Chapter Forty-Four

Nos


Time has stopped before us; the sky cannot ignore us
No one can separate us, for we are all that is left
The echo bounces off me; the shadow lies beside me
There's no more need to protest, for now I can begin again


Yuan swirled the malbec in his glass for probably the hundredth time. The fingers of his free hand traced back and forth in constant, thoughtful lines along the leather armrest of his chair, and over the small gold inlays snaking along its edges. Botta sat across from him, on the other side of the grand oak table; the bulky half-elf was intently perusing a collection of documents and maps pertinent to their next mission.

Which Yuan, right now, couldn't even remember. Nor did he particularly care about. He frowned down at his glass.

"That color," he muttered.

Botta's hunched head lifted. "What was that, sir?"

"Did you see it?" Yuan scoffed at his own stupidity and shook his head. "No, you wouldn't have. It was a stupid question. Just ignore me."

One corner of Botta's stoic mouth pricked up. "Forgive me, sir, but I swore an oath to never do that."

Touche. Yuan smirked back. "The Exsphere that Kratos put on the demonic vessel. It… had a peculiar color."

Botta, appropriately, had nothing to add. Instead he continued to sit and listen quietly as he steepled his hands beneach his chiseled chin.

"It reminded me of something," Yuan went on. He stopped swirling his glass. The wine kept swishing, carried on by momentum. "Something I haven't seen for a very long time."

"What might that be?"

The door to the office opened. And Yuan hadn't quite noticed how silent this room had been until the sound of that door sliding ajar made him jump like a startled deer and splash at least a third of his wine all over the thankfully-black fabric of his pants.

"Sir-"

The glare Yuan shot at the intruding soldier looked livid enough to set the hapless man aflame.

"Ah," the man began, shrinking back a few steps. Though he hid it well, with a practiced square of his shoulders. "Apologies, sir. Should I come back at a later time?"

Yuan sighed and set down his glass. "No, sergeant. What message do you bring me?"

"The Protozoan and the Centurling dragon have been successfully relocated to Tethe'alla via the teleporter. They should make contact with the Irving boy and his aunt shortly."

"Good." Yuan dabbed absently at his damp thigh with the edge of his equally-black cape. "Excellent work."

"Th-thank you, sir." The soldier left; Yuan could practically hear the young man's smug smile.

Botta rather miraculously procured a towel from somewhere and offered it across the table. With a bitter frown, Yuan accepted it.

"You were saying, sir?" Botta asked.

"Perhaps later." Yuan stood and turned towards the door. "There is something I must investigate on my own. Wait here until I contact you."

"As you wish."


"I do not believe we have met."

That seemed like a very normal thing for Regal to say. Anything other than a chaste, salubrious salutation would've seemed out of place and inappropriate. After all - several years' worth of associating with all manner of Tethe'alla's aristocrats had left Duke Bryant with a glorious bare minimum of awkwardness towards approaching strangers.

Even if said stranger happened to be a high-raking, traitorous seraphim of Cruxis.

Regal couldn't truly shake hands with anyone. Physically. The most he could offer was a sort-of awkward turn of one hand while he attempted to yank the other out of the way. Shackles made this sort of thing rather difficult.

Although he wouldn't remove them, ever. Even though he could.

This seraphim of Cruxis - Kratos, Regal had recalled - didn't talk much. Didn't move much, either, as he lurked arms-crossed in the corner of Altessa's house with all the fortitude and poise of a stone gargoyle. Kratos' face was equal parts youthful and ancient, hopeful and diminished. It reminded Regal a bit of himself. And that damnable way he used to stare out the window of his office.

"We have not," Kratos deadpanned.

The offered hand(s) dropped.

"Regal Bryant," he settled for.

"Kratos Aurion."

The response had been succinct and factual. Not rude or off-putting at all, as Regal had somewhat expected.

"Kharlian in origin," Regal offered. "Or, 'angelic language' as most call it. In the old common tongue, that name would mean 'morning of strength.' I was required to study ancient Angelic in school."

"I see," Kratos said.

He wasn't paying much attention to Regal; the seraph kept his garnet-eyed glare pointedly across the room, towards Altessa's forge, at either Lloyd or that orange-haired woman next to him that Regal hadn't properly met yet, either. But who was apparently Lloyd's aunt?

Regal had gotten himself involved with a rather interesting group of people, hadn't he?

