's capital. A pair of troops was on guard here. One man held a clipboard and a pencil, the other carried a small tray.

"Good evening, and welcome to Tzen." The man with the pad and paper greeted us in a voice that was machinelike and almost monotone. "And you are?"

Our bogus father stepped forward. "Gustav LeVard." He placed a hand on each of our shoulders. "My son Ben, and my daughter Vanessa." The guard scribbled our false names down.

The soldier with the small tray flipped it open. It was an ink pad. "Place your prints next to your names."

I glanced at my company, then at the paper list. The top sheet was almost full of names, all of which had thumb prints to the left. While revealing my prints the Tzenish military was hardly appealing, not doing so would blow our cover. Besides, there were thousands of names and prints on that list. The more we blended in, the more likely we'd be forgotten. I swallowed, pressed my right thumb upon the ink pad, and left my print next to my pseudonym. My bogus brother followed, and my 'father' went last. Did he even have prints at this point in his life? He obviously had something, and it satisfied the guards. They signaled others to open the gate, and we passed through. Welcome to Tzen.

This had been a first for me, the first time I'd been around a Tzenish soldier without trying to chop off the man's balls.

Tzen was large, just as I remembered it. With martial law and curfews in place, military presence was naturally at an all time high. Every street corner had a squad of armors watching for trouble, and these armors came outfitted with those goddamned metal sphere cannons. We distanced ourselves from them at the moment.

We strode through the city, freely moving about, no longer hemmed in by fellow passengers or lines of refugees. As we crossed a bridge over a creek, all passersby were far away. For now, we were beyond earshot. I leaned close to my 'brother' and whispered, "Feeling okay." I was still intent on keeping the good habit until we'd reached our destination.

Ambrose leaned back. "Of course. To bury the past, I'll make a difference in the present. Don't forget, my idea got us through that gate. Our tale was more convincing, thanks to my input." Our aliases hadn't been totally fabricated for the Corporal. LeVard was his mother's maiden name, and Ambrose was using the first name of his late brother. "I'll be fine." He didn't sound the least bit agitated or stressed. Just as Ruqojjen predicted, Ambrose had no qualms about coming here on a mission. A couple walked past us. Once they were gone, he whispered, "Where's this guy live again? Once I know, I can direct us to his place more easily."

"In the Gabier District," said Baokiydu, readjusting his disguise of bandages. His voice was gravelly, even with a hushed volume. "It's a bit north and considerably west of here."

We lacked a map, but since Ambrose knew Tzen by heart, he carried a map in his head, and guided us to the nearest carriage outpost. It was dark by the time we'd walked those ten blocks and flagged down a passing coach. Lights were coming on all around, in windows, lamp poles, building signs, even on the units of patrol armors.

Another issue we'd dealt with in advance; money. Real Tzenish refugees wouldn't pay with currency from Albrook. The dead soldiers from that brigade solved that problem for us. They had thousands in Tzenish currency on their persons. We'd kept the money for potential use later on. It came in handy much sooner than expected.

Ambrose paid the carriage driver with the smallest money denominations we had, as using the larger ones and asking for change would certainly expose our low profile. Peasants didn't carry that much money. We climbed in and took seats. I could finally sit for the first time since departing the armored land rover just before noon.

Since Ambrose knew our destination, he directed the coach driver through various shortcuts. The man was happy to oblige, since major intersections were patrolled by military staff directing the heavy flows of traffic.

Soon, we came near our choice destination. However, instead of departing right there, Ambrose instructed the carriage master to stop just around the corner. "Here? Okay. Just know the inns are pretty much booked for time being," said the driver. "There are no shelters close by in this district either."

"We're good." Baokiydu opened the carriage door and stepped out, followed by the Corporal and myself.

The driver tipped his hat. "If you say so. Thanks for telling me about those short cuts. It beats going through search and seizure every cross street. But oh well, these soldiers are at least guarding the town and keeping us safe, so a substantial loss of freedom is worth the price of guaranteed security." The man frowned, hints of disbelief clouding his voice.

Our trio exchanged glances. Security is a ruse, mister. Giving up your freedom will not make you safe. Your guardians will use and abuse you. The other twos' thoughts likely mirrored mine, judging by their facial expressions.

