23.

Rex looked out the window of his bedroom, up into the night sky. There, beyond the towering mountains of the whirling cloud sea, those great pillars of fog lazily lapping at the sky, stirred by the movements of Leftheria's many titans, twinkled the blazing stars of Alrest's night sky. He found himself thinking yet again of the wreckage he had found beneath the Cloud Sea – the flags of nations long gone, carvings and statues that suggested that men and women had once traveled to those distant lights, in great bulky suits not unlike his salvager's suit, in ships that could fly farther and faster than any he had ever known. One statue that he had found beneath the Cloud Sea in particular had always stuck with him – long caked over with clinging sea life and coral, he had chipped away at it for hours to reveal a monumental pedestal, and a statue of two rough-looking men, wearing those odd suits, helmets tucked beneath their arms, beaming with pride as they pointed upwards. Ringed around the monument, in brass, were plaques of a language so long dead that even the name of it was lost forever. But accompanying it were a series of glyphs that clearly depicted the two men climbing into some massive ship, to travel into the night sky. Rex had sat, freezing, in the Cloud Sea, for hours after he had found this, contemplating, long enough for Gramps to curse him for making him worry once he finally surfaced. He had wished that he could have somehow risen this monument from the seabed, but it was not to be. It was doomed to lie there until the end of time, to be caked over once again, forgotten forever. Even if Rex went back to the exact same spot, it was unlikely he would ever find it again. Even what he had glimpsed, he had only been able to see because the ever-shifting seabed of the Cloud Sea had allowed him to.

But the image of those two men stuck with him. When he closed his eyes, he could still see every detail of the monument. It had...such an aura of optimism, that made it incredibly sad, in a way. Whoever had built it, ages and ages ago, had thought that this was their future. That was what the statue was, in the end. A monument to a forgotten future. It spoke of such ambition, such fierce confidence in their own abilities. And yet...whoever they had been, these people were now gone. Long, long gone. Whatever future they had dreamed of, Rex doubted it had been to see their culture sunken at the bottom of the Cloud Sea. What had happened to them…?

Though the weeks spent in Fonsett were a welcome reprieve, an opportunity to relax after the horror of Mor Ardain, Rex was slowly beginning to feel more and more anxious to move on. It wasn't that he was worried so much about taking up the village's precious few resources...Corinne had convinced him their presence was no trouble. It wasn't that he felt so comfortable here, that this life seemed so seductively idyllic to him, that he could see himself living here quite easily the rest of his days. He lifted a gloved finger to his lips, where the lingering memory of the fierce kiss Nia had given him lived on, and blushed furiously as her eyes filled his mind, the scent of her hair, her playful smile. Yes, life here was….very seductively idyllic.

It wasn't even that he had a mission to undertake, to the World Tree. Malos seemed content enough to linger here, for a moment. The Dark Aegis seemed to have an odd conception of time, which Rex supposed was appropriate enough. A few weeks, a month or so of delay, seemed not to bother him in the slightest. And why should it, when such time was but a small fraction of the life he had lived? "Life," Malos had said, when Rex had asked him whether he had felt like they had lingered too long, "Is mostly lingering, Rex. A few critical key moments, and a lot of lingering. What matters more is what you do in those key moments, not how much you spend lingering."

And it wasn't that the Praetor was awaiting him to fulfill his invitation, either. Fan had assured him that the Praetor did not mean for Rex to rush, and that indeed, he hoped that Rex would linger a while in the Praetorium as well. Although...it was as if he could feel, somewhere, out there, Amalthus' long gaze falling upon him. Rex knew precious little of politics – though, he thought ruefully, he had received a harsh education in them in Mor Ardain - but he knew enough of the world to know that the Praetor was a figure beyond politics. He thought back to the warning Cole had given him – that Amalthus was a man whose ambition and cleverness was peerless, who saw the world as though through dark glass – and to the admiration Fan clearly bore for him whenever she spoke of him. And...Pyra. The destroyer, the murderer of Vandham. She had been his blade, once. The only other being on Alrest who could speak to Rex as a fellow driver of an Aegis. Amalthus, legend out of time, ancient monarch of the Praetorium, who had – somehow, beyond all that was thought possible – climbed the World Tree alone. Amalthus…still seemed too big to contemplate. Too big to think of, to anticipate. It was like a step below being told you were going to meet the Architect himself. Although from what Malos said, that was….in the future as well. There was no use thinking of these sorts of things. He would have to take it as they came, and see what kind of man Amalthus was when he met him.

No...Rex could not put a finger on his slowly growing anxiety, could not pin down its cause. But it was almost like...the feeling he would get on a salvage that was going to go wrong. The feeling he had right before he dredged up Malos, as he traveled on Bana's ship. An indescribable, slowly mounting sense of dread.

Although...perhaps it was just all the things he had seen, particularly in Mor Ardain. But not just there. The field of dead men he had seen in Gormott, the fallen Ardainian and Urayan soldiers...the Ardainians in Gormott, evaporated in hellfire raining from the sky...Vandham's death, and how the Garfont mercenaries had torn themselves apart shortly after...the bloody machinations of Brionac in Mor Ardain, murdering hundreds, if not thousands of their own, even their own Emperor...all so these men, these...ghouls, that he had spoken to, could have the bloody war they wanted.

Rex had always thought that there was something wrong with the world. But this journey...it had taught him it was broken further than he had ever thought possible. There was a bright flame in him that saw the good in people, but everywhere he turned, it was death, death, and he found himself, so often, holding back tears, wanting to scream at the world, it doesn't have to be like this, it doesn't have to be like this, for the love of the Architect, please, it doesn't have to be like this, please listen, it's not too late, it doesn't have to be like this -

And the worst part was...Rex knew it was his responsibility. He was the Driver of the Aegis, regardless of how that title had been thrust upon him. Who was his company? Addam, who had saved the world, and Amalthus, who had established a kingdom who oversaw the administration of peace and the rescue of refugees worldwide. And as for Rex, what did he do? He...failed, over and over and over again. He failed to save Vandham. He failed to stop the bloody butchers of Brionac from taking over Mor Ardain. All this power in his hands, and he was always failing. How many people's blood was on his hands, all because he wasn't good enough?

