Crescent Lake, Five Months Ago

"Are we all agreed?" Randell asked. Looking about the Circle of Sages, he saw nods of affirmation and firm resolve from the cowardly old men he led. The only two white mages present, his son Wrede and one of the younger ones Randell didn't know, made bitter faces, but they hadn't been able to argue with the Circle's black mage majority. Randell himself hadn't been able to talk them around. He nodded to the man guarding the door. "Show him in."

Bayard, the ship's captain, seemed a hard man at first glance, tight-lipped and steel-gazed, but Randell had spoken with him often in the week he'd been in the village and had found him to be intelligent and well-spoken. The captain strode to the center of the Circle chamber, his hat respectfully in hand, though his bald head was covered by the tied bandana he wore underneath. He didn't wait for the Circle to address him before he spoke. "Have you considered my request?"

"We have," Randell said.

It was all he needed to say. Bayard stared at him, apparently reading the bad news in his face. The captain's eyes flicked only briefly toward the grimacing white mages off to one side before he nodded. "I see." He replaced his hat and turned to go.

"Captain," Randell called. "Please. We wouldn't send you back to Melmond empty-handed. We've prepared a number of potions to-"

"I asked for white mages," Bayard said coldly. "What are we to do if these potions run dry before the plague does?"

Randell's eyes flicked to his son, who glared at him. Wrede had made the same argument only that morning, had begged his father to override the Circle's decision. Randell could do it, as head of the Circle, but he'd be voted out at the next meeting. Better to fail far-off Melmond than to be powerless the next time Crescent Lake faced trouble. "Our white mages are even now preparing more. Return to us as often as you need," he said.

Bayard nodded again, curtly. "How quickly can you arrange the first shipment?"

"Wrede?" Randell said. His son nodded. "The first batch is ready now."

"Send it to the harbor. We sail at dawn. I've wasted enough time here." He left, slamming the door behind him.

The Circle's meeting concluded soon after - that had been the last item on the agenda - but enough time had passed that Randell was surprised to find Bayard still in the antechamber, speaking with Jack. Randell's apprentice was a shy young man, not prone to speak to strangers, but the captain had been often enough in their company these past few days. "Captain," Randell said, approaching them. "If this is to be your last night with us, will you and your officers dine with me this evening?"

"I'm afraid I can't vouch for their manners once they hear the Circle's decision," said Bayard.

Randell smiled. "I believe your men will find me as ill-tempered as they are."

Bayard nodded and left toward the harbor. Doubtless, he had preparations to make. Randell was lost in his own thoughts for a moment, frustrated at how the meeting had gone, but an angry mutter brought him out of it. One of the departing sages glared at Randell and his apprentice as he passed. Randell sighed. "What are you doing here, Jack? You know apprentices aren't allowed." That wasn't entirely true, of course - the sages' apprentices were the exception to the rule - but Randell knew Jack made the other sages uncomfortable for a different reason. How can such learned, intelligent men be so superstitious? he thought.

"I was eavesdropping on the meeting," Jack said, with that infuriating calm he had.

Randell swiped his hand over his face, tamping down the knee-jerk reprimand that came to his tongue. It did no good to get angry at the boy: Jack would only respond with cool logic and a rational argument about why he was right. It was why Randell had agreed to take him on in the first place, that admirable control, but it annoyed him at present. His own control had been steadily waning since his forties, when Wrede was Jack's age, more than twenty years ago. Turning into my grandfather, Randell thought.

He motioned for Jack to follow him home. The apprentice was quiet as they pushed through the crowd of villagers outside the Circle chamber. Jack was always quiet, but this quiet was heavier than normal. Randall didn't address it until they approached the workshop beside his house. "You seem troubled."

"I don't understand the Circle's decision," Jack said.

Randell nodded. "Too many of Melmond's white mages have died of that plague. We can't risk our own to it, plain and simple."

"Bayard says Melmond's white mages were unprepared. The plague was on them before they knew it. Ours won't have that problem."

"We can't send them when we don't know that for a certainty."

Jack shrugged. "The white mages are Oath-bound to go, whether the Circle sends them or not."

