Author's Note: Look, it's a new chapter ON TIME for the first time in a year! Yaaay!

Origins

By LeFox

Chapter Thirty-Six: Tree of Life

He threw himself into his studies with a fervor he hadn't felt in quite some time. It was good to have a focus again, however vague that focus was (look for big trees was as good a starting point as any), and it kept him from worrying about Neirin. Kuja spent much of his time in the library over the next few days, wishing Vehtra had a better selection of books from outside of the Erras continent. There were plenty of history books, but Kuja had already read most of those over the past three years; none of them mentioned huge trees. The books on magic he had already studied from cover to cover in his determination to help Neirin fortify Kiera; that was a dead end. He'd largely ignored the books on nature until now, but even then, most of them merely documented the beasts found in the desert, plants that could be eaten for their water, places to find oases…

It seemed futile.

Maybe it's useless even to search, he thought, lying awake in bed one night. Sleep came hard these days, when it seemed there were a million things he should be doing. Taharka had slowed. Shouldn't that mean everyone else should be doing everything they could to counter him before he gained momentum again? Neirin was still creating his shadow army, but at nowhere near the rate he'd been producing them before. Vehtra and Arros seemed unconcerned with fortifying the city for an attack; apparently they expected the walls to be enough of a defense. The guardians were spending their days lazing about; Kuja couldn't remember the last time he'd seen any of them sparring to keep their skills sharp.

He rolled onto his side, but promptly turned back over again, restless. There was so much to be done, and nothing for him to do. This treeof Taharka's was the first task he'd been given in what seemed like an eternity, and if his current progress was to be trusted, he was probably going to fail miserably. Maybe the damn tree didn't even mean anything. Maybe it was just one of Taharka's experiments, unrelated to his plans for Neirin. Maybe it was just a lucky tree that had survived the destruction of the mother continent. Maybe this was all lunacy.

Dammit. Kuja rolled out of bed, pulling his clothes from the day before back on. If he couldn't sleep, he may as well put himself to good use.

It was difficult to say what time it was, but the candles in the hallways had not yet been lit, meaning it was likely not yet dawn outside. Kuja wondered if everyone else was still asleep; he hadn't bothered checking Neirin's room to see if the king might already be awake and hard at work. Some mornings started earlier than others. Doubtless at least one of the guardians was still awake, probably Kraken, who seldom slept these days. She would be standing guard outside of Neirin's room, despite Vehtra's insistence that no guards were necessary within the Desert Palace. Kuja suspected the main reason the guardians stood watch every night was probably less to keep enemies out, and more to keep Neirin in, the better to ensure the young king got any rest at all.

The rest of the palace stood empty, though, and Kuja made his way in the dark toward the library. As he reached the doorway, though, he paused.

There was a light coming from inside the library.

Had he left a candle on earlier? Kuja frowned, but didn't call out – perhaps it was one of Arros' mages, studying in the quiet hours of the morning. Such a thing was uncommon (typically Kuja had the library to himself), but it did happen. He'd found the mages to be snippy when their studying was interrupted; companion of "the god" though he might be, he was still seen largely as an underfoot child.

Sighing, he made his way into the library, trying to be as quiet as possible. Sure enough, there was someone in the library, sitting on the floor against the first shelf, legs tucked in beneath her as she flipped through a book. Kuja fought the urge to roll his eyes and turn the hell back around: it was the girl from before, the slave mage. He'd been actively trying to avoid her for the past few days, unwilling to see her staring at him as if he were some kind of miraculous apparition. Nothing he'd said to her had sunk in, that much was obvious. She still thought of Neirin as a god, Maliris as a legend, and silliest of all, Kuja as someone even approaching important.

Instead of leaving, though, he cleared his throat. "Good morning."

The girl looked up sharply, snapping her book shut and scrambling to her feet, stuttering, "F-forgive me, Lord Kuja, I didn't hear you- I didn't know- I was only-"

"Stop that." Was it going to be like this every time he encountered her? "You have free reign of the palace, just like any of the other mages. And I'm not a lord," he added, looking awkwardly at the panel of stained glass nearby, unwilling to keep looking at her as long as she kept staring at him as if she expected him to sprout wings and flutter away. "It's just Kuja. Not Lord Kuja, not Sir Kuja, not even Sir, just… just Kuja."

She swallowed, still staring at him with wide grey eyes. "Yes, my… Kuja."

An uncomfortable silence settled between them then, and again Kuja considered simply giving up on his trip to the library. But how blatant would it be to simply walk into the library and then leave? He chanced a glance in the girl's direction. She was still standing still as a statue, clutching the book to her chest, staring at him as if…

…as if she were afraid.

Something within him unwound slowly, like a coiled rope being gradually lifted. He offered her a smile.

"You…" He gestured to the book she held. "You like to read, too?"

