A/N: Really not much happening here, just need to get the story picking up again. Which it will when Luke goes on Operation Stalk Asch All Over Auldrant.

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Luke groaned as he woke from his uneasy sleep, careful not to disturb the tiny cheagle that still slumbered on his pillow. Even after he helped to lower the Outer Lands, trapped the miasma, and killed Van, was he forever doomed to never be at ease? He'd had another one of his nightmares--if it wasn't Akzeriuth sinking into the planet's mantle in the bottomless sea of mud and miasma, it was being trapped under Daath's cathedral, being Sync's little pet. The thought made bile rise in his throat, made him feel sick.

The slight late autumn breeze made him shiver. The window was open, allowing the air inside. The sky was still dark, Luna shining brightly among Rem's brothers. The fonstones of the fon belt were glittering like precious jewels.

Luke wouldn't be getting any more sleep tonight (dawn was but an hour or two away anyhow), so he rose, dressing silently. Thank Yulia he hadn't been so wrapped up in the life of a noble that he'd never been able to put his own clothes on. When he was a small child, he'd resented such things being done for him by his servants, and always insisted on getting dressed on his own. Guy was the only servant who'd listen to him in this regard.

He dressed simply, though the clothes themselves weren't something one would find a place like, say, Engeve. If by way of looks, Kimlasca was definitely wealthier than Malkuth--all of the Kimlascan cities were well kept, and there were no unpaved streets or livestock running amok. That could be attributed to the fact that Kimlasca was heavily industrialized, and had no rural villages.

Luke looked at his reflection in the life-size mirror with a small, bent frown. He didn't look like the punk he did when Tear had spirited him out of his manor for the first time in his life. He wore a simple long-sleeved navy blue shirt, black pants, brown boots to match, and a green-bordered white coat that had coattails, but they went only to his knees. Around his neck was Tear's pendant, the star sapphire a deep, warm blue. He wouldn't give up on trying to return it to her. He would, someday. He wouldn't steal her late mother's only keepsake away from her. She had already lost her remaining family--slain by his own hands.

Even if the fact he was a replica didn't bother her, she couldn't possibly be content with giving her mother's pendant to the same man who killed her brother. The brother who'd looked after her and visited her in Yulia City even after he had gone to live in the Outer Lands.

With a faint sigh, Luke put a hand to the mirror, to his reflection. He just didn't understand Tear at all. Why she kept acting tough, even when she was infected with the miasma in her body, why she had convinced him to come back to the manor ... why she had given him her pendant. She had been so happy to have it back when he had bought it off that merchant in Grand Chokmah ...

"Master, are you awake?"

Luke glanced over his shoulder to see Mieu rubbing his eyes sleepily, still on the pillow. His big floppy ears weren't perked like usual, they were flat, like the cheagle elder's were. Luke nodded, stretching his arms, breathing in the cool, crisp air from outside deeply.

"Yeah. You should go back to sleep. I'm gonna go get a head start on my studies."

As Luke turned the handle on the door, the cheagle chirped in affirmation, and his reply made the noble halt.

"Mieu, don't overwork yourself, Master ..."

Luke scoffed, stepping over the threshold. "Who's overdoing things?"

The courtyard was empty. This was just the way he liked it--he had been enjoying his solitude more and more often lately, when before, he had lived from others' attention. Just like Duke Fabre, he had noticed. Was that a good or bad thing--thriving from being on his own? Maybe he just liked being able to think things over by himself. Was that why Asch had insisted on working alone at all times, even when Natalia invited him to join their journey? They had been working toward the same end, after all.

Quietly as he could muster, Luke went to the manor library, gathering all his books about Albert style swordplay Van had left behind as well as the fonology books Tear had given him. Upon returning to the courtyard to begin his daily training, he had to smirk. How strange that after he had left the manor, it was Tear who had taken on the role of teaching Luke--she had tried to give him advice about using artes (which he had spurned to save his own little pride), and later she had taught him how to use the Seventh Fonon properly. She had taught him more than Van ever had, who had only instilled what Jade right called "brute force."

He began with the swordsmanship exercising. He liked to warm up, stretch, and work out a little before he handled fonons of any kind, especially the Seventh. The Seventh was hard to handle, and keeping them from going out of control was just as much a physical aspect as it was a mental one. He'd learned that the hard way after Van forced that hyperresonance that destroyed the Akzeriuth passage ring--that he was able to do anything like fight Asch almost immediately afterward as a remarkable thing that could be attributed only to his being Lorelei's perfect isofon.

