Author's Note: I present to you: the chapter that would not end. Enjoy!


Origins

By LeFox

Chapter Forty-Five: World of Memories

They stepped out of the darkness of the tunnel into a brightness so dazzling it left Kuja blinking in pain. All around him were strange, pulsing colors: shades of pink and violet, shapeless and shifting. The air was charged, sending static sparks skittering over his skin; he twitched in discomfort. World of memories, he reflected… but what kind of memory was this? At his side, Neirin looked around, his weary eyes shadowed by dismay.

"Is this the form Memoria takes," Neirin wondered aloud, taking in their surroundings. "When the one who opened its doors has no memories?"

Kuja shook his head. "No, of course not. You have some memories." Not that he knew the first thing about Memoria's inner workings, of course; for all he knew, Memoria required a certain number of memories to take shape. Perhaps any form of amnesia might be enough to shatter whatever held this unusual world together – if memory was meant to be one consistent path, from the present into the past, then maybe if that path was broken, this memory-world would be unreachable? Without an unbroken path…

Door-opener. Soul-bearer.

From the vibrant air, a dark shape coalesced, growing in size until it all but filled the horizon. Kuja took a step back, bumping into the shadowy soldier carrying Safira, but Neirin held his ground. The immense shadow twisted and pinched until at last it took a solid form: a dragon, dark-scaled and white-winged, larger than any dragon Kuja had ever seen. Each of its wings alone was the size of a silver dragon; outstretched, they threatened to blot out the sky.

From worlds born from the great crystal, are born mortals. The dragon's words echoed in their minds, a mingling of many voices: young and old, unknown and disconcertingly familiar. Kuja felt a shiver creep up his spine, but the dragon wasn't paying any attention to him; its dark eyes were locked on Neirin. And from mortals are born memories. From memories arose this world, ever-changing, ever growing: Memoria.

"Is this all that remains of my memory?" The king appeared undaunted by the dragon's size. "This… this nothingness?"

The dragon bared its fangs, each one longer and sharper than a greatsword. You stand but on the doorstep, soul-bearer. I am the gatekeeper, forged from the essence of the door-opener's soul, that the unworthy shall not follow you. The dragon was not snarling, Kuja realized; it was smiling. This world, stitched together by your memories, is for you. Those who accompany you – the dragon's gaze rested briefly on Kuja, then returned to the king – may pass untroubled, though take heed: what they see, they will bear with them always. Memoria will not hide your secrets, nor spare your companions from the darkness in your soul.

"I keep few enough secrets from Kuja as it is." Neirin glanced at him with the faintest of smiles. "And my other companions are of no consequence. How long must I linger on this doorstep of yours, gatekeeper?"

No answer came: the dragon faded from view, as did the rest of the eye-scathing world around them. It melted away like mist, and in its place…

In its place, a castle.

A castle surrounded by a vast, endless labyrinth – and both the labyrinth and the castle were growing, brick by brick.

Despite his exhaustion, Neirin looked around in wide-eyed eagerness. "If Vehtra spoke truly, the further we progress through this world, the further back through my memories we should travel." From the present to the dawn of time itself. Curious, the king turned to Kuja. "What's this? No warnings from you? You're not going to admonish me against exploring instead of resting?"

"Vehtra warned you about traveling too far into the past." Kuja shrugged; if the growing memory-world around them impressed him at all, the boy didn't show it. "But your memory…"

"My memory is flawed," Neirin pointed out. "Flawed and deteriorating rapidly. You don't think that might render this place a bit unstable? Dangerous, even?"

Kuja considered him, his green-eyed gaze sharp. "You said Lich never taught you Doomsday."

"Of course not. It's too powerful; it's been forbidden since –"

"But you said you remembered it."

"I…" The spell had come to him so easily, right before the order for Kiera's forces to assemble for battle. It was as simple, as familiar, as the very first fire spell Lich had ever taught him – as if he'd known it his entire life, though surely it had never been taught to him. "I did say that, didn't I?"