"I must admit I was not aware that Cruxis actually existed," Regal continued amiably, since this conversation had all the life of a fish in the desert. "To myself and most of my employees, the angels of Cruxis are merely a legend."

"'Employees?'"

"Indeed," Regal said swiftly. "I am the president of the Lezerano company."

Kratos huffed a laugh. "I'm sorry."

"For what, may I ask?"

The seraph seemed to completely ignore this question and instead cocked his burgundy head at the thick lengths of metal around both of Regal's wrists. "What are those for?"

Alicia, Regal almost said. His lips had parted to speak the first syllable of her name.

"I committed a crime," Regal answered instead, with a straightening of his shoulders, and a puffing of his toned chest. "These shackles represent my punishment."

"Incompetent human justice," Kratos murmured caustically. His nimble fingertips idly drummed against the hilt of his sword.

Regal smiled a little. "You are incorrect. I was not ordered to wear these by any judge."

The drumming stopped. And the silence that remained asked its own question.

"I chose this punishment," Regal went on. Which was completely the truth, and something he always spoke, ironically, with nothing but pride. "I took an innocent life. My crime will never vanish. I wear these by choice as penance."

Kratos' spine bolstered itself into something staid, something prideful. And he ignored Regal again, in favor of gazing at what was now unmistakably that orange-haired woman.

"Willing self-punishment results in nothing but fear and inaction," Kratos stated evenly. And with a tiny, almost peaceful hint of a smile. "Guilt is a useless emotion."

Oh.

Well, then.

Given the seraph's so-far ubiquitous brooding countenance, that had been the last response Regal had expected. He felt pleasantly challenged, like he'd entered into a subtle battle of wits.

"Useless?" Regal queried. "When utilized properly, guilt only fortifies my spirit."

"Not your fighting skills." Kratos flicked his eyes to Regal's handcuffs. "Clearly."

That subtle battle had become the low hum of a war-cry. "I can assure you, I defend myself quite well with only my legs."

Kratos had been leaning the broad expanse of his back against the dusty clay wall. He now pulled away, taking a few calm steps forward. "I have never seen a man fight with solely his legs."

Regal, who was honestly quite a bit larger than this mysterious seraph, made no motion in the contrary - until it looked like Kratos had begun approach the forge. Which is where all of the important things were happening - for Presea - and where Regal would be damned for allowing anything to go awry.

So he slid forward, and blocked Kratos' path with his body. The frown on the Duke's square jaw was hard to miss.

"You're young," Regal countered. "I would imagine there are many things you have yet to see."

The air over Kratos' shoulders seemed to shimmer and gleam, until a pair of glassy, pale-blue wings burst forth and hovered along his back. Followed by a pointed grip of the hilt of his sword.

"Perhaps you're right," Kratos said silkily.

Regal smiled again. "Would you like a demonstration?"

"Lloyd is about to crack the mold. If he does not cool the mixture, this will delay the forging process."

"Seriously?"

This new voice wasn't Regal's, or the seraph's. It was low and raspy, but still somehow feminine. And it was accompanied by a rolling pair of umber eyes.

"Kid," Sara continued, waving a hand vaguely in Lloyd's direction. "Ask Altessa to help. Cool that stuff for a minute first. Apparently it's too hot."

The dwarf in mention took a second look at his forge and, with a drag of his hand down the length of his dusty beard, nodded in agreement. "Hmm, it seems Kratos is right. Let the metal rest."

Lloyd gingerly eased the pair of tongs he'd been holding into the empty grip meant to house them. "Ah, sure."

Sara brushed her smudged hands off on her black leggings. "Put those away, Kratos. Gods. This is no place for a pissing contest."

Kratos scowled. But his hand slowly backed away from his sword and his wings vanished in a shower of graceful cyan sparks.

"And I haven't met you yet," she continued, sending Regal a skeptical, yet somewhat amused look, "but you must've said something pretty ballsy to make Kratos all uppity like that." She extended her hand towards him, grinning wide. "Sara Irving."

The bright white of her broad smile stood out starkly from her tan skin and the freckles dotting her cheeks. Regal opted to forego the offered handshake - for the second time in as many minutes - and instead cupped her palm, bowed, and pressed his lips to her knuckles. A practice he'd performed literally thousands of times. Customary, upon first meeting ladies of Tethe'alla.