After he spent some time practicing his base strike artes, he moved on to arcane artes, referring back to the Albert texts Van had left behind if he couldn't get one of them correctly. Battle was the best training one could ever receive, but what with living in the manor nowadays, there were no monsters to fight. The only thing that came close was fighting in the Coliseum, but even that couldn't compare. He knew he wouldn't die in a place like that, so that would only stint his growth.

He couldn't lose his edge. He had keep his skills up to par. He doubted Asch would have simply settled down in some city after everything that happened--surely Asch was keeping his swordsmanship as sharp as ever. In fact, Luke counted on it. With Van gone, Asch was the only other person he knew that used the Albert style better than he did. There was someone he had to aim for, someone he had to work toward besting.

"Augh! Damn it," Luke cursed as he dropped his sword, the Vorpal Sword Lloyd had given him. He had tried to return it to him after the Outer Lands were lowered, but the brunette refused, much like Tear had on the matter of her pendant. He bent over, picking up the blade of ice. He took a deep breath, then tried for the Swallow Fury arcane arte again. Once more he jumped wrong, resulting in his falling and dropping his sword. Vorpal clattered away on the ground.

He frowned, sitting where he was, rubbing his leg where he'd hit the ground. He didn't get it. Why couldn't he perform the arte correctly? He had no such trouble when he fought Van. Why stumble when he wasn't even fighting anything? How pathetic. Surely from the planet's core, or in his sword, Van was laughing at him. Luke sighed, picking up Vorpal, staring into its indigo sheen. Mieu's words echoed in his mind.

Don't overwork yourself, Master ...

A wry smile came to his lips as he sheathed Vorpal. "Who's overdoing things?" He took in a deep breath, spreading his feet shoulder width apart in preparation for his fonic arte exercises. He'd start with the fonon he was most familiar besides the Seventh--the Third. Using it in electric attacks was a piece of cake (though his Thunder Blade was still a far cry from Jade's), but he was still getting the hang of using them in an airy aspect. He murmured the fon verse, his fon slots vacuuming in the Third Fonons all around him.

"Howl, O raging wind ... and cleave my enemy with your blade!"

Granted, there were no enemies to speak of, though he often flashed back to the battle with Van at the bottom of the Absorption Gate. His clothes whipped about his body, the air about him whirling with activity. He raised his hands, their fon slots emitting a soft green light.

"Turbulence!"

A strong gust of wind striving upward, almost like a geyser. Within moments it subsided, and the satisfaction Luke had just from performing the arte vanished. In a real battle, that fonic arte would have done no more than stun an enemy, not actually damage it. Stubborn, he persevered with the other fonon types--a Flame Burst for Fifth, a Second Stalagmite, a Fourth Blessed Drops, a First Negative Gate, and a Sixth Photon. Since the only high-level fonic arte was the Blessed Drops, he still had energy enough left over to practice his hyperresonance.

If there was someone he could train with, he could practice his healing ability as well as his hyperresonance. If Guy hadn't left ... he shook his head, clenching his fists. Guy had his own life to live. Who was Luke to say what he should do with his life? No more than Van had to say Luke was just replica trash that could never amount to anything close to human.

Luke clenched his fists. Why did he have to think about such depressing things all the time? Just like with Sync, Van was dead. Both his tormentors were dead. There was no point getting all worked up over it. He cleared his mind of those thoughts, concentrating on sensing the Seventh Fonon. It was relatively easy to gather Seventh Fonons up here, since Baticul was probably the closest height to the Planet Storm, where Seventh Fonons traveled that endless stream. The Seventh Fonons in his own body called out for others like them, and slowly but surely, they began coming down from the Planet Storm encircling the globe, funneling into his fon slots.

He put his hands out in front of him, just like when he had commanded passage rings. Just like when he had destroyed Akzeriuth. His hands began to glow, and a small orb of gold materialized between his palms--the source of his miniscule hyperresonance. Yet that tiny orb of power was enough to help save the Outer Lands from collapse, and from the miasma. He didn't need the crazy show of destructive force he had used in Akzeriuth's passage ring. He was good enough with his own power, with his own two hands, bloodstained they may be. When he built up his hyperresonance to the limit of his current ability, he started to gradually release his hold on those fonons, to return to normal.

But the Seventh Fonons did not dissipate. Eyes going wide in horror, Luke's body began to tremble as he remembered the two times his hyperresonance lost control--on the boat en route to Baticul, and then in Malkuth's miner's city. He grunted, struggling to keep his hold on the fonons, to keep them in order, though their interference was making it extremely difficult. It was all he could do to not panic.