Rex shook his head, looking at his shaking hands. He tried not to think like this. There was no use moping over his failures. But it had been getting to him more and more, sometimes. Part of him knew it wasn't….wasn't quite right, to think this way. Nia would surely tell him he was an idiot for thinking that way. Oh, how could she think she wasn't good enough for him…? He was the one who failed over and over again-

Rex gritted his teeth and shook his head vigorously. There he went again. He couldn't afford to descend into a pity party for himself. He couldn't fall apart, not when he was the Driver of the Aegis. Not when he was the one leading people on this expedition to the World Tree. No matter how undeserving he might be, no matter how much of a failure, no matter how much he might wonder how others could even stand the sight of him sometimes….he had to keep his head straight. That wasn't the right way to think. It...it wasn't real, that way he felt. He knew it wasn't. It couldn't be. It was something...dark, inside him, that talked that way. Something dark, fueled by all the violence and loss that he would kill himself to stop.

Something dark and growing.

24.

Malos stood in the early dawn of Fonsett, framed against the sun's early rays staining the whirling clouds of Leftheria orange and red, framed against a clifftop that rose a little ways above the village itself, one that the children would often go cliffdiving off of. His gaze drifted from the glorious sunrise to the village itself as the morning wore on, and the village slowly awoke into life. He watched as Nia, usually the first of the party up, stepped out of Corinne's home, stretching with a yawn, and idly paced around the yard before perching on a stone wall, removing a piece of wood from her pocket to whittle away at. Not long after, Poppi joined her, Nia's ears flattening as the robot, with what Malos could have sworn was a mocking smile, talked to her. What an odd piece of technology Poppi was. Then again, it must have been odd for humans when they first invented artificial intelligence that began displaying personality and capabilities beyond what they had first programmed it for. He had to say, people seemed to be taking it more in stride this time around. Perhaps because Alrest was such an eclectic mix of old and new technology, so much of it scavenged as it was from beneath the Cloud Sea from civilizations much more advanced. Perhaps people were already used to the idea of machine intelligence. Or perhaps nobody quite grasped what an advanced piece of work she really was.

It wasn't long before Rex joined them, idly strolling across the yard, chewing on an apple. Malos' steely gray eyes watched with interest as Nia blushed as he approached, and Rex rubbed the back of his head, clearly a little embarassed. Poppi was watching with interest too, her head swiveling back and forth between the two of them. They seemed a little awkward with each other for a bit. But it wasn't long before Rex said something that made Nia laugh, and soon the tension drained out of the conversation, and they were laughing and talking with each other as they normally were. Now, wasn't that interesting. Malos wondered what had happened between them that had led to that tension and awkwardness. His mind raced through the possibilities. Well, at least blades couldn't get pregnant. Could Flesh Eaters be an exception? He hadn't heard of any such thing, but it's not like Flesh Eaters were well documented. Would Nia suppressing her powers have any effect on that? This could possibly be a case study…

Malos shook his head. That was not really a conversation he wanted to have with Rex. Biology was not his usual line of interest, anyway. And again, he found himself with an odd feeling he could not quite understand. He was glad that, as much as Nia might defy him, as much as she might stick her nose in and try to interfere with Rex's training….he was glad that there was someone to care for Rex in such a way. A feeling of his own that Malos could not understand was not something he was used to. It was, he assumed, yet again a product of the broken and malfunctioning elements of his mind. It annoyed him so that he once again set about tearing through the elements of his mind. What was it? Which of these tangled connections, tangled and twisted like briars, was producing this feeling?

He was deep in his reverie when from behind him came a rustling in the grass. He summoned his blade to his hand in a burst of black flame, whirling around, only to be greeted with the empty clifftop. But there was no mistaking it, there had been a noise of movement behind him. "Who's there?" he snapped, hefting his blade in both hands. "I know someone is."

There was a moment of silence. And then, rising from his concealment in the dark grass, appeared Dromarch, sitting up, licking one of his paws, his tail flicking back and forth. "Not the easiest prey to stalk, you are," he mused.

Malos stared at the cat blade for a moment, then leaned his blade back against his shoulder, putting his other hand to his hip. "You should know better than to try to sneak up on me," he smirked, regarding the blade. Dromarch usually remained by Nia's side. Truth be told, Malos had thought of him almost as her pet, more than as another blade. What was he doing out here alone?

Dromarch regarded him with large, dark, unreadable eyes, and began prowling in circles around Malos. "Do you think so," he mused. "I found it easy enough to conceal myself last night."

Malos froze, remaining silent.

"My lady….I usually want to be there for her at night. She has...trouble sleeping, and my presence makes it easier for her to get her rest." Dromarch drew closer to Malos as her circled him, his tail flicking almost close enough to hit the Aegis. "But last night, she returned in such a good mood that she slept better than she has in ages. A perfect time, I thought, to do a little night hunting. And who should I find, while out on the prowl, but you. Alone." Dromarch paused, in both his circling and his speech. "With the core crystals of Roc, Aegaeon, and that other blade we found in Uraya."

The wind howled between the two of them, swaying the grass.

"What were you doing with them, Malos?" Dromarch asked, when it became clear the Aegis was going to remain silent.

Malos paused, his face unreadable, his eyes boring into the cat. "I was draining them of their energy and information to make repairs to myself," he said finally.

Dromarch began circling again. "So...you are a vampire. A leech. And does Rex know of this….? No, he would not, would he? He would never approve of you doing this to Roc. To Brighid's friend. To anyone, really. Unlike you to lie, Malos."

"I'm not lying," Malos said simply. "Rex has never asked-"

"As if omission is not a lie," Dromarch chuckled to himself. "Come now, Aegis. Aren't you all about being honest with yourself? Telling yourself the hard truth?"

"How would you know what I am about?"

Dromarch paused in his circling, pinning Malos with his large, dark eyes. "I have been watching you very, very closely, Malos. Did you think you could threaten my lady….threaten to expose her secrets…and that I would sit idly by? Could you really be so arrogant, or do you really not understand what it means to care…? Do you look at love, and think it is all happiness and light? No, fool. Love also means you will seek power over and vengeance against those who threaten those who you love. Oh, you have your power...I could never defeat the son of the Architect himself. But I have been watching very closely, Malos. Looking for a weakness." Dromarch bared his fangs. "It is how I am built."