The boy turned to face the castle, stretching high above the clouds. "There's something strange going on with your memory. And if you're strong enough…" He cast a dubious glance in Neirin's direction; the king was not yet recovered from his fall from Kiera's city walls. "Then we should explore this world. We should follow your memories. And maybe…"

Neirin nodded. "And maybe find a few answers along the way? Agreed."

xxx

My city. Vehtra walked the empty streets, passing shadow warriors standing guard; in the face of the airship hovering directly overhead, he'd banished Kiera's human defenders back to the relative safety of the palace's caverns. There were those who defied his orders, of course, and naturally those under Arros's command would continue to fight until the sky collapsed around their ears, but perhaps at least a few of his men would survive this day.

Survive this day, only to die in five years' time.

"He's gone?" Despite Maliris's fervent refusal to abandon Kiera, shame lingered around her edges. "He's safe?"

Vehtra shrugged. "Safe as I can make him, yes. Gone beyond Taharka's reach, at the very least." He joined Neirin's guardians on the walls, staring up at the glowing red eye high above them; it was readying an attack, that was clear, but when that attack might come...

Will Kiera survive it? He doubted it. Taharka meant to level the city, and kill everyone caught in the destruction. The last stronghold against his power, and now he had the means to destroy it – and once Kiera was gone, all that remained was the creation of his abomination. His Garland.

Well, his Garland had fled into another world; one Taharka couldn't hope to reach. Vehtra couldn't stifle a smile: if he lived, oh, if he lived, he hoped to see the look on the cultist's face when he realized…!

It was enough to give him a good reason to survive the coming battle, at least.

"I've a task for you two." He turned to the other two – Kraken and Tiamat, they were called; fine warriors, both of them, and both useless here. "Your king left orders for you to aid in Kiera's defense, aye?" At their nod, he grinned. "Good of him. But I've got better orders for you. It's been a fair while, but you lot remember how to fly dragons, I hope?"

xxx

"But this is impossible." Neirin looked around, baffled. "Did we find an exit, perhaps?"

Kuja shook his head. "No. This is a memory."

Neither of them had anticipated that the memories they'd find would be quite so… vivid. But this was the cavern hidden in the depths of the Desert Palace, the enormous rough-carved room in which Neirin had summoned his magical army: Kuja had seen the room often enough to recognize it at a glance, and of course Neirin had been here for the majority of the past three years. The room was empty, but there were whispers – quiet, distant.

"So this is the most recent memory, then." Neirin turned in a circle, taking in the familiar room. It was nearly perfect, but no: here and there the walls were not quite solid, the details shifting even as he watched. A memory of a room. The room he'd spent so much time in, trying to save Kiera, trying everything he could…

Were all of the memories going to be so painful?

"Neirin." Kuja's hand was on his shoulder. When had he knelt to the ground, or had he fallen? The king blinked, staring wordlessly at his young friend. How can you be so calm? And how could Kuja forgive him for failing to protect Kiera – for failing to kill Taharka, for failing to put a stop to all of Taharka's plans, for failing and failing and failing, all those times, all these years?

"I should have been able to kill him," the king said, kneeling in the dust of a room that didn't even truly exist. "I'm strong enough. I'm more powerful than any other mage has ever been."

"Neirin –"

"The spell should have been enough to kill him!" He didn't have the energy to yell, but he tried. "What does it mean that he survived? Does it mean he's not meant to die?"

"It doesn't mean anything."

"Does it mean his plans are meant to work?" Neirin stared at Kuja, hoping for an answer he knew the boy didn't have, couldn't have. "Does it mean he's fated to succeed? I used all the power I had and it wasn't enough!"

"Taharka was lucky." Kuja's voice was even, but there was anxiety in his eyes, and Neirin hated it. You're afraid. You're afraid and there isn't a damned thing I can do to ease that fear, not truly. "Taharka got lucky," Kuja repeated, both hands on the king's shoulders. "But he won't get you. I won't let him."

And that was why, wasn't it? That was why Kuja could forgive him for his many failures: because so long as he evaded Taharka's grasp, the cultist hadn't won, and couldn't win.

The boy took a step back, frowning at him. "Do you need to rest?"

Yes. Neirin shook his head, dragging himself ungracefully to his feet. "If this room is half so large as I recall, we'd best get through it if we hope to find another memory any time soon."

xxx

Heavy boulders from the catapults pounded the hull of the Invincible, but the ship was built to live up to its name; they struck and fell back to the ground having done little more than scuff the ship. Taharka felt the faintest of vibrations, but the blows weren't enough to disturb the oculus as it gathered power, and there was nothing the Kierans could do to disrupt it now – even should a lucky blow strike the oculus itself, its power would still be unleashed before it could be destroyed.