"Enchanté," he said smoothly. "Duke Regal Bryant."

And then Regal remembered sensing three very distinct things all at once:

The first was the sound of metal scraping and singing through the air. The second was the slight hissing of a breeze that rushed by one of his ears.

And the third was the edge of a cold steel blade pressing just beneath the rigid line of his jaw.

All three happened within the blink of an eye. Regal cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak-

"Do not touch her," Kratos snarled. "She is not yours."

Every eye in the room went to their awkward, murderous trio. The air stilled. Regal heard someone gasp; he dared not turn his head to look at who.

"No offense meant, I assure you," Regal said, gingerly arising from his apparently misplaced bow. "Forgive me, Sara. I suppose I did not realize the extent of Cruxis' protectiveness towards its treasures."

"Y-yeah," Sara blurted, in a crisp, tense laugh. "Cruxis. Right. Nice to meet you, Regal, all the same."

Once Kratos' blade had left his neck, Regal cracked it pointedly. "Likewise."


"It wouldn't look like that," Genis protested at once.

Lloyd frowned at the cement mold resting in his hand. "Why not?"

"It's not pretty enough," Genis finished on a mutter. He stared down at his feet as they shuffled against the dusty sandstone floor. "Presea isn't like other girls. She needs something special."

Lloyd sighed. His hands and shoulders already ached from finishing Colette's Crest, which now sat completed and cooling in the back of the room, giving off a faint reddish glow.

"Genis, I don't think we have time for-"

"How long did Colette's pendant take you, huh?"

Lloyd's eyes now widened. His frown vanished. He scratched at the back of his head with one rough, blackened hand. "Uh, well. A few days, maybe? Not nearly long as it should have-"

"And you're telling me you can't spend a few more hours making Presea's Key Crest look nice?" Genis' small pale face was positively raging with furious recalcitrance. "What kind of guy are you, Lloyd?"

"Genis-"

"Teach me, then!" He shoved his sleeves up to his elbows and furrowed his brow. "I'll do it myself!"

Lloyd sighed again. He set his chosen mold down - a simple one of a diamond-shape - and instead picked up another, with elegant lines that spread like tree branches.

"How's this, instead?"

And his best friend's obstinate frown now eased into a small, grateful smile. "That's the one I would've picked."


Not one hair on her golden head was out of place. It was like she'd entered a state of suspended animation; her holy tunic was still bright white, and her soft skin looked untouched by any earthly filth. But Colette's eyes were still that creepy, dull shade of red that Lloyd had grown only to hate.

He was beyond ready for them to return to their normal blue. And to see her smile again.

"I'm sorry," he told her, for the thousandth time. He and the others had returned to Mizuho; Colette, true to Tiga's word, had been kept safely hidden in the mystical village.

"I finished your present, finally," Lloyd went on, breathing a soft laugh. "Took me long enough, right? But I worked really hard on it this time, and I think it will help you get back to normal."

He could feel the silent stares of his companions boring into his back, watching intently; they had all waited just as long for this, too. They had fought for her with just as much ferocity, hoped with just as much courage.

Except for Kratos, obviously. Who literally caused all of this.

Fresh distaste squelched into Lloyd's mouth as he frowned. The fact that the traitor was once again part of their ranks made his chest burn; he wanted to turn and glare at Kratos furiously all over again, for probably the dozenth time today - but Lloyd reigned the urge back and took a calming breath.

"Anyway, Colette-" He undid the small clasp on the pendant's graceful chain, and eased it around her shoulders and towards the back of her neck, beneath all of that flaxen hair.

"Happy late birthday," Lloyd concluded. "Please, come back to us."

Seconds ticked by. Lloyd stared hard at her motionless face, his heart pounding. His hands curled into fists.

Nothing happened.

"M-maybe it just takes a little while?" Sheena suggested gingerly.

Lloyd hung his head. "No. It's not that. I didn't do it right."

Sheena took a tentative step towards him. "Hey, don't-"

"You do not know that," Kratos cut in.

Lloyd whipped around to face the seraph, who stood along the far wall - beside Sara, always, which never ceased to make Lloyd sick - with his arms crossed and his cinnamon eyes thinned thoughtfully.

"No one has ever attempted to make a proper Key Crest for the Chosen's Cruxis Crystal," Kratos continued. "There is no telling how long it may take for her to return to normal. If at all."