Randell didn't respond as he unlocked the door to the messy building where he kept a number of interesting and flammable things, the tools of a fire mage. Once inside, he sat in his chair by the desk, motioning for Jack to sit across from him. "I know you know the White Oath," he said. Iris is sure to have taught him that, he thought. "What of the Black Oath?"

"I know it," Jack scoffed. "Lukahn hasn't been entirely remiss in his duties."

Randell nodded. He well knew the animosity between this boy and his guardian. Many in the village still believed this unimposing young man was the subject of that old prophecy; Lukahn, the prophet himself, was foremost among them. Superstitious cowards. We're supposed to be the stewards of this world. What have we become? He said, "Yes, well, many apprentices never hear it before the day they swear it. But if you know it, you know the uses of the aether."

Jack nodded. "'To build, to guide, to guard.'"

"Precisely. And who better to guard with our powers than those white mages who can't fight for themselves?"

"The people of Melmond, for a start." Jack leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of him. "The Oath doesn't specify who we guard."

Randell shook his head. "No, it doesn't. Only for how long." He looked expectantly at his apprentice.

"'While life is given to me,'" Jack said.

Randell smiled - the boy was so earnest. "Lukahn has taught you after all. Can you speak the whole thing from the beginning?"

Jack began dutifully: "'As I'm blessed to see the aether, so might I-"

"Stop," said Randell, interrupting his rote recitation. "I don't mean like that."

Jack's eyebrows drew together in confusion, his entire posture shifting as comprehension dawned. "Master Randell-"

"I'm not your master anymore. Not from today." He reached for Jack's right hand, shaping it into the sign of the word, a sign that was only ever used this one time in a black mage's life. "There. Now, draw the aether and hold it."

Randell felt the power move through the room, saw a white corona come to Jack's eyes, vulnerable eyes when he looked at Randell and asked, "Are you sure I'm ready?"

Randell sighed, looking about his cluttered workshop, at his experiments and his papers. The earnest young man he himself had been was buried in this mess somewhere, but Randell lacked the energy to dig him out. Old and set in our ways. All of the sages are. "You're ready. Say the words while they still mean something to you, Jack."

The young man hesitated, but Randell didn't hurry him. A moment like this took as long as it took. He remembered his own master, long dead now, witnessing his Oath so many years ago, and the memory of his belief in the words drifted through his mind like a perfume on the breeze, like the last scent of apple blossoms in the orchard after all the flowers have died.

"As I am blessed to see the aether, so may I bless others through the aether shaped by my will," Jack said, and Randell said it with him, if less fervently. "To build, to guide, to guard, but never to harm my fellow man, nor for selfish ends, but in service to Life while life is given to me, I swear to the aether and to myself so to stand."

The young man grew quiet after that. Randell could feel him releasing the aether, and when the corona left Jack's eyes, he was surprised to see tears there. He hadn't known his stoic apprentice could cry. Randell stood, turning away on the pretense of straightening some papers on a side table. "Well," he said, his own voice thick with emotion he hadn't realized was there. He cleared his throat and began again. "I have things to see to here."

He heard the chair scraping against the floor as Jack stood to go. Don't forget this day. Don't forget what you're feeling in this moment, he thought. He almost said it aloud, but he heard the latch open and close again, and then it was too late. Randell sat in his chair, alone and remembering, staring at the detritus of his studies until tears blurred his sight.

The Mondmer Coast, Present Day

Perhaps, Redden considered, the constant company of the other two mages was wearing on his introverted companion. Hagen and Grifford walked at the front of the line, relaxed and laughing, sticking by Jack as though they had been his best friends since childhood. Jack seemed to regard them with weary tolerance, like an older brother tasked with watching a pair of curious toddlers, no matter that he was many years younger than these two. Redden walked behind them with his son, listening. Grifford asked Jack if his parents had been mages, and Jack gave a short, sharp reply.

"Is it just me, or is it like they're studying him?" Kane whispered.

"It's not just you," Redden said. His son had a good instinct for people; he'd never known Kane to have a bad friend. Jack had been so calm, so controlled, when they'd met in Cornelia. His quiet demeanor had gone a long way toward keeping Kane calm as well, for which Redden was exceedingly grateful. His son would never admit it, but Redden knew the prophecy - the enormity of it - frightened him. It had always been Kane's way to buckle down and face his fears, but that didn't mean he was fearless.