Suddenly, Malos seemed more shadow than man. Though it was morning, the shadows lengthened, turned black as the void. "It is better for me to be at my full capacity, when facing Mythra, then for us to have a few more blades at our back," the Dark Aegis said quietly, his voice crawling out of the void where his face had been a moment before. "I do not take enough to permanently damage them. Only to delay their awakening. Would you like to explain to the legions of dead why that is a price not worth paying? To stand before the ocean of blood spilt by Mythra and say, no, there are some things that must not be done to prevent this? When the light goes out of your beloved lady's eyes, because I was not strong enough to fight, when everything you have ever known is undone, cast beneath the Cloud Sea, forever lost, because I could not defeat my sister, will you still say that such a measure should not have been taken? Do you think I do this for personal power? I have no interest in the capabailities of this form, other than that it does what needs to be done. Little blade, with power such as Father granted her, Mythra could evaporate your lady before you even have a chance to say goodbye. I do this so that it might be within my power to keep her alive, to keep all of us alive. And you presume to threaten me?"

Dromarch's ears flattened against his head, and he bared his fangs, crouching, at the shadows spreading out from Malos like a stain. "If it is all as you say, why not tell Rex? But I know why. It's because Rex would gladly sacrifice himself, but never accept suffering for others. Not even the slightest bit. He would never let you do this."

"And now you think you know Rex so well," Malos mused.

"Of course I do," Dromarch said quietly. "I have watched him as well. Of course I know the boy my lady has fallen for."

Slowly, the darkness drained out of Malos, the shadows retreated, the light of day returned. His face, swimming out of the shadows, was tired, worn down. "I...It really is all as I said. If I didn't have to do this, I would prefer it. But Rex would not understand, and I couldn't make him see. He'd think that there must be a way to do it without the sacrifice of others. He doesn't understand. It's easy, in a way, to sacrifice yourself. Sacrificing others is the truly hard choice. He would tell me that this could all be done without it."

"Is sacrificing others really a choice for you, Malos? Or is it a foregone conclusion?"

Malos flinched as if struck. The youthful face of Hugo, full of so much hope and life and determination, the laughing smile of Addam filled his head. Would he have stopped, even for a second, if he knew that what he did would lead to their deaths? Would he have stopped if they begged him to? Of course he wouldn't have. Because in the end, Addam had begged.

Dromarch sighed, looking away over the cliffs. "It is not that I don't accept your reasoning. And...as much as you have tormented my lady, holding her secret over her head, and through the pain you inflict on young Rex...I appreciate what you did in Uraya, saving her, when she ran away. But...I hope you know, it is not merely Rex she loves. She has an incredible capacity for compassion. She hides it, but she cannot hide it from me. She loves all those she travels with. Brighid, Morag, Tora, Poppi. She is warming up to Zeke and Pandoria. And she even loves you, in a way. But I have watched you, Malos. I have seen those cold eyes of yours weighing, calculating. Wondering who will need to die. I don't envy you the position. I...think that someone needs to do it. But I have watched you enough, I know you enough to know that when the time comes, you won't hesitate. No matter who it needs to be. And when the day comes when you make that choice, you are going to break her heart. And I want you to understand, it's not just because you will hurt others that she loves. It's because she'll never be able to look at you the same way again, either."

"Damn it," Malos snapped, shocked with himself to hear the raggedness in his voice, shocked to feel the anger and despair rising within him. Addam had a wife. You robbed him of his future with her. Young Hugo never even lived long enough to love. In all the universe, in all the infinite expanse of time, this was their only chance to live, to be. And you ensured that the brief flicker of light they experienced in the infinite dark was one of pain, cut short. "I don't want to have to do this. Any of it. This was….this was not what Father made me for, you know." But it wasn't what he made Mythra for, either.

"Who is to say your Father made you for anything at all," Dromarch mused, still staring down at the Cloud Sea. "I have wondered about this, myself. Who is to say that you and Mythra are not on Alrest because he wanted you to learn what it was to be mortal?" He paused, swiveling his head to pierce Malos with his dark gaze. "Who is to say you and Mythra both are not failing him?"

A long moment of silence carried on between them.

"So what is it that you want," Malos said, finally. "You have a secret of mine. Fine. I still hold Nia's secret as well. Do you hope to turn Rex against me with this? I'll make sure he knows of Nia's secret, and all the bloody details. I can live with his contempt. You are right about me. If I have to drag him in chains to make him fulfill his vow, I will. I will drag him screaming. I don't want to do that. But I absolutely will."

"I want nothing from you, Malos," Dromarch replied, turning his head back towards the Cloud Sea. "I just want you to know, you think you hold a dagger above my lady's head with your knowledge of her secret. Well, now I hold one above yours."

"She doesn't know, does she?"

"No. She would never approve of me confronting you like this. She would never want someone to be put in danger on her behalf." Dromarch glanced back over his shoulder at the Aegis. "Why, Malos? Thinking of killing me? Of letting this little secret die with me?"

Malos took a step back, shocked. "What? No. What kind of monster do you take me for?"

"Why, the kind you are. The kind Mythra is. If you could convince yourself that the best way to achieve your mission was to kill me so that my knowledge of your secret died as well, I have not a doubt in my mind that is what you would endeavor to do." Dromarch stretched, yawned, and fixed Malos with one last stare. "Remember this, Aegis. I am watching, and I know you. I see the darkness in you that the others cannot. I see with the clarity of distance. Nothing you do will ever surprise me."

And with that, Dromarch melted into the tall grass, leaving Malos standing atop the cliff alone once more.

25.

It was with a chorus of protestations that Rex and the party announced that they were leaving from Fonsett, planning to take flight on Gramp's back to the Praetorium.

"C'mon Rex, d'you have to go?" A little boy with a dirty face cried, as Rex packed provisions into his backpack. Not far away, across the yard, Tora and Poppi were busy equipping Gramps with his latest invention: Some seats, ratcheted around the Titan's midsection, which Nia quietly promised herself to thank the little nopon for. Other children cried in agreement, clamoring around both Nia and Rex as they attempted to pack.

"Don't worry about me, Bill," Rex said, plucking the small boy from the ground and holding him up. "It's just a quick jaunt over to the Praetorium, then right over to the World Tree to see Elysium, and then I'll be back before you know it and you'll be asking me when I'm gonna leave and make you some more money again."

"Rex," the young boy said, rolling his eyes, "Elysium is a fairy tale for babies."

"Right, of course," Rex muttered, putting the boy down as the other children cried out in agreement. He shot a glare at Nia as she doubled over laughing. "Don't you encourage them!"

Corinne arrived, holding a basket beneath which steamed something delicious-smelling. "Now, children. You be nice to Rex and give him a proper goodbye. It's every young person's right to go chasing off after some fool dream in their youth."