Lloyd blinked at him. He wasn't sure if he wanted to argue, or agree, or ignore Kratos entirely. Thankfully, Zelos spoke for him:

"I've been wondering about this. Why is Cruxis suddenly okay with letting Colette here regain her soul? Wouldn't that undo all the work you did in Sylvarant?"

Lloyd blinked again. Of course. He'd been so focused on, well, hating Kratos that he hadn't stopped to think about any of that.

"Yeah," Lloyd added, proudly tilting his chin. "You're standing right here watching me try to keep Colette from becoming a true angel. But you fought and nearly killed all of us at the Tower of Salvation to ensure just that."

Kratos' stony expression didn't waver in the slightest.

"It has something to do with Sara, then," Raine said factually. "And the Angelus Project. Somehow whatever Yggdrasill has planned for her has become more important than obtaining the Chosen."

"Lord Yggdrasill's will is absolute," Kratos stated icily. "I have no need to explain."

"Did you find out anything, Sara?" Raine asked. "When you were at Welgaia?"

Sara frowned. "No. I was kept in a solitary holding cell twenty-four seven. I didn't set foot outside for a week. Not to mention the fact that all of my energy and time was devoted to, you know, not dying."

Raine flinched and dropped her gaze to the floor. "I see. I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Sara grumbled. "I'm still here, somehow." A lopsided, cynical smirk. "Unfortunately for all of you."

"Well, we can equip your Key Crest next, Sara," Lloyd said, once again surging with hope. "That way we can get that Exsphere off of you and Cruxis can leave you alone-"

"Not yet," Kratos interjected.

He'd been doing that a lot today.

Lloyd bristled. "What? Why?"

"The Exsphere is not fully mature. Regardless of a Key Crest, removing it before the appropriate time would not only render the Exsphere permanently useless, but would result in Sara's mutation into a monster." His garnet eyes thinned. "Is that what you want?"

Lloyd's breath caught. "O-of course not. But keeping it on her is making her sick. When will it be time?"

"I will know," Kratos answered plainly. "Only a seraph of Cruxis can sense its mana properly."

"So we're supposed to trust you?" Lloyd seethed. "Just take your word for it?"

"That didn't exactly work out well last time," Sheena added petulantly.

"This thing is valuable," Sara said, gesturing her chin over one shoulder. "Cruxis wouldn't risk anything happening to it. You don't have to worry about that, Lloyd. Okay?"

She was trying valiantly to wear what had once been her broad, beaming smile. It didn't even come close. Colette's still-lifeless eyes were staring uselessly ahead; Lloyd felt the biting fangs of failure pierce into him all over again, injecting livid streams of shame and remorse.

"I just don't want to see you suffer, Sara," he muttered, glaring down at his crimson boots. "I don't want you to end up like Mom."

He heard Sara's breath catch. The air in the room seemed to cloud, to become instantly heavy. Lloyd couldn't bring himself to look up from his feet; he saw Sara begin to step towards him, and fully expected to hear her say something positive, something encouraging to ease his fear.

Instead, he heard Kratos say, in a positively steely, self-assured voice:

"That will not happen."

Lloyd's head snapped up. He started to gape at the seraph, but Kratos was already making his way towards the exit, his eyes shielded in the spikes of his bangs. He slid open the door and stepped quietly outside.

"Anyway," Sara began - and her voice was just a bit too rough - "you know who we can help right now? Presea. Let's go see her, yeah?"

Lloyd kept staring at that half-open front door. It took a few moments for his throat to start working once more, but he eventually agreed with a determined nod.


Ozette, while not far from Mizuho, was not nearly close enough to reach before nightfall. Camp had been set up on the edge of the Gaoracchia forest - nearly in the same spot they'd been earlier, actually, before Sara had become a Cruxis test subject and Colette had been whisked away into Yggdrasill's waiting embrace. (And subsequently rescued; apparently the Renegades were, in fact, good for something. Who knew?)

Zelos remembered this place.

He'd had The Nightmare here. It deserved capital letters because it was the only one he'd had in his twenty-thee years so far - and at this rate, would be the only one he'd ever have. He remembered lying down to sleep in his bedroll - made of the finest Meltokian silk and down stuffing, of course. He remembered thinking it was weird and slightly creepy that Tethe'alla's famously-haunted forest sat mere meters beside him. Oh, and also that he'd probably wake up covered in bugs, because who slept on the ground?