They were three days from the Keep, heading south along the coast of the Mondmer, following where the mages led them. After that dinner with Astos, they'd cleared enough space in the huge dining hall for Jack to chalk a ritual circle into the floor and the lot of them had watched as he bound the aether into one of the old crowns so that it would point them, like a compass, toward the current one. The spell only worked for a black mage, and only when the aether sight was active; it was too much to expect from one mage alone.

They had set out the next morning with Hagen and Grifford in tow, at Astos's suggestion. The three mages led, taking turns passing the crown between them. Redden and Kane kept to the middle of the party, while Orin and Refial walked behind. It hadn't taken much persuasion to convince Refial to keep his own powers a secret. The pirate was used to being held in reserve, Sleeping his crewmates' enemies from the sidelines and without warning. Redden wanted to trust the mages, but he felt it best to be prepared.

Occasionally, when the path ahead looked difficult, Grifford would pull a white stone sphere from his pocket and peer into it before directing them around whatever obstacles lay ahead. Redden had heard of seeing stones, but Jack never took Grifford at his word, always reached for the stone and studied it himself before they moved on. Redden couldn't tell if Jack distrusted these two or if that was merely the fire mage's usual reticence. The two men constantly attempted to engage him in conversation, asking about his education and about life in Crescent Lake, but they hadn't succeeded in drawing him out.

Kane winced, sucking a breath through his teeth when he heard Grifford ask Jack if he had a girl back home and Jack merely glared in reply. "If they tried to talk to him about magic, they'd have better luck," Kane said. "They'd never get him to shut up."

"They won't, though," said Redden. "They think they're better mages than he is."

"Are they?" Kane asked.

Redden was reluctant to speak poorly of the boy, but as far as he could tell, Jack was only an average mage. There were hierarchies among black mages that Redden didn't understand. Their aether reserves, their casting methods, their fields of study, all played into it. During Jack's ritual in the Keep, Redden had been impressed by how naturally the spell came to him, by his fluency in Leifenish, but when Jack sank to his knees, panting from his efforts, Redden noticed the sneer Astos had not been quick enough to hide. That spell had all but wiped him out; still, Astos hadn't thought the boy could pull it off at all. It wasn't the first time Redden had seen Jack succeed through sheer stubbornness against daunting odds.

"No, son," he said. "Jack is worth ten of them. Easily."

They continued south, passing open country with no sign of the Rot. That surprised Redden, as here on the coast they were closer to Melmond than they had been in the groves. Maybe it doesn't originate in Melmond after all, he thought, but late that afternoon, Grifford consulted the crystal sphere he carried and declared they were coming up on it at last.

Jack held out a hand for the crystal and peered at it, a worried crease forming between his eyebrows. "He's right. Beyond that stretch, it's all Rot."

Redden moved closer to look over his shoulder, but to him the artifact was only a white stone. He clapped Jack on the back, saying, "I'll heal you through it."

They made their camp on a grassy cliff overlooking the sea. It was a warm night, but the breeze off the water was cool and pleasant. In the hours before sundown, Kane and Refial wandered off, coming back with three fat seabirds they claimed to have "hunted up" for dinner. As clever as Hagen and Grifford thought themselves to be, neither seemed to realize Kane had only a sword, and that Refial had no weapon at all. The three black mages ate quickly, settling in for sleep as soon as they'd finished. Working the aether for so long was exhausting, and mages slept hard as their powers replenished, but still Redden and the others took turns guarding the camp at night as much to protect the mages as to keep an eye on Astos's men.

When Redden took his turn, a few hours shy of sunrise, the campfire had burned down to only a few glowing coals. He considered coaxing it to life again for the light if not for the warmth, but decided against it; they were a few days short of the full moon, and there was light enough from that. Almost a full cycle of the moon since we left, he thought. As Redden watched the moonlight play across the waves below, Jack started awake with a gasp, looking frantically about their camp.

"You're alright, lad," Redden called quietly. "Go back to sleep."