"Damn it," He murmured, his head hurting as he tried to keep his power under control. "Why did I ever think--it was okay to practice this thing--in a city!?" Great. If he lost control of this hyperresonance, not only would an entire city be gone, it was the bloody capital of the Kingdom of Kimlasca-Lanvaldear. Splendid.

Why didn't you think before using your hyperresonance!?

Maybe Asch was right--maybe replica brains were defective in some way ...

Luke couldn't see anything, not even his own hands in front of his face for the screaming headache he had and the great gold light of the Seventh Fonons that enveloped his body. Why did he ever think--how stupid--how could he ever hope for anything more ...

"Hey! Luke, are you okay!?"

A voice from without. His mind was so hazy, he couldn't tell who it was that spoke to him--Duke Fabre, Ramdas, Pere, or even Suzanne, just some disembodied voice that called out to him. He felt as if he were not of this earth, as if he were returning to where he belonged--as if he had a place to belong. But there was some sort of outward force that Luke's extremely sensitive fon slots perceived, and the blinding light and excruciating headache both were gone. He fell backward on the ground, his vision swimming in and out of focus with his dizziness.

The courtyard was filled with warm, pale sunlight--dawn had broken. Yet there was something before him that blocked that precious light, cast him in shadow. Luke still couldn't see properly, his entire body tingled and his head still throbbed. What had he been doing? His memory was hazy. He was dimly aware of a hand being pressed to his forehead, and his super sensitive fon slots went crazy at the use of a Seventh fonic arte. His head throbbed again, but the pain was slowly ebbing away.

"There, that should do it. Well, Luke? How do you feel?"

Luke blinked, and his vision focused sharply. He gasped when he saw who had been blocking the morning sunlight. Unable to do more than gape and point, his visitor laughed, grabbing his hand to help him to his feet.

"After all this time, you can't even say hello?"

Luke coughed, clearing his throat. "S-sorry. But what are you doing here, Lloyd?"

Lloyd chortled, folding his arms over his chest. "What, I can't come by to say hi?"

"Well, that's fine, but--"

"Actually," Lloyd gave an apologetic look for cutting Luke off midsentence, "The Duke hired me as a resident craftsman. Being a Seventh Fonist, a swordsman, and having helped you on your journey was a definite bonus to my resume."

"W-wow!" Luke's jaw dropped. "And I was just thinking it'd be nice to have someone to spar with." His brow furrowed, he had a bent frown. "But, don't you have a home to go to?"

Lloyd nodded. "I do. It's just--my dad was telling me he didn't raise a second-rate craftsman. He wants me to build a good base of customers before I go back home."

Luke tilted his head to one side. "Really? Your dad sounds like an interesting person."

"But never mind me," Lloyd said, brow knit together worriedly. "Are you all right? It's not like you to lose control of such a small hyperresonance like that."

Luke sighed, looking at his empty hands. The hands that almost destroyed Baticul had Lloyd not intervened, though how the brunette stopped the hyperresonance was beyond him. "I ... don't know. I guess I've been a little on edge lately."

"Well, that's understandable. You are adjusting to your new life and all."

"As if I deserve it," Luke muttered darkly, and Lloyd glared at him.

"Of course you deserve it! No one's worked harder than you to save this world!"

"Either way," Luke said firmly, "I stole Asch's place. I can't ever really be at peace until he comes back."

"To what, force you out?" Lloyd retorted. Luke shook his head.

"If Asch ever came back, it'd be for Natalia, to become king of this country alongside her as queen. I guess ..." He clenched a fist, unable to say the words. His Fabre pride refused to let him say aloud that he wanted Asch's approval, that it was okay for him to be here, in this manor, in this family.

A sudden thought came to Luke. He looked up at Lloyd, a smile on his face.

"So you were the surprise Mieu was talking about!"

Lloyd blinked. "R-really? Does nothing escape that cheagle?"

Luke laughed. "Apparently not."

The two spent the rest of the morning catching up, just friendly chattering as the rest of the Fabre household began to rouse. The servants were all stunned, Pere and Ramdas most of all as they observed their usually sullen young master talking so amiably with the new resident craftsman. Ever since Luke had returned to the manor, they had though he had forgotten how to smile, how laugh. And yet this other young man evoked those from him with seemingly no effort despite the efforts of his servants to do the same thing. But it was a valuable lesson.

Even replicas could laugh. Even replicas could smile.