And still more power was being gathered: more than was necessary, but Taharka left nothing to chance.

Satisfied, the alchemist touched the Earth Mirror, still safely tucked beneath his robe. You'll not be alone for long, Lich. He'd not even looked at the other mirrors – there was no need. Even without so much as touching the chest in which they were contained, he could feel them waking.

The guardians were near.

The Fire Mirror roared the loudest, blazing hotter than the Invincible's oculus; of course Maliris would be here. Taharka knew she hailed from Kiera – a princess of sorts, even; of course she would stand and fight, preferring to be here on the battlefront over remaining by Neirin's side in the palace. Taharka allowed himself a brief moment of concern: if the Invincible's attack should kill her, what then would become of the Fire Mirror? But the fear passed: the woman's soul alone would be enough, and her soul would be consumed by the Invincible. Easy to find. Easy to retrieve. Easy to manipulate.

The other two mirrors were awake as well, but they were merely warm; doubtless Kraken and Tiamat had elected to remain with their king. That was for the best. He could seize them when he captured Neirin…

…and the boy, yes. Kuja. He would have to be taken as well.

Taharka smiled, stroking the Earth Mirror thoughtfully. He was going to have to come up with something very special for young Kuja.

xxx

Heavy, she felt so heavy. Where am I? Her mind felt as heavy as her limbs; neither were quick to move, and trying to move them hurt. Keenly aware of her pulse throbbing slowly in her ears, Safira struggled to open her eyes and failed. Where am I? Someone was carrying her. Why…? Memories came trickling back, slower than sand through an hourglass. The king, the foreign king, she'd been healing him. Kuja had asked it of her.

Kuja had ordered it of her.

But the healing wasn't working. She wasn't strong enough. She wasn't skilled enough. Bruises and scrapes she could mend with ease, but Neirin's wounds ran deep – broken and shattered things, things she didn't know how to reach, let alone heal. He was dead. He was dead beneath her fingers even as he breathed and she knew it, but how could she tell Kuja? How could she, when the telling would kill him as well? But then Neirin woke, demanding to know where Kuja had gone, and when she told him…

"She's waking up." That was Kuja's voice, from somewhere far away. "Put her down. Safira?"

The ground was cold, but it gave her something to focus on. So heavy. She'd always been tired before, when King Neirin drew magic from her for his army – she'd collapsed before, exhausted and spent, needing to be carried back to her room. But this… this felt as if her very soul had been drained away.

"Safira, can you hear me?"

Footsteps. "Perhaps it would be best if she didn't wake here." That was King Neirin's voice, weary and strained. Best if she didn't wake where?

Frustrated and confused, she finally forced her eyes open… and learned nothing. High above was an unfamiliar sky, grey and covered by silvery clouds. Tall buildings reached toward that sky, and on the buildings were wide, staring, shifting eyes. Had she the energy, she might have screamed.

"You're awake." Kuja knelt beside her, frowning in mild concern. "Can you stand?"

She didn't even think she could lift a finger, never mind standing. "Where...?"

He looked around, taking in their strange surroundings. "Lisre. It was a city on the mother continent. We visited it once, three years ago." His frown deepened. "The memory of Lisre, anyway."

The mother continent? How could they have traveled so far? How long had she been unconscious? "Kuja. Kiera…"

"We need to keep moving." Kuja stood, gesturing to someone she couldn't see. "She can't walk on her own. Carry her."

And then, looming high above her was the featureless face of one of Neirin's shadowy golems. Terror swept through her, but the creature merely lifted her with surprising gentleness, carrying her as it had been ordered. Safira watched Kuja's retreating back, watching as he hurried to aid his king as they walked up the steeply-sloping hill. Why won't you tell me about Kiera? She wondered, despair forming a tight knot in her chest. What happened? Surrendering to exhaustion and fear, she let herself slip back into unconsciousness.

"She asked about Kiera." Kuja draped Neirin's arm across his shoulders, supporting the king as they climbed the steep path through Archae One… or the memory of it, at least. "I didn't know what to tell her."