The young mage jumped again at the sound of his voice, eyes snapping to Redden in a white corona of panic before he seemed to realize where he was. He sagged visibly as he released the aether, rubbing his face with his hands.

When Jack stood and came to stand beside the glowing embers, Redden added a few twigs to the ashes, poked them with a stick until a small flicker grew there, and said, "You need your rest. This is too early even for you."

Jack shook his head, apparently too disturbed by his dream to speak.

Redden nodded, understanding. He had his own dreams like that, dreams of his brother, of the thing that had killed him. There would be no more sleep for Jack tonight. "Have a seat," he said.

He waited, watching the fire rather than the young man beside him as he composed himself. When the fire had taken hold and no longer needed tending, he glanced toward Jack. The mage was gazing out to sea, but he must have sensed Redden looking at him. He spoke haltingly, but firmly. "I wanted to talk to you. About what you said. About Lena."

He sounded so young. Redden sometimes forgot how young Jack was - whip smart, rational for his age, but scarcely older than Kane. And like Kane, Jack had not reacted well to being told the girl he fancied was out of the question. Redden regretted telling him; things had been uneasy between them ever since. He nodded for Jack to continue.

Jack took a deep breath before plowing on with a certainty that Redden envied. "You have your reasons for believing as you do. But I have mine."

It was clear he expected an argument, but Redden chuckled at his serious tone. "Words like that have started as many wars as they've ended. But-" and here he held up a hand to stop Jack's next comment, "I would have peace between us." He sighed, considering his next words carefully. With Kane, he had to dance around this sort of thing, but he suspected he didn't need to with Jack, that he could say what was on his mind and let Jack sort out the details. "I'm not your father, lad - for all I know, I'm nothing to you. But I do want what's best for you. I wouldn't see you hurt. I only told you because I thought it was right. I've said everything I intend to say on the matter."

Jack nodded, his expression lost on Redden behind the scarf he wore.

Redden stifled a yawn. He stood, stretching, and turned toward the spot where the others were laid out. "If you're going to be up for awhile, I believe I'll go back to sleep."

He turned back at Jack's quiet, "Redden…" The mage kept his eyes down, and hesitated long before he spoke again, as if the words stuck in his throat and had to be pulled free. "You're not nothing. You're my friend."

And that was not nothing at all. Shy as the boy was, he would not have declared such a thing unless he meant it. The young fire mage seemed embarrassed now, looking to sea again. Redden smiled. "What do you think of Figaro?"

"What?" Jack asked, confused enough to look up at him.

"As a surname," Redden explained. "It's the name of a Melmond folk hero. Clever man who defeated his enemies with his wits alone. Seems the sort of figure you might look up to."

Jack shrugged, looking away. "I'm not sure that's a good fit, sir."

"Well, think on it. And think fast. Kane's already told me if you don't choose one, he's choosing for you. You do not want that to happen. The boy's terrible with names." He chuckled at the way Jack's eyes widened in worry, then turned back to his bedroll on the grassy slopes behind them.

The mages led them south through the Rot, following aether trails Kane couldn't see. He didn't mind being led - he had other concerns at the moment.

"I don't think I've ever sweated so much in my life," Refial said, panting from the heat.

"I know," Kane agreed. This wasn't the heat of high summer - spring had only just ended - but the moistness of the Rot seemed to permeate the air itself, a still, heavy air with no hint of a breeze, and the sun not yet halfway to its peak. The sweat sat on Kane's skin without evaporating as they trekked through the sludge that had once been solid ground and the slimy, decaying vegetation that once thrived there.

Refial went on, "I don't mean 'On any other given day in my life.' I mean, 'In the whole of my life up to this moment.'"

"I know," Kane repeated, wiping his dripping brow with a handkerchief that was already soaked and coated in grime. It made no difference - the little cloth had reached its limits. Kane grimaced at it, then tossed it to the ground, shaking his head.