Against all odds, Zelos had managed to fall asleep. A shitty, sweaty sleep. He'd dreamt about the dark day when snowflakes had collected in his hair. About his mother's last words as her fingernails had bit into his jaw and she'd smiled through the blood coating her lips.

About the shadows.

Zelos shook his head quickly to ward off those last two words. They always ate at him somehow and made his teeth grind. He took in a long, steadying breath and kept walking.

That night, Zelos hadn't woken up to bugs. He hadn't been attacked by Gaoracchia's famed spirits, either.

No, he'd woken up to Sara and whiskey. And he'd told her things, about the dark day, that he'd never said to anyone.

Had it been the whiskey? Possibly. Probably. But it could've just as easily been her, and the way that her simple, slightly stupid way of talking to him had tugged forth his honesty like a frenzied, snarled fish.

In his entire life, she was undoubtedly the only attractive female that he didn't want.

Okay - let's be real. That wasn't entirely true. It's not like Zelos didn't want Sara - really, he'd bang basically any attractive female if it were a remote possibility.

But there was something about this one. Something about her. She was important in a way he didn't understand. And she was off-limits both romantically and sexually.

There weren't many women in Zelos' life who could claim the same. Maybe that was why.

Her claws were out. She hadn't taken them off for the better part of a day; she'd found a downed tree to use as a prop to perform push-ups against. She wasn't strong enough yet to solely use the ground. And even from several yards away, Zelos heard her harsh breaths. Saw her grimace. Watched the way her claws dug into the tree's bark, anchoring her still, as her withered muscles urged her upwards, against all odds.

The moonlight bounced off of the contours of her mostly-bare back. Sara wore only her athletic underbra, that ended halfway down her chest and flank. That gleaming grape-purple Exsphere hummed triumphantly from between her bunched shoulders.

Her breath caught. Zelos had been incredibly surreptitious about approaching her, but apparently that didn't seem to matter, because her umber eyes flashed as they flicked to his.

Zelos watched as she sank to her knees. "Does it hurt?"

"Like a bitch," Sara told him. Her claws scraped against the wood of the downed tree. "It's like my whole back is a big bruise."

His eyebrows raised. "That sucks, Sara."

"Yeah."

Zelos leaned his shoulder against a standing, far more fortunate tree. "What's it for?"

"Hell if I know," Sara grumbled. She ended up sitting on the log she had been push-upping against. Her elbows rested on her knees as she leaned forward and swiped at her brow. "They wanted my sister for the same thing. Guess there's something, eh, special about us."

"Ah, yes." Zelos passed one hand through his hair. "Your sister was my bud's mom."

Sara's eyes thinned. "...Your 'bud?'"

"Oh, that's right." Zelos breathed a laugh. "Yeah, Lloyd and I bonded while you were gone. We're buds, now."

A few drops of sweat plunked from Sara's bangs and down to the earth. "Well, shit."

The Chosen grinned. "I'm not surprised by that reaction."

"Of course not." Sara got to her feet. She dragged the back of her forearm across her face. "You're pretty much - well, me. And the last thing Lloyd needs is to end up like us."

"Heh." Zelos' amused grin sobered slightly. "And how have we ended up, lovely?"

"Dried-out," she said succinctly. "Slightly alcoholic. Full of bullshit. Literally the opposite of everything I hope for that kid."

She started stretching her arms over her head and leaning side-to-side. Which gave him a pretty extraordinary show of her bare, toned stomach that by all rights should've boiled his blood - and furthermore should've been performed with much more modesty on her end. It was like she didn't care what he saw, and also knew he wouldn't care either.

He didn't. It mesmerized him. Zelos was really, really new to this whole 'just friends' thing. A virgin, really. Ironically. He hoped his expression somehow managed to hide the awkwardness that wanted to twist his mouth.

"Lloyd will be fine," he said finally.

Sara paused in picking up her shirt. "You think?"

"He's a bit of an idiot sometimes. But someone taught him well."

She gave him a cynical smirk. "Sure as shit wasn't me."

"No?" Zelos cocked his crimson head thoughtfully to one side. "I see a ton of similarities between you two. Just seems natural you had a role in his life."