Neirin took each step through bone-grinding pain. The first trip through the Archae hadn't been this painful – he remembered that, at least. "We owe her the truth."

"We don't even know the truth yet."

"Don't play the fool, you're bad at it." Neirin glared at his companion, unwilling to be cozened. "We failed Kiera. I failed Kiera."

The boy shook his head. "You did all you could."

For all the good it did. "If I hadn't called Doomsday – if I hadn't exhausted all of my power…"

"If, if, if." Neirin wasn't sure where Kuja found the strength to smile at a time like this. "Next time, let me know what you're scheming. I'll tell you if it's stupid."

"Oh? I expect you will." If indeed there ever is a next time. The king shook his head, watching the distant tower at the top of the Archae's slanted street grow ever closer. He prayed they wouldn't have to relive that memory.

Let him take your soul and warp it like mine, like mine!

"Kuja…"

They came to a stop. "What?"

He took a step away from the boy, sinking to his knees in painful exhaustion. Of course Kuja was by his side in an instant. I could have gotten you killed, too, he thought, but it wouldn't do to start that argument; he knew perfectly well Kuja would forever claim that his survival was all that mattered – as if it didn't matter at all that before all else, all else, Neirin didn't want to be left alone to face the end of the world. As if he wasn't afraid enough that solitude was all that awaited him!

"This is the last memory I have." He looked up at the boy, swallowing hard against the fears that threatened to overwhelm him. Not now, not now, worry about it later. "Lisre, the Archae – I don't remember anything else before this."

Was that despair in Kuja's eyes? It passed too quickly to tell. "Before that, we spent two years in Astrula." He smiled encouragingly. "You don't remember Astrula? You were crowned there, at the temple. It's where we met Jalen – do you remember Jalen?"

"The mercenary." Neirin blinked, surprised. The memory was faint, but yes: irritating but useful, the strong sword Neirin himself could never be, aggressively friendly – he remembered Jalen. And yes, if he thought about it… "I… there were others with him."

Kuja nodded. "He had friends when he first came after us."

"I killed them."

"With a lightning spell." Kuja was smiling now. "And then I hit Jalen in the face with a book, and we-"

"Escaped through the hole my spell had made." I remember! "And we ran to the temple!"

"See? You have memories." Kuja stood, offering him a hand. "Jalen was with us in Lisre, so you remember him. We just have to keep connecting all the little memories you do have, all the way back."

Smiling, Neirin clasped the boy's hand, letting himself be pulled back to his feet. "To Astrula, then."

xxx

"What is he waiting for?" Maliris paced angrily in the shadows of Kiera's great walls, glaring at the glowing red orb high above them. "And just how long are we supposed to wait? Why haven't we knocked the bastard out of the sky yet?"

Arros watched his daughter from a safe distance; she was angry enough to take any gesture as an invitation to fight. "The cultist's bird is proving to be sturdier than we'd hoped." The catapults were nearly out of ammunition, and the airship showed no sign of distress; the impacts barely seemed to rattle it. Vehtra had ordered them to aim for the oculus itself, but it was safely tucked beneath the massive hull of the ship – hitting it was proving nigh impossible.

It's a shame Kuja didn't kill Taharka. To think the boy had run the bastard off! The thought alone was enough to make Maliris smile despite her wrath. Who would've thought the little runt they picked up back in Bran Bal would turn out to have some bite to him after all?

Then again, he'd been fearless enough to trip her even then. An unarmed little brat, already trying to save Neirin's life.

Funny how things turn out.

"Why haven't the mages done anything?" She turned, glaring at Arros. "They should be attacking the ship too, shouldn't they? Your mages and Neirin's shadows; shouldn't they be doing something?"

With infuriating calmness, he shrugged his broad shoulders. "Vehtra wanted 'em for something or other."

"And you let him order them around?"

"The crafty old sandcat must have a trick or two up his sleeves." Arros grinned. "Kiera might go down, but I doubt he'll let her go without a fight."

Scowling, Maliris whirled away from him, storming back toward the stairwell that would lead her to the top of the walls. The airship's glare was growing ever brighter, drinking power: when that power was finally unleashed, it would erase this city, as cleanly as if it had never existed. She could feel the heat radiating from it, hotter than the desert sunshine, and twice as lethal.