"Gee, thanks, Auntie," Rex grumbled, taking the basket from her hand. But he was wearing a beaming smile. "Thanks for putting us up for so long. Are you sure you're going to be good on money…?"

"Oh...did your friend not tell you?" Corinne glanced over at Morag, who was busy tying down the straps on a rucksack. The Ardainian snapped to attention, and then uncharacteristically blushed. "Oh. I'm….sorry, ma'am, if you wanted to keep it quiet..."

"No...it's….alright," Morag said, quietly. She cleared her throat, then looked at Rex. "I...well, I am the sister of the Emperor, after all. Mor Ardain is a wealthy nation. I was given...quite a large purse when we stopped in Mor Ardain, to spend at my discretion during my mission. I….figured that some of Mor Ardain's wealth ought to be used for something other than tanks and bombs." To do a little good in the world, before we burn it all down, she thought ruefully to herself. She was a bit shocked that she had done it, herself. She had taken fiscal responsibility with the Empire's coffers very seriously, before, spending as little as she possibly could. Brionac had broken her old habits along with her faith in her country, apparently. She would say it was for a hearts and minds campaign. Although Corinne had made her understand very, very well that accepting the money did not mean she owed any loyalty to the "Bloody Empire." Morag wasn't sure, given the current state of things, that she would have had it otherwise.

"We...well. I won't say how much she gave. But we should be good for quite some time, Rex." Corinne smiled at him. "Don't you worry about us."

"I...ah….damn," Rex said, rubbing the back of his head, his face burning. "Morag...how much do I owe you?"

"Rex, don't be silly. This wasn't a payment to you, this was my discretionary spending as an agent of the Ardainian Empire. Such as it is. I am serious, now. If you go on assuming you owe me a single coin, I am going to be insulted."

Rex was quiet for a long moment. Then Morag gasped, as he dropped his pack and embraced her.

"Thank you," he growled fiercely.

Morag was on the line of admonishing him. But he looked up at her, with such a beaming smile of admiration and sincere thanks, those shining eyes of his hitting her like a truck. How long had this poor boy slaved away, from such a young age, to support his adopted family? Oh yes, Morag could see what Nia saw in him. "It's….quite alright," she said, awkwardly patting his back. "There. Let's just….let go now. Okay. There we go."

"Hell, she's not the only royalty enchanted with this place, you know," Zeke mused, strolling over, with Pandy riding on his shoulders for no reason at all. "Once I get over the little piddling detail of my banishment, some of the Tantalese coffers may flow here as well. Although I think that it will come with the condition that I get a summer home built here."

"Now, I don't know how I feel about that," muttered Corinne. "I don't want our little village becoming nothing but summer homes for vacationing royalty. What's next, Raqura going to lounge on the beach with her mercenary boytoys? Amalthus going to descend from the Praetorium to go tell the people on the nude beaches to cover up? I don't know."

"Oh, Amalthus doesn't care about nudity," murmured Fan la Norne, giving a small smile as she leaned on her staff. "Honestly, so many rumors about how stuffy the Praetorium is, but none of it is true. Why, one time, the Praetor-"

"Let's...let's just stop right there," Nia interrupted. "Whatever story you have that involves Amalthus and nudity, I don't think I want to hear it."

"I'm just saying, Leftheria's not the only nation that has beaches where-"

"I said stop!"

The children continued crowding around as the group packed up, until the time came when all preparations had been made. Everything was strapped down to Gramp's back. Nia leapt into one of the seats Tora had rigged onto the draconic Titan's back. It was ratcheted down pretty securely. And he had even come up with a neat little harness system to hold you into your seat. "Oh, bless you, Tora," she murmured beneath her breath, as she clipped the harness into place.

"Utterly unnecessary," Gramps grumbled, peering back at her. "I am a perfectly steady flier. What an insult."

"Now, Rex," Corinne said, laughing, as he gave her one final embrace. "I want you to take care of yourself. You listen to Gramps, now. And her," she said, pointing at Nia. "That girl has a fine head on her shoulders. You listen to her good sense."

"Why does everyone keep telling me that," Rex muttered.

"Because it's true," Nia replied, airily.

As the party climbed onto Gramp's back, buckling themselves in, Corinne motioned swiftly to Malos. The Dark Aegis raised an eyebrow at her, glancing back at the rest, who hadn't noticed her quiet beckoning, then stalked swiftly over to her. Corinne had not said much to him, during their visit. But he had often felt the weight of her stare, as she watched him and Rex train. And other times, too. She had been perfectly cordial with him, and asked after his history, but...never more than that. She disapproved, Malos could tell. She disapproved of this man who was making her boy into a soldier. But she would let Rex make his own choices.

Corinne drew Malos in close as he approached her, motioning downwards. "Hey, Aegis. You see this?"

Malos glanced down. In one of her hands was a wicked looking switchblade. His eyes widened.

"If you get my boy hurt, or, Architect forbid, killed," Corinne said sweetly, "I am gonna hunt you down, and guess where this is going."

"I get your point," Malos muttered.

"No, go on, guess."

"Goodbye, Corinne."

"It's going up your-"

"GOODBYE, Corinne."

26.

With a mighty beat of his wings, enough to snap the branches of nearby trees, and nearly knock Corinne over as she stood too close to wave goodbye - "I warned her!" muttered Gramps, as he took off – Gramps rose into the sky. Nia gripped the edges of her seat, white-knuckled, as he began a steep ascent, and the glorious fading light of day shining through the mountains of clouds filled her vision.

"Isn't that pretty," Rex shouted, breathless, as the wind tore past them.

"Yeah, real stunning," Nia muttered. She offered praise to whatever it was at the top of the World Tree when Gramps finally reached the top of these mountains of clouds and leveled off.

Truth be told, it was not a long journey to the Praetorium. The Indoline Titan's migratory path around the World Tree often saw it spending much time near Leftheria's borders. Its shadow had fallen across Leftheria a few times in Rex's life, as its massive, impossibly huge figure crested Leftheria's cloud mountains. And even from that distance, Rex could hear the long, mournful peals of the Praetorium's bells. But he had never been to the Praetorium itself, or seen it up close.

But it was not long before he had that opportunity. Darkness had barely settled, the moon rising up to bathe the Cloud Sea in an eerie light, when Gramps swerved around a cresting tuft of fog and Indoline suddenly loomed into view.