"Here," Jack said from in front of him, holding out a black handkerchief, clean and unused. His tall friend still wore his coat over what Kane knew to be a long-sleeved shirt. In his other gloved hand he carried the scarf he normally used to cover his face, folded over and over into a thick wad that he held over his nose and mouth. He and the other mages were uncomfortable with the Rot - it seemed to give Jack a nervous stomach, and Kane knew his father had been surreptitiously healing him all morning - but Jack was the only one among them who seemed unaffected by the heat.

"How are you not dying under all those layers?" Kane asked.

"Ice spell," Jack muttered. "It keeps the temperature constant."

"You… you can do that? Bahamut, Jack! Why didn't you say so? Hit me with it!"

"Oh, quite!" said Refial. "Share the love, man!"

Jack shook his head, and Kane could see the blush in his uncovered cheeks. "I'm afraid I can't. It's… it's not…"

"He has to hold it," said Hagen. "Like flexing a muscle. It will last as long as he wants, so long as he doesn't let it go. Only a mage of considerable skill could hold it on more than one person." His tone left no doubt that he did not believe Jack's skills were "considerable."

Grifford nodded, speaking casually. "A frivolous waste of magic, if you ask me, particularly when we don't know what we'll face at our destination." The two of them huddled together over the old crown they carried, examining Grifford's seeing stone and murmuring as they pointed at its solid white surface.

"Nobody did ask you," Jack said, his voice a quiet, venomous whisper that left Kane blinking.

He wasn't the only one who heard it. His father stepped closer, patting Jack's shoulder, and Kane saw the tell-tale glow of white magic in Redden's hand. "Don't listen to him, lad. If there's a fight ahead, at least you're fresh for it. Seems an efficient use of aether to me." He clapped Kane on the back, the fuzzy edges of the healing spell soothing his weariness, before Redden stepped away to speak with Orin.

They found the cave less than an hour later. The muddy ground gave way gradually to a field of angular stones, some tilting up to reveal the Rot underneath, others sinking as the dying earth oozed up around them. In the center, a dark hole the width of a Cornelian street gaped up at the sky, the smooth stone of its edges slick where the Rot trickled down. Kane stepped carefully, making sure of his footing on the uneven rock as he craned his neck over to look. Though the edge fell away sharply beneath his feet, across from him, a series of stones descended gradually inside.

"Father," he said. "These almost look like stairs."

"Yes," Redden agreed, his hand firm on Kane's shoulder, as though he worried his son might fall. He pointed to a spot on the wall just on the edge of where the sunlight gave way to shadow, to a series of thick, deep markings that looked like writing, though each letter was as tall as a man. "And that looks like Leifenish. Odd." He turned back toward the others and spoke to Hagen, who stood closest. "Do either of you know what an old Leifenish ruin could be doing all the way out here?"

"No," said Hagen, looking down at the crown he held. "But this is where we need to be." Jack beckoned, and Hagen passed it over, though the corona made his annoyed eye-rolling more obvious.

Jack slipped his bundled scarf into his coat pocket, taking the crown in both hands. He closed his eyes, concentrating, but when he opened them again, they were lit by the same blue-green fire as Hagen's. He nodded. "The spell ends in there. This is the place."

"We'll need a light," Redden said. "Orin, let's see what we have."

As the two older men checked their supplies for anything that would make a decent torch, Refial spoke from behind Kane. "I'm not going."

"What? Why ever not?" Kane said.

The thin pirate stared at the hole in the ground from a few feet away. He'd gone pale, trembling where he stood. "Because I'm a coward. I told you I was. I don't like this. There could be anything living down there. I won't go."

"We haven't seen a living thing in hours," Jack pointed out. "Not so much as an insect. I hardly think-"

"I'm not going," Refial affirmed, causing Grifford to snort with poorly concealed laughter. "I'll wait here for you."

Jack glared from Grifford to Refial and back again, the corona in his eyes lending the expression a dangerous edge. He stepped closer, so that he, Kane, and Refial made a tight group. "How can you be so brave around women, but such a coward about everything of consequence?" he asked in a low voice.

"Because those women I flirt with aren't trying to kill me, not generally. The fact that you can't unroll your tongue around one rather short white mage but you're willing to run headlong into a dark cave full of who-knows-what-terrors is a mystery to me. Don't ask me to go in there, Jack. I tell you, I can't do it."