I should have fled with Neirin. Pride had overpowered common sense. There would be no fight to be had here, no grand battle for Kiera's survival; they had nothing strong enough to fight the airship. Her scowl deepened. Coward, hiding in his airship; where was the honor in that? He wouldn't stand a chance down here on the ground, where she could get the insect where she wanted him, right between the blades of her swords. She could cut his throat, just like he'd…

"They're safely away, if that's what you're fretting over." Vehtra's voice sliced through her thoughts; he barely spared her a glance as she joined him atop the wall. He, too, was staring at the sky. Boulders bounced off of the airship's hull like so many pebbles, tumbling down into Kiera's empty streets.

"For all the good it does."

The old king shrugged. "It was worth the attempt. Doesn't even look like Taharka took notice."

"It means they'll be safe, anyway." She sighed, watching her father ordering his warriors around below. If he should die here, she was still his heir – Thief Queen of Kiera. Or its ashes, at least. And then again, she would very likely be killed in Taharka's assault, as well. And who was her heir? She'd spent so long running from the past that she'd never considered what might happen if it caught up.

Heedless of her thoughts, Vehtra snorted. "What it means is I sent away two perfectly good warriors when I could have just as easily sent your king and his young scholar off instead." He sighed. "If I'd known it could be so simple…"

"Warriors are no use here." Maliris gestured toward the sky. "You mind getting that thing in sword range, old man?"

"If only."

"Which begs another question." She frowned. "You now command the Thief King's mages. Why? And none of your damn dancing around the answer, either."

He glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. "Dancing? I've not been spry enough to dance in several long decades, Roshan."

"Answer me."

"Heh." Vehtra shook his head, chuckling. "Right, then, if you must know: desperation." He looked skyward. "That's a mighty blow he's readying. I mean to have the mages form a shield."

"A shield. Barrier spells?"

He nodded. "I doubt it'll work, but with the lot of them – the shadowy ones, too – all concentrating on it as best they can? We might weather the worst."

"And if he strikes again?"

"If he strikes again, dear Roshan? Kiera is doomed."

xxx

"Master Taharka." One of the cultists crept in as quietly as possible, unwilling to come any closer to the burning oculus than was necessary. She could feel the heat from the doorway, and the angry red glow filled the room. Taharka was kneeling over the chest containing his mirrors, his hand hovering over the Fire Mirror, and on his face… on his face was a look of rapture. The cultist swallowed, shivering despite the heat. "Master-"

He looked up, eyes wild. "Speak."

He's gone mad, she thought, but she schooled her face to calmness. Don't show fear. "Two… two silver dragons flew from Kiera." His expression shifted, but she didn't dare make eye contact any longer; her gaze dropped to the floor. She'd seen the dragons fly herself from the bridge – two silver dragons, no mistaking it. It was too far to make out the riders by the time they'd noticed, but…

"No," Taharka breathed, disbelief turning his voice into a shrill whisper. "No. Would you be so obvious, Neirin?" Garland's vessel was supposed to be trapped in the palace, with no possible escape. The cultist stared at the ground until her eyes grew watery, but Taharka seemed to have forgotten her existence.

"You must know I'll pursue you," he whispered, stroking the Earth Mirror. "Do you think to draw me away from Kiera? Oh, Neirin." He laughed. "How well you defend your allies." But the Invincible was faster, far faster, than a mere dragon could ever hope to fly. In a matter of moments the city of Kiera would be washed away, and he would be free to pursue…

To pursue…

What is this? His other hand hovered over the Fire Mirror, still blazing hot. But the other mirrors had fallen strangely silent, cooling and returning to slumber even as he watched.

Taharka's rage built slowly, from a whisper to a roaring scream, sending the cultist fleeing from the room in terror. He whirled to face the oculus, slamming his fists against the control panel, screaming wordlessly. It would do the king no good, none at all, sending his guardians away. Taharka could chase them just as easily, the Invincible was unmatched in speed, but…

Silver dragons weren't meant to bear more than one rider, perhaps two light riders, at a time. Clad in armor and bearing weapons, Tiamat and Kraken alone were a heavy burden for dragons to bear – which meant it was extremely likely that Neirin was still in the palace. Once Kiera was destroyed, a choice lay before Taharka: he could claim Garland's vessel, allowing the guardians to travel further away and slip into hiding; or he could chase down the guardians, and risk Neirin fleeing before he could return. Either way, he risked losing one valuable piece of his plan in favor of claiming the other.