The Indoline Titan itself was draconic, like Gramps, though Gramps might as well have been a gnat compared to its size. Less than a gnat. Though Indoline itself was smaller than the massive, whale-like Uraya, the dragon still filled up Rex's entire vision, sleek crests, massive maw with sharp, curved fangs that could bite their way through an entire city.

But as impressive as the Titan was, it was the structure on top of it that truly took his breath away. Seeing a nation from a distance, it gave you some idea of its character. Urayan and Gormotti settlements, even their largest cities like Torigoth and Fonsa Myma, were tucked away into the natural landscape of their Titan. In Mor Ardain, their cities were black, glittering protrusions spewing smoke, rising in defiance of the harsh environment they found themselves in. But the Praetorium…

The Indoline Sanctum utterly dominated its Titan, rising, white and pyramidal, shining in the moonlight, and spreading out from around this massive palace, an entire city of white marble, its buildings not the cozy warren of Uraya, or the thrumming madness of Mor Ardain. Even from a distance, even from her streets, Indol promised order.

"Beautiful, isn't it," Fan murmured, from Rex's side. He glanced over at her, her hair streaming behind her in the wind, as she looked towards Indol with eyes shining. "It feels so good to be home."

"It….it hardly seems real," Rex replied. "How could anything so big ever be built…?"

"Over many centuries," Fan replied softly. "Indol was not always so. Oh, it was grand before, but it was after Amalthus assumed the title of Praetor that he set about building the city to the height of glory you see now. It took much work. The abilities of both humans and blades were used in its construction. A true testament to what we can achieve when we work together. Still…." Fan's face faltered, suddenly flashing with grief.

"What is it…?"

Fan sighed, gripping her staff, as the city drew closer and closer. "Amalthus….considers it a failure. He cooperated closely with the architects who designed the city. And yet it never seemed to capture what he wanted it to communicate."

"And….what was that?"

"He wanted it to be an Elysium on Alrest," Fan murmured, as Malos swung his head to give her a hard stare. "But it never did rise to his expectations. Perhaps nothing carved by the hands of man or blade ever could. How could mortals live up to the expectations of a man who had seen the Throne of Heaven itself?"

"How, indeed," muttered Malos, and Fan gave him a curious sidelong glance.

"An Elysium on Alrest," Rex murmured to himself, giving the city another appraising look. Whatever he had heard about Amalthus from others, that certainly seemed like a worthy enough endeavor. He wondered what it was that made it so that Amalthus would be perpetually dissatisfied with such beauty and glory.

You never really got used to it. As they drew close, the city was just as impressive intimately as it was from a distance. White cobbled streets, and smooth, curved marble in the Indoline style, though there was something about it that seemed...off, to Rex. Finally, as they drew close to the ports, he realized what it was. The way the stone was shaped….it was as if gleaming metal should hold that form, not necessarily stone. As if Amalthus had tried to reshape in marble what he had first seen in shining silver.

There was a welcoming party waiting for them as Gramps finally drew close to Goetuis port, the massive docking bay for the Indoline sanctum. Rex could not help but notice – as he couldn't help but notice ever since Mor Ardain – that while Indol was a peaceful nation, and claimed no side in the Urayan-Ardainian conflict, this port was large enough and well-equipped enough to dock the most massive of Ardainian battleships. And indeed, there were Indoline battleships docked at the port right now, two of them, rivaling the size of Mor Ardain's largest flagships. Indoline military design, much like Ardainian, completely concealed the Titans at the heart of the ship. But where Mor Ardain's ships were great glittering black fortresses, bristling with many smaller arms, the Indoline ships were like spiraling shells you might find at the beach, built around one large, massive gun that ran along the ship's spine.

The welcoming party was composed of two Indoline priests, their eyes hidden in the shadows of draped white robes, but occasionally catching the light of the moon and flashing suddenly in the darkness, and an attendant party of warrior-monks, entirely concealed in gleaming white armor and each holding a massive, blunt staff that flared at either end. The Indoline, much like the Gormotti and the Urayans, maintained some aspects of their animal ancestors. But it was much more prominent in them than the other races. Their skin shone in many with scales, a pale blue, and their mouths were full of small fangs, their ears long and pointed. Many traces of the draconic remained within them indeed. There were those who said that the reason Indol embraced strong philosophy and religion so much was because the Indoline had so much of the draconic rage and thirst for violence within them left, they needed the philosophy to be able to build a civilization, poured out into their great books that Rex had seen on occasion, humongous tomes that contained pages upon pages of musings about even the slightest of subjects, advisory and direction for even the smallest part of a person's life. But though they seemed intimidating, Rex had never experienced anything but courtesy from the rare Indoline who stepped foot out of the Praetorium, back in Goldmouth.

"Goddess," the priests intoned, with a sweeping bow, as Fan stepped down gracefully from Gramp's back. "It is so good to see you returned to us."

"And on a Titan of such gorgeous form," murmured one of them, reaching out to pat Gramps.

"Well, it is good to see I'm appreciated somewhere," Gramps mused as the party continued departing from his back.

"And it speaks! I...I..." Rex marveled as the traditional Indoline stoicism broke down before his eyes and the priest looked like nothing more than an excited child. "I...have heard of such things," she finally forced out, regaining her composure. "I...ah. I would like very much to speak with you if there is time. And we have….facilities, within the city, for the care and maintenance of Titans of your size, I could direct you towards..."

"Well now! After three crash landings in a row, this is a welcome change!" Gramps rumbled. "I don't suppose you're going to try to enlist me, are you?"

Fan laughed, like small bells ringing. "Enlist you, no. They might build a temple around you if you're not careful, though."

Morag, for her part, was watching the warrior-monks with interest. How still they remained, through everything. Mor Ardain had disciplined soldiers, but in Indol, she knew, a branch of their philosophy revolved around a martial tradition. What she had heard of the training sounded brutal – walking through fire, or being buried up to your neck in ice, without being allowed to express pain, entire weeks of marches with no sleep, being forced to survive in the elements with some form of meditation to control your body – but she knew the results were soldiers feared even by the Ardainian upper command. It did not help that Amalthus knew precisely how to use them. Every time the Praetor had committed forces throughout history – and it had not happened in her lifetime - it had been a rout of historical proportions.

"I like our boys more," Brighid murmured in her ear. "They've got more personality."

Morag gave her blade a wan smile. But it was hard for her to think of the youth of Mor Ardain without thinking how many of them would be marching to their deaths soon enough.