Jack didn't reply. He looked sidelong at Kane, and, without his scarf on, Kane could clearly see the muscles of his jaw twitching as he ground his teeth.

"Alright," Kane said. "Wait out here and stand guard. If anything moves funny…" He hesitated, looking to see if Hagen or Grifford were nearby, but neither of them appeared to be listening. "You know what to do," he finished.

It was midday by the time they started down the ancient and crooked steps, carrying four torches made from the branches of a dead tree that the Rot had not yet claimed. Refial waved, waiting on the surface with their packs and other supplies, wearing Jack's hat to keep the sun from his face. Jack sighed disapprovingly, then turned his attention to the markings on the wall near the entrance. After several minutes he shook his head.

"I thought you could read Leifenish?" Kane asked.

"I can," he said. "But this is high Leifenish. It's centuries older than what I know."

The strange staircase led them down, farther down than Kane anticipated. The air grew cooler as they went, the ancient stones more cave-like in appearance, worn glass-smooth in places by the constant drip of water down the walls. When Kane looked back, the entrance was only a palm-sized circle of daylight above them.

The Leifenish markings continued as well, where the water hadn't destroyed them. Jack stopped often to inspect them, speaking with Redden whenever he thought he recognized a word, but Hagen and Grifford showed no interest in the mysterious writing. The two of them walked in the lead without so much as a torch between them, following the aether trail of the crown they sought.

"This could be from the founding of the elvish empire," he heard Jack saying. "I think this word is 'Asura' - I keep seeing it. This one could be an older form of 'Erdrick'."

"But what is it doing so far from the capital?" his father asked.

If Jack had a theory, Kane didn't hear it. Ahead of him, Hagen and Grifford had reached the bottom of the stairs and were arguing in fierce whispers; Hagen gestured wildly with his hands. They didn't notice Kane's approach, seeming startled when he asked them, "What's the problem, gentlemen?"

Hagen glared, but Grifford asked desperately, "Can't you feel it?" He shuddered.

Kane looked about, holding his torch high, but the cave continued on like a hallway, farther than the light could reach. The air was stale, with an earthy, copper-tinged taste to it, like the scent of the sky after a rain. "I don't feel anything," he said.

Jack ran into him but didn't seem to notice he'd done so. Kane turned and found the fire mage gazing wide-eyed toward the darkened ceiling. "Oh…" Jack said breathlessly. "Oh, that is just weird."

"What is?" Kane asked. "What's going on?"

"There's no aether here," Jack said. "None. Is the spell still working?"

"The trail stopped there," Hagen said, pointing.

Jack looked at the foot of the stairs and the walls framing them, all covered in more of that old Leifenish writing. "There's a spell written here, some sort of shield against the aether." He knelt, inspecting the bottom-most step, his frown one-sided because of the way the scars pulled at his mouth. "I don't understand why they would do this."

"Is it dangerous?" Kane asked.

Jack shrugged as though embarrassed. "Not technically, no, but none of us will be able to cast anything outside of our own aether reserves."

Kane sighed. "Yes, well, some of us aren't able to cast anything at all. It's never stopped me before." He pushed forward, past the other two mages who still bickered over the seeing stone that no longer worked for them. "Since you're essentially useless, why don't you let the armed swordsman go first? Just a thought." The mages' grumbling behind him made him smile.

Jack didn't stay with them, but walked beside Kane as he led them all into the cave depths. They found nothing except more stairs, leading farther down. The sounds of dripping water faded away behind them, and the air became drier and colder, cool enough that Kane shivered in his sweat-damp clothes. At the bottom of another set of stairs, the cave opened up to a larger room with distant walls. Kane's footsteps echoed like thunder as he stepped inside, looking up, trying to determine if the torchlight reached the high ceiling; he didn't think it did.

"This is a crypt," Jack said, his whisper loud in the still air.

Kane brought his attention down, following Jack's gaze to a large block of stone a few feet ahead of them, to the body that lay on top of it. Kane assumed it was a man, for it wore armor and held a sword in its folded hands, but he couldn't be sure; time had withered it so that nothing now remained except papery skin clinging to old bones. The armor hung crooked where the straps had apparently rotted away over the years, and both the armor and the sword were black with age.