Sara pulled on her v-neck shirt. When it eased over her head, she was frowning and wouldn't look at him. She winced, and he wasn't sure if it was from her sore back or a memory that popped up in her head. Probably the latter.

"He didn't say anything about us?" she asked quietly. "About how we met?"

Zelos shook his head. "Only that you were important to him."

"Should've known," she muttered. But she was smiling a little, warmly. "Too softhearted for his own good."

Curiosity flared brightly. That peculiar solemnity that darkened her gaze made him ravenous for information. "So… how did you finally meet him, eh?"

She pursed her lips and glared at him from the corner of one eye.

"Come on," he pleaded, sinking pathetically back against the tree. "I've never known you to shy away from the truth, my Fiery Temptress."

And her sudden, frigid, dead voice made the back of his neck tighten: "About three months ago, I murdered four of my fellow villagers in cold blood in front of him. That's how we met."

Hmm.

That was not exactly the response Zelos had been expecting. And it only incensed his already-blazing curiosity.

"Why?" he asked.

She flinched again. "Why what?"

"What made you murder them?"

She'd been about to put on her duster. It now wrung restlessly in her hands. Zelos didn't know how she managed to avoid tearing the thing to shreds because of her claws, but it somehow came out unscathed. Several more seconds passed silently, where he continued to stare at the side of her freckled face and her pumpkin-orange hair.

"Too far?" he murmured at last.

"The shadows," she whispered.

Zelos' eyes flew open wide.

The shadows.

She wasn't looking at him, and had turned halfway around to face the distant woods. He was glad. Because he couldn't stop his jaw from dropping, or suppress the slithering obsidian tremble that crawled up his spine.

The world seemed to sway. Zelos had no idea why this was happening. Why just those two words had sped his heart and started to crush his chest. He started to feel trapped, panicked, like a cage had suddenly crashed down around him.

"It's the shadows," Sara went on. Her voice wasn't just her voice anymore. It was like she was narrating his own thoughts.

"They rise up."

His eyes slammed closed, now. There had been so many shadows, then. Shadows that he could remember churning beneath his feet, his leather boots that had crunched in the snow.

Shadows that first appeared on the dark day - when his mother's blood had painted all that snow bright red-

"They swallow me whole."

His hands curled into shivering fists. Zelos turned his head away, from Sara, from the memory, from the sharp smell of more blood.

Not his mother's, no. Not this time.

"They take over."

Someone had been screaming; Zelos had sent the shadows for that woman, that half-elf - that asshole, that woman Belinda who had slaughtered his mother in front of him. He was just a kid then. He hadn't known how - only that he'd flung out his arm and pointed at Belinda, at the murderess; the world had gone dark and she had slumped over at his feet, face-first into the snow. She hadn't been screaming any longer, then - that had been him, all along-

"They make me want to kill."

The Knights had come for him then, gripping his arms, tearing him away. Zelos hadn't wanted to leave his mother. He remembered pointing at them, and then there was a bunch of clinking and thudding as they'd slumped over in the snow, too. All the while someone was still screaming-

"You know, Zelos."

The Chosen opened his eyes. Sara was standing right in front of him, but all he could look at were his own two feet, and the darkness that now yawned and bubbled beneath them.

"You know," she told him.

"I don't know anything," Zelos croaked. Which was both the absolute truth and a blatant lie.

"It's why you're- why you're like this, isn't it?" She planted one palm on the tree beside his head. "Why the Church took you in. Why you were always taught to have fun." Then the other. "To forget what you can do. To never care about anything. Because when you get mad- when you break- you kill."

"You're fucking crazy," he choked. He shook his head so furiously it should've fallen off. The air thinned and couldn't make it into his lungs fast enough. "I'm the Chosen, I'm not a-a-"

"Say it."

He couldn't. He wanted to shove her away, but she was standing in his shadows, sharing in the darkness he had created. It was the first time he'd ever felt whole.

"Tell me what you are, Zelos," Sara hissed. Her face was right in front of his, and her eyes were turning black, and so were his own.

His hair ruffled in a nonexistent breeze. His skin heated, prickled, thrummed. He stepped forward, away from the tree, towards her, and said in a chorus of voices that didn't belong to him:

"What we are."


A/N:...

Lyrics are "The Beginning is the End is the Beginning" by Smashing Pumpkins.
Sara and Zelos' song. ;)