The girl blinked, then looked down at the book she held, as though noticing it for the first time. "Oh. No, I… I was never taught to read," she said, opening the book and turning it toward him. She turned the pages, revealing beautiful illustrations, each one more detailed and delicate than the last. "One of the other mages showed me this book. It's… it's about faerie tales and legends," she explained, closing the book and holding it close again, almost as if she feared he might take it from her. "I know the stories…"

"…So you recognize the stories from the pictures," Kuja guessed, giving the girl what he hoped was a friendly smile. She returned his smile, albeit a bit shyly.

"I… could show you the stories," she offered. Kuja didn't have the heart to tell her it was likely he already knew most of the stories. It was a book for children, after all; different continent or no, it seemed unlikely that the myths and legends of the mother continent were all that different from those of Erras. And he wanted to look for information regarding that tree; he didn't have time to indulge some silly girl's desire to share faerie tales. Still… the way she looked at him now was somehow different from the fearful, idolizing stare from before, and perhaps this might go a long way toward showing her that, power be damned, Neirin and his entire party were, in fact, human.

He settled down on the floor beside her, careful not to block the light from the nearest candelabra. She turned to the first story. "This is about the Dragon King," she told him, pointing to the illustration: a man seated on a throne of dragon bones, wearing the crest of a dragon for his crown. In his hand was a staff, and at the top was a small dragon skull. "They say he conquered dragons and made them serve the people of Terra." She traced the shape of the man's throne, explaining, "His throne contained bones from every kind of dragon we know of! He taught dragonkind that people were to be feared and served."

"'…He faced the beasts one by one, and knew no fear,'" Kuja read, feeling strangely dizzy, as if he were gazing back through time. There was a boy in Bran Bal who loved stories like this, he thought, reeling. Knights slaying dragons, warriors conquering beasts… How strange it seemed, now, that once upon a time, all that boy ever wanted was to be a hero like the knights in the stories: traveling to far-off lands, rescuing princesses, killing monsters. It seemed even stranger that now, years later, all that same boy should want was to go home and never leave it again.

But where was home?

Bran Bal? Traje? Astrula? Kiera? Kuja had spent so much of his time running from city to city that he no longer knew where home was.

"Sir… Kuja?" The girl was staring again. Kuja cleared his throat and shook his head, clearing the thoughts from his mind; this was no time for woolgathering. He gestured for her to keep going, and she turned the page. The next picture was of a young woman leaning to kiss a toad. Supposedly it was something about a prince being cursed and rescued by the kiss of a beautiful young princess; Kuja didn't pay much attention. The next story was about a knight who traveled across time and worlds to rescue his lover from a cycle thousands of years ago; the mage girl didn't explain how the knight's lover got there in the first place. She became more animated as she spoke, recalling what was obviously the primary source of entertainment from her childhood: she told the stories with more enthusiasm than they were written with in the book itself.

Kuja found himself smiling simply watching her – at one point she rose to her feet and danced somewhat clumsily around the library: "The Faerie Queen and the Prince of the Stars danced 'round and 'round," she half-sang, motioning as if she were dancing with a much taller invisible partner. "They danced and danced for so long the Prince of the Stars forgot to cast the stars across the heavens, and the full moon rose on a night when the stars didn't shine. The faeries were lost without their queen, and they could not travel without the stars to light their way."

She stopped, out of breath. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shining, and for once, she didn't look terrified of him. Kuja laughed, and the girl gave him a small smile, then slowly resumed her dance, step by careful step. "The faeries knew they had to put the stars back, or their world would come to an end." She swept one foot around gracefully, spinning on the ball of her other foot before leaping smoothly to the other. "They stole the stars from the Prince's discarded cloak, one by one, and carefully swept them up into the sky, forming a long chain of stars as they passed from one faerie to the next." Here she took one step up the flight of stairs that led to the third bookshelf, then quickly leapt to the next, and the next.

Kuja watched her, transfixed not by the story, but by her. This was who he had once been, he realized, mystified – that boy who had loved stories enough to act them out in the forest; the boy who had longed for adventure. Here was a girl who longed for beauty and romance.

With any luck, her story wouldn't come true in the same way his had.

"But the faeries didn't know where the stars belonged in the sky, and all they knew of life, they knew from the forest." She danced her way back down the stairs, and stood in the middle of the library, arms at her sides. "So in the sky, star by star, the faeries assembled a great forest of starry trees, each one a perfect copy of one below. At the center of the star-forest, they created an enormous tree, far greater than any ever seen on the ground: it was the replica of their Mother Tree, where the Faerie Queen kept her kingdom." Slowly the girl began raising her arms, as if to show a tree growing. "The faeries liked their new Mother Tree so much that they forgot the Faerie Queen and her kingdom below, and they flew into the heavens.