Nia, for her part, did her best not to look at the warrior-monks, as she set foot, with some trepidation, on Indol. It had been Indol, after all, who had sent soldiers pursuing her when she was on the run as a Flesh Eater, and she knew from personal experience the brutal, inhuman quality of her warriors. Their pursuit had been relentless, their resolve boundless. When she thought humans must, surely, collapse from exhaustion, they continued on, never stopping for rest in their pursuit of her, never once showing any weakness, their scouts never once showing even an ounce of hesitation to face a driver, a flesh eater, and her blade alone. Just seeing them, in their white armor and faceless white helmets, bought back horrifying memories of them stalking her, swimming out of the shadows when she thought they must be miles away, the moonlight glinting off their armor, her begging them to stop as they raised those massive staves to bring them crashing down upon her-

It had been Jin that had ended all that, that had destroyed the company that captured her before they could transport her back to Indol. She still remembered clinging to Jin's side, one of his arms sheltering her, as they stood in the freezing cold, watching the Indoline encampment burn to ashes, along with the corpses of all the soldiers in it. All the records, the documentation they had on her gone up in flame as well. And no other detachment had pursued her since then, so she had to assume that all records of her died along with those soldiers. After all, at a glance, she looked like any young Gormotti girl.

Still, it was somewhat nerve-wracking being near those same soldiers once more, though they showed her no more attention than anyone else. For once she was glad for Malos and his blasted capacity for destruction being nearby. If they tried anything funny, he'd probably melt the entire pier to slag.

Finally, they all departed, with the excited priest remaining behind at the docks to "see to" Gramps, babbling excitedly about where he might get his claws and fangs polished, and would he please spread out his wings, because she would so much like to see them and measure their span, and might he bless this water-

"You know, I am glad Gramps is getting the spa treatment this time, instead of crash landing or getting shot down," Rex mused, as Morag winced. "I gotta say, Indol's given me a better first impression than anywhere else so far."

The first thing they noticed, as they left the docks, was the heavy scent of incense permeating the city. And – like no city Rex had ever experienced so far – the almost supernatural tranquility and calm of its residents. True, it was night, but it was not that late. But here, no merchants cried out their wares, no smiths hammered metal, no factories spewed smoke in the background, nobody hurried anywhere. Even the occasional nopon they saw seemed much more quiet than they were anywhere else in the world. The Indoline themselves were not talkative – Rex understood their philosophy was big on stoicism and keeping your mouth shut unless you had something important to say – and when they did speak, they did so in hushed whispers to nearby friends, every conversation as private as possible. Though it was well-populated, the city seemed nearly as quiet and still as the stone it was made of.

Or, at least, most of the city was that way.

Fan, leading them to the Sanctum, where she said apartments were prepared for them, directed them to turn a corner, and they were suddenly confronted with a plaza filled with a massive, sprawling town of tents, its inhabitants such a stark contrast to the silent wealth of the city that Nia outright gasped in surprise. Members of every race were there, in pitiable condition, begging, moaning with sickness, weeping. Occasionally, an Indoline would drop a coin into a beggar's hands here or there, but more often they simply watched with those quiet, stoic eyes, their faces betraying no emotion.

"Refugees," Fan murmured apologetically, pity written across her features. From sinking Titans. And...from wars."

Morag felt shame coursing through her. She was no stranger to the depravity of war. But to be confronted with it at such soul-shattering magnitude, and to know so much of it was due to the actions of her country – the weeping children, the mothers and fathers staring with dead eyes at empty cradles where their babes had once slept, lost to hunger or sickness, the fields of them, the simple reality of pain and suffering emanating from the encampment...and to know that they were going to create so much more of this…

She stopped in her path, falling behind the group, shuddering as the icy claw of shame and dread seized her heart. She felt Brighid take her hand, her blade's natural heat coursing through her. "Brighid," Morag finally forced out, "What have we been doing all these years?" Oh Niall, she thought, poor Niall had seen this as well. No wonder the war had taken such a toll on him. No wonder he had been driven to sleeplessness and suffering to try and stop it. She had known, of course, that this was the consequence of war, before, but….

"Lady Morag," Brighid whispered, "You have...it was a difficult time in Mor Ardain. And even in Leftheria, you did not take much of an opportunity to rest. I saw you putting yourself through your drills every morning. Perhaps during our time here, you should..."

"Rest…? Brighid, I...am confronted with the refuse of my nation's sins, and you think I deserve rest…?"

"Lady Morag," Brighid began again, then sighed as Morag steeled herself. "Let us walk around. We have no idea how many of these people might...you are in uniform..."

"No," Morag said, resolutely. "No, I won't run from this." She strode forward.

"Is there not room enough for them in the city itself?" Rex was asking Fan, as he stared in horror over the tent city.

"There was, but...our facilities have been overwhelmed," Fan replied sadly. "It is all we can do to stop them from starving or dying of plague." She glanced over at Morag as she joined them, and then her eyes widened. "Oh. Oh dear. We do not often have Ardainian visitors. Perhaps it is best if we do not go this way-"

"YOU ARDAINIAN BITCH!" came a cry from the crowd, and suddenly the camp was abuzz murmurs and shots of "Ardainian?" A woman lurched forward, the source of the cry, a Gormotti with half her hair falling out, lunging for Morag. "All my boys, all of them!" she slurred drunkenly, tears carving furrows in her dirty face. "You couldn't settle for just one, you had to take them all from me, take them all, Oh Architect, they're all gone..." she choked back a sob, and then her face contorted with fury and she lunged for Morag's throat.

Suddenly, a hundred things happened all at once. Warrior-monks in gleaming white armor flooded the plaza, before the crowd even had a chance to whip itself into a frenzy, shoving refugees stirring from their stupor back into their filthy tents. And with silent, deadly quickness, one of the Warrior-monks that had been attending Fan peeled away from her, and with one swift, broad stroke, bought his stave slamming into the Gormotti woman's arm, where it snapped like a twig. As she fell to the ground, writhing, the monk raised his staff and intoned, "Sentence for assault of a visiting dignitary is death," and sent the heavy flanged end of his staff hurtling towards the woman's head.

With a strangled cry, Morag leapt forward, grabbing the monk's staff to slow it. Where it was not gripped, the shaft was lined with small studs, and such was the force with which he swung it that these tore through Morag's gloves and carved into her hands. She closed her eyes and bit her lip as the pain roared through her arms, and concentrated all her will on squeezing her grip onto the staff.