"Damn you, Neirin, I will achieve my aims," he growled, staring into the blazing oculus. "Now, Invincible! End this city!"

xxx

I don't remember this place. Neirin collapsed again, sinking in exhaustion to an unfamiliar forest floor. Floating trees with intertwined roots hovered a short distance above them, and the forest itself was rich with undergrowth: a thriving forest, yet it was perfectly silent. No birds chirping, no distant sound of beasts creeping through the fallen leaves… not even a breath of wind to stir the branches. My memory, he thought, looking around, but I don't remember it.

Nor had he remembered the last few places they'd passed through; Kuja could name them, though: Astrula, with its grand temple, where they'd found safety for two years. The mountain range they'd crossed together, cold and treacherous. Belapest, the City of Travelers, reduced in Memoria to little more than a dark, dangerous auction house Neirin couldn't recall and Kuja didn't want to.

And Traje.

The castle, Kuja had explained, trying to hide his own despair at realizing Neirin knew nothing, nothing, of his own home. In Memoria, the castle had been faithfully reconstructed, from the grand hall to the gardens to the throne room to the bed chambers, and he recognized none of it. For sixteen years he'd lived in Traje, and none of it lingered in his memory.

"This is…" Kuja looked around, letting Neirin rest in private anguish. "This is the forest outside of Bran Bal."

"You know this place?"

Silence. Neirin closed his eyes. Of course he knows this place. He knew them all.

"Neirin…" The boy returned to his side. "Should we stop for a while? Have you recovered any magic? You need to heal." A note of mild irritation crept into his voice. "That was the idea behind coming here."

Every part of him ached, every part of him begged for mercy, and this endless trudge through Memoria was teaching him nothing. Eyes still shut, Neirin reached for what little magic he'd scavenged, and put it to use: it was little enough, but he felt the bones mending. Not enough. Not nearly enough. Opening his eyes, he glanced over Kuja's shoulder to where the shadow mage still carried the unconscious Safira – the girl either hadn't reawakened, or was unwilling to show she had. Either was a possibility. He wondered if she had recovered any magic he might draw…

But no, a cursory check revealed she was still utterly drained. When he'd drawn from her, he'd done so thoroughly, and it would be some time before her power was restored.

"Do I have any magic?" Kuja was no fool; he'd seen the king glance toward Safira and knew what it meant. "Neirin-"

He shook his head; the movement hurt. "No."

"You didn't even check." The boy frowned. "If I have anything you can use to heal yourself-"

I ask too much of you as it stands. "I already know you don't have any useful magic." It was a lie; he didn't know if his young friend did have any magic, but it didn't matter. Not you. I'll never stoop that low, never.

Disheartened, Kuja sighed, settling more comfortably on the ground. "Then you'll have to rest."

"There are worse places to rest." Neirin looked up, smiling at the trees overhead. Floating trees with roots that formed pathways: what a pleasantly bizarre place. "So. You know this place, don't you? What's this memory meant to be?"

"Neirin…" When he looked back down, the king realized there were tears standing in Kuja's sharp green eyes. Tears be damned, though, the boy was smiling. "Neirin, this… this is where we met."

Oh.

His heart ached nearly as badly as the rest of him. The king closed his eyes again, shutting out the sight of those tears; they wouldn't help him recall what had happened here – it might as well have happened in another lifetime. "I'll rest." He shifted, stretching out on the forest floor with his head resting on Kuja's leg. "And in the meantime, Kuja…"

"Yes?"

"Tell me how we met?"

xxx

When the attack came, it split the sky in two: a beam of violet light that shattered stone. The mages' shield was strong: the army of shadowy warriors Neirin had created were a force to be reckoned with on their own, drawing from astonishing reserves of power. The shield absorbed the worst of the blow…

…but not all.

When the shield broke, the city crumbled. The ancient walls, which had stood for cycles beyond anyone's knowledge, shattered as if they were made of glass – and the people who stood upon them shattered with them.

xxx

Ears ringing, Taharka rose shakily to his feet. The force of the impact had sent him sprawling away from the control panel. Such power! In silent awe, he rested a hand on the control panel, feeling the straining machinery recovering from the sudden release; the Invincible wouldn't be ready for a second attack for some time. Not that such an attack would be necessary. Through the translucent oculus, Taharka saw the ruins of Kiera far below.