The driver turned and rode off, probably heading back to the coach depot. The street was largely empty at this hour. Curfew was setting in. Only soldiers and a few privileged upper class would be permitted outside once this hour had passed. More armor units and mounted chocobos were stationed at the end of the street, gearing up for the pending nightly lockdown. "Jim's around the corner." I gestured to the southwest. "Not one block away."

Minutes later, we arrived before the two story house. Not much had changed since I'd seen it last. Lights on the roofed porch revealed the color schematic remained the same, pale blue stucco with dark blue trim. A new sapling grew from the lawn. To the left of the front porch was a window. A light shined through the drawn curtains.

"Nice place," remarked Ambrose in less of a whisper. His words betrayed nothing of our purpose.

"Inside should be impressive too, if it's unchanged," I said.

Atop the three porch steps, I pressed the doorbell. A single note rang at differing octaves from inside. The front hardwood door opened behind the wireframe screen. "Yes?" asked the unshaven man beyond.

Baokiydu did the honors. "Zranjihd, Maing Canavielle." Speaking Jyrsthovuhn was the perfect way to clarify our true selves to the man before us. I doubted anyone in Tzen besides us four could understand it, save for our other contacts.

Ambrose and I looked around, just to be sure no soldiers were eyeing us. When we'd ascertained that none were observing, I asked. "Shall we?"

The man unlatched the screen door and swung it outwards. "Come in."

Jim Canavielle was our mole in town, not the only one, but he did have access to some of the more valuable information we could dig up on Tzen's activity. He was a munitions engineer who worked in the factories, which had now been seized by Tzen's army. Jim was in charge of maintenance, and inspected factory machines regularly to keep them in working order. It was through him we'd first heard rumors of the artillery sphere cannons.

Because of his position in the military-controlled manufacturing plants, Jim had regular contact with House Virnone's top brass, and knew about various goings on which were unknown to the general public. Though it wasn't spoken around him, he was able to listen in when troops thought no prying ears were nearby. This talent, combined with his position in the factories where military tech was built, made him an ideal mole.

And this all came before his augmentation.

Once Jim closed and locked the front door, we let loose, no longer speaking in whispers and using pseudonyms. Baokiydu removed his full disguise of long coat, fedora hat, and bandages.

"Welcome." Jim took our coats and placed them in a front hall closet. "I'm sure you're tired. When did you leave?"

"This morning," I answered. "We had breakfast and packed just after nine, and left Albrook shortly after. We took a lunch break in the woodland south of Rosseaund, where it took four hours to board a train for here."

"All things considered, you made remarkable progress in that time," Jim acknowledged. "I heard stories of people who've been waiting outside the town walls for nearly half a day. The entry lines must be flowing quicker now." He glanced at his wristwatch. "Had you been delayed any more, you would've been denied entry until morning. I'm sure you know about the curfews. They start at twenty-two hundred hours sharp every night." A small radio transmission had been exchanged between Jim and Ruqojjen, after we'd established plans to infiltrate House Virnone's HQ. Our mole of a mechanic explained the various new laws enacted after the brigade was accurately presumed KIA, such as curfews, checkpoints, and authorized search and seizures. "I'll take an estimated guess and presume you're hungry. I saved some dinner, should that be the case." Jim pointed to his kitchen.

"Starving," I declared. Thinking along such lines was a reminder of something else. I clutched at my groin. "And my bladder's going to burst soon. Is the bathroom still down the hall?"

"Your memory serves you well." Jim pointed to his first floor lavatory. "You know the way. I'll start the food." Ambrose and Baokiydu followed him to the kitchen while I headed for the back of the house to relieve myself.

I joined the others upon finishing. Jim was at the stove, while my two companions were seated. One thing I remembered that was still here, the kitchen floor's tile design. It was made from squared tiles of three different colors, an orchid color that mixed red with magenta, a deep yellow akin to butterscotch candies, and a dark blue that first appeared as black until closer examination. Tiles of all three colors were speckled with white, as if someone had dripped wet plaster along each of them. Diverse color coordinating balanced out the line-based aesthetic.

"I didn't think I'd be entertaining a Pung Thoshidei in my own home," Jim remarked. "And how are you, Miss Ajalni, the sweet girl with, excuse the expression, a nasty tongue?"

I pulled out a chair and took a seat. "I'm relieved, if that's what you're wondering."