It stopped a fraction of an inch from the woman's face, Morag's blood running down the weapon as she held onto it with all her might. "No," she finally managed to breathe, her breath ragged, as other monks approached to drag away the woman, "No, don't...don't kill her on my behalf. I will not allow it."

"Morag," Brighid cried, leaping forward, shoving her way past Malos, who had barely had time to draw his sword. "What...oh Architect, your hands-"

"Out of the way," Nia snapped finally, as the group finally recovered from the shock of this sudden turn of events. "I swear, it's like you lot can't enter a single country without causing a scene."

Rex gaped at the violence that was Morag's hands. "I...uh...well, we didn't do too bad in Leftheria..."

"Rex," Nia sighed, "Your home is lovely, but really, it barely qualifies as a country."

Rex frowned, as if he were about to protest, then shrugged. "You, ah, kinda got me there."

"You can let go of that now," Nia said to Morag, taking her hands in her own.

"No...I can't."

"Morag," Fan said, gently, "I...this warrior will not do anything you do not wish him to. I promise."

"You have my obedience," the warrior-monk said simply, his voice devoid of any emotion.

"No, I mean...I can't feel them. My hands."

Nia examined the staff, the sharp metal studs lining it, then hissed. "Vicious thing," she sighed. "Alright. This is gonna hurt."

Morag bit her lip, shaking, as Nia pried her ruined fingers from the warrior's staff. Fan, to her surprise, joined her in examining Morag's hands, though perhaps it should not be so surprising, as she was a healer as well. "Nasty wound," Fan said, her calm demeanor not at all ruffled by the violence. Nia missed the odd, appraising look she was giving her. "I'd say even with healing it's going to take weeks to recover..."

"Oh, nah. Watch this." Nia directed her healing into Morag's hands. Even without her flesh eater abilities, the knowledge of healing she had simply because of them far exceeded what normal blades could manage. It was a matter of moments before the flesh on Morag's hands had knitted itself over, the bones mending and aligning back into place. "I can't go healing those gloves now," she said, once she was done, and Morag was holding her hands up to examine the healed wounds.

"Quite astounding," Fan said quietly. "You'll be the next Goddess, if you're not careful."

"I don't….so they would have killed her, just like that?" Rex asked, glancing over at Zeke.

Zeke and Pandoria both shifted uncomfortably on their feet. "Yes," Zeke said, finally, utterly serious for once. "Protection of foreign dignitaries is a Holy Decree from Amalthus himself. But even besides that, crime is….simply not tolerated in Indol. It's rare that you see it, but even some forms of theft can carry the death sentence here. You can go to a temple and request what you need, anything at all, from food to shelter to even a loan. But the other half of that is that crime gets you swift and brutal punishment. Maybe it works in good times….but you can see here that the temples are clearly running out of charity to give. Hunger and death for theft can be a brutal combination."

"So why does he bring them here?" Malos asked, quietly. He looked up from the tent city, glancing over at Pandy and Zeke. "Why does Amalthus bring these people here, knowing he does not have the resources for them, knowing it puts them in that kind of situation?"

"They...don't have anywhere else to go," Zeke replied. But a look of puzzled concern crossed his face as well.

Morag, meanwhile, had crouched down, resting on her heels, to look at the Gormotti woman in the street that had lunged for her. The hate on her face was so utter and complete, but, Morag supposed, how could she do anything else but hate?

"Your boy's names," Morag murmured. "What were they?"

The woman's eyes darted around, glancing at the monks still surrounding her. "They're already gone. You can't do anything else to them."

"I don't want to do anything to them," Morag replied softly. "I just want to know their names."

The woman licked her lips. "Scott," she said suddenly, spitting their names out as if they were accusations hurled at Morag. "Ryan. Henry."

Morag regarded her for a moment, then reached into her coat and pulled out a heavy sack of coins, pressing it into the woman's hands. The Gormotti's eyes widened as she opened the bag, and saw enough glinting gold and titanium to buy her a new life. Morag leaned closer to the woman, close enough so that what she said could not be heard by anyone, not even Brighid. "I will remember the names of your boys," she whispered, "Until the day I die. The guilt of it will never leave me."

The woman stared at her with utter contempt. "What do I care?" she hissed. "Will your bloody guilt bring them back? Will it give me back all the time I should have had with them? Will it give me the grandchildren I should have seen someday?"

"No," Morag replied quietly.

The woman drew her in close, suddenly, as the warriors around her raised their staves. Morag held up a hand to prevent them from moving in. The Gormotti's breath reeked of alcohol, but her eyes stabbed into Morag's with sudden sharp clarity. "You think that guilt is a curse, Ardainian?" she whispered furiously. "You think I would be satisfied with that and some coin? The true curse is living every day of the rest of your life without the ones you love, knowing every single moment could have had them in it. I swear by blood and bone, if we lived in a just world, that's the pain you'd feel."

Morag got to her feet as the woman scrambled backwards, holding the bag of coin to her chest, glancing fearfully at the monks, and then ran past them, towards the docks. Brighid was soon by her side, radiating concern. "What did she say to you?"

"Nothing I didn't need to hear," Morag replied quietly.

And shortly after, the group continued onward, towards the Indoline Sanctum, leaving behind the suffering and sickness of the refugee camp.

27.

Praetor Amalthus sat behind the desk in his private quarters. Well, one of his many different private quarters. It was this room that he usually thought of as his office, where he'd bring official dignitaries that he wanted to speak to one on one. Though 'office' was a poor descriptor for the room. It was easily larger, by itself, than most houses, with vaunted, buttressed walls, glowing with candlelight. And his desk, too, was massive, marble inlaid with the golden seal of the Praetorium.

On his desk Amalthus was slowly stacking a series of oddly-shaped crystals. It was a popular game within Indol, the objective being to stack the crystals so that they balanced in such a way as to build the largest structure of them possible without them collapsing. Amalthus was quite the expert at the game, and had a set larger than any in Indol – covering his desk already was a broad, towering structure, nearly as tall as he was at some parts. He studied what he currently had, carefully, then pulled open a drawer full of more of the oddly knobbed crystals. He selected one, setting it into careful place with a small click, then nodded, satisfied.

"I thought I might find you here."