And the oculus began the slow process of drinking in the souls set free by the city's destruction.

So end those who would interfere with Terra's master plan.

He smiled, touching the Earth Mirror… then took a deep, anxious breath, kneeling and reaching for the mirror chest. If he'd killed Maliris, he would need to retrieve her soul from the Invincible before it no longer synchronized with the Fire Mirror…

But no, the mirror still blazed bright and hot, active and awake. Maliris lived. Taharka smiled, closing the lid of the chest, touching the Earth Mirror beneath his cloak.

There was the answer to his quandary, then: with Maliris still within the ruins of the city and Neirin still within the palace, the answer became clear. He would seek out Kraken and Tiamat later. Perhaps, by that time, he might even have Garland's assistance in doing so.

xxx

The wounds were worse than she'd expected. Maliris groaned, cradling a broken arm; she was lucky it hadn't been worse – being thrown off of the wall by the force of the blast ought to have been enough to kill her. Falling from the walls didn't kill Neirin, either, she reflected dryly, staggering to her feet.

Desperation, Vehtra had called it, but the shield had done its work: Kiera's buildings and walls had taken a beating, but save for the poor fools on the walls, they'd taken few casualties. Maliris looked around, wondering where the old bastard had ended up; he'd been on the walls, as she had. If he'd survived the fall, she'd be stunned…

But rather than finding Vehtra, her gaze fell on the corpse of her father, pinned beneath the rubble of the collapsed walls.

Wholly unprepared for the grief that welled up from her core, she took a few painful steps toward him. "Father-" It wasn't supposed to end this way. We were supposed to reconcile somehow, you and I, we were supposed to-

But then something struck her from behind, and in a blaze of pain and anguish, she dropped into darkness.

xxx

One of the oldest cities on this ancient world, Kiera. Taharka felt the slightest twitch of regret, walking through the ruined streets – here and there a strange corpse caught his eye: dark, faceless creatures crafted from raw magic. It was very near to being alchemy, but this was a different sort of skill; he didn't need anyone to tell him Neirin's hand was in this. Crafting living beings of his own design… surely Neirin could see that this art was so similar to the mission he would carry out once he became Garland? Surely he saw the similarities between these creatures and the Genomes?

I must make him see. Taharka touched the Earth Mirror, taking comfort in its reassuring presence. Soon, soon he would have Neirin, and Garland would be within his grasp. There were problems to address, of course, but once he had Garland's vessel, all else would fall into place, he was sure of it. And then the other guardians would have to be captured, as well, but now that he thought about it – how better to capture the guardians than to hold their charge captive?

It would all fall into place.

"Seek Maliris," he ordered, and his followers scattered. They could tend to her easily enough; she was no doubt wounded in the Invincible's attack. He had more important matters to tend to.

The entrance to the palace was concealed within the cave; a far less dangerous entry than his previous journey. He smiled, making his way toward the gaping cavern entrance.

"You won't find him there." A voice seized his attention; Taharka scowled, turning to face an elderly man, pinned beneath the rubble.

"You." Taharka recognized the man, though it took a moment: blood obscured his features. "The old king."

Vehtra spat blood. "Aye." He grinned, a red and unpleasant smile. "Your quarry slipped out from under you, cultist."

"Neirin didn't leave the city with his guardians." A poor bluff, wretch. "I have my ways of knowing – Kraken and Tiamat flew from the city on silver dragons, but they couldn't possibly have supported Neirin as a passenger."

"Spotted that one, did you?" Vehtra's grin never wavered. "Went through a lot of trouble to get those dragons. Didn't want 'em killed so quickly."

Fool. "So you admit Neirin never left the city."

"Never said that, no." The old man laughed. "Search the palace all you like. Search until your bones crumble to dust. He's gone beyond your reach, cultist."

No. No. "You lie." No! Taharka didn't wait for an answer; he turned and half-sprinted away, hurrying toward the cave entrance. How could he escape? There was no way out of the palace, nowhere for him to go.