"When the Prince of the Stars saw what they had done, immediately he stopped the dance." She swirled once, then froze. "Enraged, he began destroying the trees, scattering the stars to their rightful places. The Faerie Queen begged him not to destroy the starry Mother Tree, for her subjects where there. He did not listen." The girl threw her arms wide, and began spinning again, staring at the ceiling high above. "The Prince of the Stars destroyed the star-tree, scattering the stars to the far ends of the sky. The faeries trapped within were killed by the force of his rage."

The girl was panting heavily by the time she made her way back over to sit beside Kuja, her dance apparently concluded. She flipped through the book, which had fallen shut when she'd gotten up to begin her dance, and found the page the story had come from: "The Dance of the Faeries and Stars." She pointed to the picture, which was of a strangely-shaped tree. The Mother Tree, Kuja thought, studying the odd patterns that made up the branches, the strange dome at the top…

"It's made of faeries!" he exclaimed, pointing here and there, where the face of a faerie became most obvious. Sure enough, the entire design was made of the intertwined, twisted, contorted figures of winged people, eyes closed and faces calm and tranquil.

The girl nodded. "The story wasn't finished." She took a deep breath. "The faeries were killed, but their souls lingered. They stayed in the shape of the Mother Tree they had created, holding it together despite the Prince of the Stars' anger. Seeing this, the Prince of the Stars regretted his destruction, and called back a few of the stars he had sent away. The Mother Tree still lives among the stars, and some say the souls of those who cannot be reborn – faeries and monsters, for example, or those from other worlds – are gathered there, protected from-"

"That's it!" Kuja leapt to his feet, grabbing the girl's arms and pulling her up with him in his excitement. "The tree! It's for collecting souls!" He laughed, spinning the girl around. A strange giddiness had filled him – it made perfect sense; Taharka drew inspiration from folklore for Garland, why not for this strange tree, as well? Everything he did was for souls; everything he did was to prepare Terra for assimilation, everything was for a reason, this tree had a reason, too. He grabbed both of the girl's hands in his and squeezed. "You're brilliant; I've been looking for this for days!"

"I-" She began, bewildered, but by then he was laughing again, picking up the book and placing it in her arms, telling her what the tree meant, what the story meant, what Taharka meant to do.

He froze. "I have to tell Neirin," he realized, heading toward the door without a second glance back at the girl. "I have to tell everyone!"

xxx

"That's it, it has to be," Kuja insisted, watching Neirin pace before the fireplace in the king's bedroom. Vehtra sat nearby, watching Kuja with intense scrutiny. Kuja couldn't say he blamed either of them for being skeptical. Somehow, this theory had seemed less insane an hour ago, when it had been just him and that mage girl (he hadn't asked her name, he realized, somewhat belatedly) in a dimly-lit library, after watching her dance around the room like a spirit. "Taharka came up with the plan for Garland based on an old story, why not this tree? What else could it be?"

Maliris, the guardian who had been standing watch outside of Neirin's door when Kuja had come barreling down the hallway, spoke up. "Aye, he drew inspiration from stories from the mother continent. But that's a tale from Erras, isn't it? I heard it growing up-"

"Then why was there a forest?" Kuja asked, desperate to make them see his point, however crazy it was. "There are no forests on Erras, definitely not one with a tree like that. It must have come from the mother continent."

The door squeaked open, and in came the other three guardians, looking weary and displeased. Kuja quickly explained the story, and his belief that the tree growing on the mother continent must have some connection to the one in the story. "I haven't found anything else even close to relevant," he insisted, looking from one irritated face to the next, wishing his theory didn't hinge on a story told by a dancing slave mage girl in the middle of the night. "The tree must be connected to souls somehow; if only we could see it for ourselves somehow…"

"That's it, isn't it?" Neirin said suddenly, grinning.

"I don't like where this is going," Tiamat muttered, massaging his temples.

"We have to go see it for ourselves. We only have two dragons capable of a long flight, though." Neirin folded his arms over his chest, looking around the room at his companions. "One of you four needs to come with me for the sake of protection. As for you…" His gaze rested on Kuja. "Are you coming along?"

As if you need to ask. Kuja found himself grinning back. "I thought you were out of reckless, suicidal ideas," he replied. "Of course I'm coming along."

xxx

Left alone in the library, Safira knelt to the ground slowly as her trembling knees gave out from beneath her. She stared through the doorway after Kuja, clutching the book tightly to her chest, feeling her heart pounding through the thick cover. He had called her brilliant. He had looked her in the eyes and told her she was brilliant.

She stared into the dark doorway until she thought she could see stars.

Come back, she thought, wanting it more than she'd ever wanted anything. For a moment, a brief moment, she'd felt special. No one had ever made her feel special.

Please come back.

Author's Note: …Oh Safira, honey, no. :c