"A sentry by the door," Redden said, stepping in for a closer look.

"Here's another," Orin called from ahead. "And I believe I can see more."

Redden followed, nodding. "We'll likely find a whole retinue. That used to be the way, when a king died. His servants would be entombed with him to serve him in the next life."

"Not a king," Jack said. "Look."

Farther into the room, on a slab that rose higher than the others, a pale figure lay, an elf woman of stunning beauty. She was taller than any person Kane had ever seen, practically a giantess. Her blond hair spilled out around her, glittering in the torchlight. Time had not ravaged her - it seemed as if at any moment she would stir and wake - but her dress looked gray and brittle, like it would crumble to dust around her at the lightest breeze.

"It's Asura…" Jack said, his voice thick with awe.

"The goddess?" Kane asked. "You mean she's real?"

"No." Jack shook his head. "Not a goddess. An eidolon. All these centuries the elves have been worshipping an eidolon."

Kane had never heard the word. Before he could ask what it meant, his father said, "Goddess or not, she has the crown."

He was right. It rested on her belly, looking small against Asura's large frame. Finally, Kane thought, laughing at the sight of it. He stepped forward, but Jack grabbed his arm, an expression of utter shock on his face.

"Something's wrong," he said.

"Astute of you to notice," Hagen said. The bearded mage chuckled, and then his eyes glowed with a black corona.

Jack cried out in pain, releasing Kane's arm as he fell to his knees.

"Jack!" Kane said, but then all worry for his friend fled as the room reeled around him. It was as if the bottom had fallen out of the world, as if his bones had been pulled out through his skin. He couldn't breathe, couldn't speak.

"Dark mage!" Jack said through gritted teeth.

Kane couldn't move. He was on the cool, stone floor. He could see Jack hauling himself to his feet, stumbling after Hagen and Grifford who both ran for the crown. Orin swept Hagen's feet from under him, but his movements were slow and labored. Hagen was up again before the old monk had recovered from his strike. The bearded mage pulled a knife from his robes, swinging it recklessly. Orin barely dodged it in time.

"Kane, get up!" Redden said, pulling at the back of his shirt. "You have to fight through it. Move, boy!"

He couldn't move. His entire body was asleep. He could see Jack clumsily tackling Grifford, struggling for the crown even as Grifford's eyes lit up with the aether he'd stolen from them. Grifford waved a hand and Jack was flung away. The fire mage landed hard against a nearby slab and was still. In front of him, Hagen stood over Orin's prone form with his knife raised.

Kane was so heavy, so cold. He couldn't move.

"Damn it, son!" Redden growled.

And then the cold fell away. His father's hand was warm against his back as a Cure surged through him. Kane's hands pushed against the floor, lifting him up. His feet kicked into a run, still slow and heavy, but moving, and when he drew his sword, his arm remembered what to do with it. He thought for sure that he was too slow, that Hagen would block his strike, but the mage only watched in wide-eyed surprise as Kane bore down on him, stabbing upward through his side. When Kane pulled his sword free, Hagen slid to the floor like a puppet with cut strings. The corona of his eyes faded like an ember.

"No!" Grifford cried.

Kane turned. He could see Jack struggling to his feet; the fire mage had a dagger and seemed intent on using it. Grifford, with Asura's crown in hand, looked rapidly between Kane and Jack, his mouth set in a thin line. Kane felt that same cold pain he'd felt before as the dark mage drew power from him again, but this time he fought through it, throwing himself at Grifford with an animal cry of rage.

Grifford... twisted. The air around him twisted, and then he vanished.

Author's Note: 9/2/16 - Redden talks to Jack about choosing a new surname, and Final Fantasy super-fans will notice that the name he suggests, Figaro, is the name of a kingdom from Final Fantasy VI (as well as the royal family of that kingdom). This is purely for giggles. There will not be guest appearances by Sabin and Edgar. As has been previously mentioned, I'm bad at names. The pirates, the townspeople in Pravoka, upcoming characters in future chapters: I named all of them by pulling up a Final Fantasy wiki and using character names from other FF games. Forgive me.