Vehtra's laughter followed him the entire way.

xxx

It seemed they'd been walking for days, through foreign and dangerous landscapes. They'd long since passed beyond worlds even Kuja remembered or recognized; they'd entered into memories from Neirin's ancestors, now, and Memoria had taken on a surreal, unsettling aspect. They walked through upside-down waterfalls and across walkways made of starlight; they watched Terra fuse with other worlds, waxing and waning in strength. They crossed a bridge formed by the ticking hands of a clock. They walked through blood-soaked battlefields and witnessed the crowning of legendary kings and queens.

"I haven't learned anything." Neirin's strength was returning, but his spirit was not. Kuja watched the king heal himself once more, drawing on what little magic he'd recovered – any time he could, he took the chance to heal himself, and little by little, he was mending. He could walk on his own now; he barely even limped, and his breathing was no longer sharp with pain.

But he was breaking.

And he wasn't the only one.

Safira had been awake for some time now, limp and quiet in the shadow mage's arms. She didn't speak, even when he tried to coax her; she didn't ask again what had become of Kiera. Kuja suspected she didn't need to ask: her expression suggested she knew perfectly well what had become of her home.

He let her mourn in silence.

"I haven't learned anything," Neirin repeated, once his healing was complete. He rose, pacing in frustration across the twisting pathway Memoria had presented them with this time. "Nothing about my memory, nothing about why I'm losing it, nothing." He gestured to the world around them. "This place hardly even seems changed by the fact that my memory is incomplete; the memories are still here, whether I have them or not."

Kuja stood, stretching out the kinks in his back. "To me, that suggests you still have those memories, you just can't reach them."

"Ever the scholar." The look Neirin gave him was derisive. "Theorizing without proof. Why can't I reach them? Tell me something useful for a change."

Does it help you to be cruel? Kuja didn't rise to the bait. "Maybe you were right, maybe calling the shadow army somehow impacted your memories." He glanced at the mage carrying Safira. "The process was theoretical when you started. We don't know what effect it might have had on you."

"Maybe. I ask for answers and you give me maybe."

"It's all I have." He looked back at his king, keeping his temper as level as possible. "You're supposed to be the mage here. Knowing what magic does is supposed to be your skill."

"For all the good it's ever done us!" Neirin laughed, harsh and mocking. "Maybe you should be the one to study magic, scholar."

"I don't have any magic, according to you," Kuja shot back, feeling anger begin to boil – he tried to quench it, but it was difficult, and Neirin knew him well enough to know where to prod to get a reaction.

The king's eyes glittered. "That's right. You don't. So don't think to lecture me about what magic can or cannot do."

"I was only repeating what you suggested!"

"And I asked for answers, not a repetition of my own theory."

Kuja struggled to rein in his temper. "I don't have answers. Is that what you want?" A confession of my uselessness?

"I want…" Neirin glared at him a moment longer, but the anger melted out of him. He buried his face in his hands. "I just want…"

Answers. The voice resonated so sharply with his own thoughts that for a moment, Kuja didn't realize it was something else – another voice in his head, not unlike the dragon at Memoria's gateway. Neirin looked up sharply: he'd heard it too. Kuja hurried to the king's side, looking around for the source of the voice, but nothing appeared.

You seek answers, do you?

"Yes," Neirin replied hesitantly. "I… I'm losing my memories, yet this world…"

Memoria is formed from the memories of your soul. Whether you recall them or not, all memories are part of the soul, and the soul is part of the crystal.

"Why am I losing my memories?"

I am a phantom of Memoria, the voice replied. All I know is what this world grants me to know. And the answers you seek…

"…Are not granted to you." Despair crept into Neirin's voice. "So I'll never know, then."

Seek you the Keepers of Memory.

"Keepers of…?"

Far to the north, in lands untouched by mortals. Long have they resided there, recording the history of the world around them, yet never truly touching it. They oversee the memories housed by Terra's crystal – and if anyone will know what forces have shaped your memory, what forces are causing you to lose them…

Neirin nodded slowly. "Keepers of Memory. We'll seek them out, then." It was better than nothing. And it was all they had. "But first… we need to return to Kiera. I made a promise."


Author's Note: Oh my god it ended finally.

Really looking forward to the Keepers of Memory, guys. e ue Like just so much.