The Praetor's gaze flicked upward, sharply, towards the entrance to his office, the two humongous, gilded doors at the end of the room. Fan la Norne had slipped in quietly. Her eyebrows raised in surprise to see the humongous structure on his desk, her mouth popping open in a small 'o' of surprise, and she very, very gently closed the door behind her. He rose from his desk, delicately as well, and crossed the room to greet her. "Fan. It's good to see you. I was beginning to wonder if you'd decided to spend the rest of your life on those Leftherian beaches."

Fan put her hands on her hips, shooting Amalthus a skeptical look. "You aren't distracting me. We've talked about this. You need your sleep."

Amalthus sighed. "Yes. I know. For centuries, you have told me this."

"But it seems worse lately," Fan said quietly, her face breaking out into a broad grin nevertheless as he approached. She threw her arms wide and embraced him. Amalthus returned her hug as distantly as he always did, briefly, before disengaging her. Amalthus' embraces were always like that, and it always hurt Fan a little every time. But she had gotten used to it over the years.

"Yes. Well, lots of important work," Amalthus murmured.

Fan glanced over at the structure on his desk and chuckled. "Oh. Yes. That certainly seems important."

"I've only placed about five pieces tonight," the Praetor protested. His small smile vanished, and his eyes grew hard. Fan knew that look. Amalthus was ready to speak business. "Now. I assume that if you're here, that means our guests are as well." He gestured to two small chairs sitting away from the desk, a smaller table with a bowl of fruit laying between them. His robes billowed around him as he sat, with a sigh, in one of them. Fan took up the other seat, laying her staff across her legs.

"Yes. I presume you received my letters about where Zeke and Pandy found them."

"Mor Ardain, of all places," Amalthus murmured. "And right in the middle of all the recent...unpleasantness."

"Yes," Fan replied quietly. And then suddenly, her voice cracking, "Amalthus, is there going to be a war?"

"There is already a war."

"But...you know what I mean. Is it going to get worse?"

Amalthus was quiet for a long, long moment, before he lifted his gaze to meet hers. "Yes," he said simply. "Despite all my best efforts. A war such as the world has not seen in centuries. Many, many will die."

Fan tried to put on a brave face for him. She knew he had tried so hard to stop this. But she couldn't stop the tears from flowing down her face. "I'm sorry," she said miserably. "I...it's just so bad in Mor Ardain…."

"Brionac are as vicious a party as has ever existed in history," Amalthus replied, tired. "I wish there was some miracle I could perform. But we can discuss this some other time. What can you tell me about the Driver of the Aegis and his companions?"

"Oh! All of them quite interesting," Fan said, wiping her tears away with a sleeve and brightening up a bit. "Malos is….he is as I remember him in the brief flashes of my memory. Rex himself is quite young-"

Amalthus snorted. "I had heard."

"He seems….oh, this will sound silly. He seems pure."

Amalthus raised an eyebrow. "Coming from you, that must mean he is very pure indeed."

"Oh, I am not all that pure," Fan replied slyly. "One of his companions is a nopon and his artificial blade-"

Amalthus' gaze hardened enough to shatter stone. "Artificial blade? My spies had told me that was a Brionac project ran through Bana. I thought no one else had the technology."

"No, that's the thing. Of all things, this nopon is actually the son of the nopon Bana had running the artificial blade project. What a strange coincidence, don't you think?"

Amalthus softened his gaze once more, and relaxed, settling back into his chair. "Perhaps not as much of a coincidence as you might assume. Fate has a funny way of weaving people into these knots. Who else does he have with him?"

"Hmm. Perhaps you are correct. Because one of his other companions is Morag Ladair. She was tracking him, but after Mor Ardain, Niall actually set her onward with him to accompany him on his journey."

"Pinning his hopes on Elysium? Unlike Niall. Or does he mean to spare his sister what he considers an impending disaster…?"

"And one more very, very interesting companion. A young Gormotti driver named Nia and her blade."

Amalthus waved his hand idly. "Interesting…? That name means nothing to me…." But then he furrowed his brow. His mind raced, remembering some of the more recent spy reports he had about Torna. About one of their more recent members spotted with them on some missions.

"She's actually a Flesh Eater."

There was a a long moment of silence as Amalthus contemplated this. "And she's within the city?" he said quietly. "Not under lock and key?"

"Her powers run more in the direction of healing. The guards have been informed of the situation and are keeping close eye on their apartments. I thought it best to leave it up to you before seizing one of the driver's companions." Fan paused. "Especially given that she's fallen for Rex. And he for her. Though he does not know that she's a Flesh Eater."

"I see," Amalthus said, mostly to himself. Then he glanced up once more, nodding to his blade. "It was the right decision. Thank you, Fan. Go get some rest yourself. I must give this some thought before meeting with them tomorrow."

Fan gathered herself up, rising, striding toward the door, her staff knocking against the hard floor as she walked out. Before she closed the door behind her, she turned toward Amalthus one last time. "Don't stay up too late," she chided gently.

And then she was gone.

Amalthus sat within his chair, musing to himself for some time. Presently, he rose, striding back to his desk. He examined the humongous structure he had built with a critical eye. He reached out and plucked out one key piece. The structure shuddered, wobbled, and then, with an inevitable finality, collapsed upon itself in a chain reaction that left not one crystal balanced upon the other, sending pieces scattering across his desk and the floor with a tinkling clatter.

Amalthus watched it fall with a small, satisfied smile.

Note:

Hello. I am returning to continue this fic after a long absence. A number of things caused me to stop writing, from personal life, to the worry that I was burning myself out with the breakneck pace at which I was updating. This fic is not even at the halfway point and it is longer than many books, and it's not that unusual for writers to take breaks of some extended length during writing as well. I do plan on finishing it.

Part of the reason why I stopped was because I was uncertain of how to approach Amalthus. A big theme of the game is that drivers shape their blades, but I think that also cuts both ways. A blade should have an impact on their driver as well. And after this act, is when the biggest divergences from the game begin to happen, and they're going to be dominated by Amalthus, so I needed to be completely satisfied and certain with how I was going to approach him before I began again.

Another thing that stopped me for a while is, well, I won't give things away. But the end of this act is going to be very, very dark. There's perhaps 1-2 more chapters before the end of this act.

So here is your warning now. It isn't going to be dark in any intentionally edgy for the sake of edgy sense – at least I don't think so. But it was dark enough for me to shy away from writing it at a time when I was depressed.

As always, if anyone is still around who is paying attention to this, comments are appreciated.