"Funny," he stated while opening a cabinet next to the oven. He pulled out three dinner plates shaped like octagons, a typical shape used in Tzenish flatware. He placed ones before Baokiydu, me, and Ambrose. "I'm pleased to meet another countryman in arms, Corporal Guelled." He and Jim made formal introductions while I'd been taking that leak. They hadn't known each other until this evening, despite them both being Tzenish nationals.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, and to be here," Ambrose returned. "But while it's common ground for the two of us, country is not the most sanctified entity, even if I claim pride in my Tzenish blood."

Jim lifted the drawn curtains and peeked out the kitchen window. While curfew had yet to initiate, I could hear the distant thumps of mechanical feet outside. Night watch patrols were getting ready. "Many people here take pride in sharing culture with House Virnone," muttered Jim while peeking through the curtains. "I'm one of the few who believes House Virnone brings shame to the Tzenish people."

We all understood Jim's mindset. There was no need to elaborate. As our host laid out napkins and utensils, Baokiydu got down to business. "What's it been like here, since the brigade fell?"

Jim opened another cabinet and fetched three dinking glasses. "The House almost blew an artery. The whole military was furious too, but their own feelings were secondary once riots among the lower class became a concern. A very popular Brigadier General was in that brigade, and his death nearly drove the people insane."

Baokiydu scoffed. "Ah, a General. I knew the Dragoon Knight whom Dyal'xern cut in half with that compressed air wave had some special value to the troops. After seeing the Dragoon get chopped up, the nearby grunts went mad and just charged with no regard for tactics or formation. I was a bit surprised, but we still cleaned house. I never would've considered that Dragoon anything spectacular. All those blind-sided patriots are the same to me."

Yithadri had been right. We did brew a shit storm when slaughtering that brigade. But one part of Jim's answer was confusing. "Riots among the commoners?" I asked.

Jim carried a pitcher of apple juice to the table, placing it in the center between us. "I know this may sound odd and disheartening, but unquestioning patriotism doesn't stop with nobles and soldiers. Plenty of middle class men and women here also believe House Virnone is the be-all, end-all of existence. At first, I believed people spoke like that simply to earn approval, but with time I realized such praise was genuine. A whole legion of new recruits joined the army once martial law had been established, youths eager to serve the 'almighty' House once extra military openings became available."

I sulked. "And here I thought we could rally the lower class to our cause by showing them alternatives to House nobility. Now I realize they actually like tyranny. Great. More ignorance to clean up."

Our late dinner was ready. Jim filled our plates with stewed rabbit, topped with thinly sliced mushrooms. I almost gobbled down my share, I was that hungry. Ambrose ate more casually, as did Baokiydu, for whom Jim had a question. "Care to feed your essence too?"

The Sensorian licked his chops. "It would help, but have you anything to accomplish such."

"Do I ever." Jim strode over to his ice box. "Once I heard that a Pung Thoshidei was heading for my pad, I figured it wise to prepare accordingly for such a guest." I could hear various objects being shifted around past the open ice box door. "I've heard a saying about Tzenish troops have lots of heart. Well, even though House Virnone's armies are void of brains and common sense, I won't argue against that statement. I know it's true."

The machinist closed the ice chest door, and I immediately understood him. In his hand was a glass bowl filled with ice cubes. Resting on the ice were two bloodied human hearts. "Got these from a couple of quarreling armor pilots in the factory. I tossed the bodies into a piston machine to make it look like an accident." He smiled, revealing his augmentation. Baokiydu gladly took one of the hearts and squeezed blood onto his meal.

After this late supper, there was no reason to stay up. I was tired from the full day of travel, and there was nothing we could accomplish in the city until morning. Curfew was in effect. The motorized stomps of patrol armors sounded with regularity every few minutes. Jim had two available guest rooms, and Baokiydu insisted on getting one for himself. Ambrose offered the remaining room to me, content with sleeping on the den's couch, but I was more than willing to share a room with the Corporal. For some reason, I was viewing him as more than just a comrade in arms.

I switched off the desk lamp and let myself to drift into thoughts. The metallic stomping of armor legs out in the streets was loud, but manageable. My last thoughts were of Baokiydu drenching blood onto his food at the dinner table, blood from a dead House Virnone lackey. Hopefully, more Tzenish blood spills would follow. We'd come to fuck with Tzen's military efforts after all.

I rolled over, shut my eyes, and pursued that thought before drifting into sleep.