*Raspberry* No, I don't own Digimon: Digital Monsters. I don't think it's nice to lie. It's rude, darlings. ^_~

Keys to Their Hearts:

Part Four: The Passing.

By Debbie (Dai-chan)

Everybody gazed up as the four arched doors opened on silent hinges on the circular wall, the four New Kids stepping out the instant same time. They were smiling in a personal sensation, their faces holding the satisfying awareness of themselves. The Destined Digimon cheered at the sight and rushed to their digichildren, chattering inquiringly and eagerly.

"You look pretty confidant, Davis."

"Yolei, where did you get such a beautiful flower?"

"Why are your boots wet? You went swimming, Cody?"

"I don't know what to say, but you are welcome, Ken."

"Congratulations, Digidestined," spoke Sanimon.

The New Kids and their Digimon turned to see Sanimon standing in between of Takeru and Hikari, her small hands embracing a small wooden crest. The Guardian was smiling proudly, her golden eyes bright.

Takeru crossed his arms, also grinning blithely, unlike the former scowl of displeasure. "I see that you all passed the tests with flying colors."

"I know you could," Hikari said knowingly.

"We didn't doubt it at all," Michael agreed.

Daisuke grinned back with triumph, "Hey, I know I can! The tests were so easy!"

Michael sweatdropped, smiling lopsidedly, "Maybe I spoke too soon."

The other friends chuckled as Daisuke sheepishly rubbed the back of his head, simpering.

Ken glanced to the chest in Sanimon's hands. The chest wasn't looking special in any way. It was made of dark tan wood and few metal hinges and a lock. There was no decoration or anything on it. "Sanimon, what's in this box?"

"The Digital Keys." Sanimon then smiled, gently balancing the chest. "You did prove your worthiness, but remember, there are tests much different from what you faced before. They are often unexpected, sometimes too sudden that you get unawares of the conditions. But if you remember what you learn from the tests and use them, you will succeed."

"But I thought the two worlds are finally at peace," Miyako spoke, glancing to her fellow friends. "Nothing's bothering us now."

The Guardian shook her head calculatingly. "No, it's only the beginning. Come here, Cody."

Iori blinked in surprise, but walked over to her, puzzled. Sanimon took a careful gaze at him, then nodded as if was satisfied. "Cody, I wish you to keep guard on the chest."

Iori cocked his head, his emerald eyes on the chest. "Why?"

"I trust that you will take care of the chest and the Keys. Only you can open the chest. I know you can do it." She handled over the chest, and Iori carefully caressed it in his arms. The chest was light in weight, and he grew curious about the Keys inside. Sanimon continued, "Although the chest looks plain, it does have a special power that I could only trust you to possess. You will know when the time to open the chest is."

He felt strange warmth radiating from the chest, and was astonished. He tightened the hold, and the warmth grew content, as if the chest trusted his reliability. He then nodded thanks to the Guardian.

"Thank you, Sanimon," Miyako was saying on belief of the New Kids. "We appreciate your help to us. We hope you will help us in the future."

Sanimon agreed with a nod. "I wish you fortune, and I do hope I will see you someday."

The Digidestined and Digimon exchanged farewells and thanks to Sanimon. She watched from the outside doors, watching them disappearing in the dimness of the tall trees. She sighed, and her face became worried and sad. Turning her back to the outside, she stepped back in the lobby, the gigantic doors closing behind her. A flicker of her hand, and the dusty chandelier that had been hanging forever lightened into brightness. Several orbs of white light hovered over the candleholders, giving no heat, but just light.

Keeping the light at the minimum (The Temple of the Digidestined was meant to be dark, hidden), Sanimon then moved her golden eyes upward to observe the murals. The nine paintings were still there, when she returned from Primary Village. The Paintings were slightly changed, the mirror images of the Old Kids transformed into new appearances to match their now secure and free souls. Only two of the murals were completely changed.

The golden-framed mural of the Savior had transformed into a new painting with a snow-white frame around it, the painting of the Last Digidestined, the Keeper. She never met him, but she knew he had an important role for the fate of the two worlds, not yet revealed. Thus, the title of the Last Digidestined.

The pale pink-framed painting that belonged to the Saint also changed, back to its former stage. The painting looked damp, the portrait mingled into a mess of colors. There was a face on it, but the details were too blurred to tell whom. The frame was pale, pale purple. There will be a new Digidestined, Sanimon knew, but already known to the Old Kids.

She knew why the Savior and Saint no longer had their own paintings because they joined the group of the New Kids. They may have the powers that linked to Nature, but they already fulfilled their duties, and the Old Kids needed them no more. The youngest Children of the Nature had become two of the Children of the Armor, served as guides to the New Kids.

The chandelier lost its light, leaving the lobby in the dimmest brightness as Sanimon silently strolled for the small room at her left. The room was known for the Circle of the Crests, but it was gone, its purpose done. The Temple was constantly changed to suit the current time, never the same. The Temple did have rooms that were devoted to the other Digidestined in the Real World, but they were so hidden that only the Guardian knew where to find them. If a French Digidestined ever finds the Temple, it wouldn't look the same, as it would be to a Japanese Digidestined.

The small, insignificant room held an object that was now valuable to the Digimon. Opening the door, Sanimon watched as the daylight shone through the cracks in the ceiling to illuminate the newest object she had received – the Tapestry of the New Kids.

The Murals of the Old Kids chronicled the stories of the adventures, how did they get their Powers. The tapestry told the same – it narrated of the adventures of the New Kids in the recent past, but it didn't yet reveal their true roles – the Armor Children.

Sanimon held her breath as she witnessed a stimulating spectacle.

The New Kids arrived to the Temple for the first time, and the Tapestry was able to touch their souls by giving those tests. The former symbols and colors that told of the past adventures began to slowly modify, a swirl of many colors, and Sanimon began to see the positions and appearances of the New Kids, showing the stories of them revealing their powers.

But Sanimon kept this silent, not want to fool around with Fate by showing the New Kids the Tapestry too early. There will be eight Children of the Armor, chosen to fight for the worlds. The Old Kids are the Protectors. The New Kids are the Fighters. They only have to wait and find their Powers.

She reached out her small hand to stroke the velvety fabric of the tapestry. Before, when she received it, it was dyed a vivid green, almost as dark as the atmosphere of the Temple, but now, the fabric changed color into a pale tan color, mundane and plain. Still, she thought it was beautiful. But her heart was aching with apprehension.

"Don't be so sad, Sanimon."

Her hand then clenched around the edge of the fabric, not caring if she damaged the fabric. She closed her eyes at the voice, her own voice hushed, "I can't help it, Prophet. I feel like I'm sending the children into the heart of the danger."

Although she was covered in his cloak of darkness, she could sense the Prophet standing beside her. He had a way to show up without a signal, but she wasn't offended. She knew he had something to say. She turned to watch him craning his head to study the tapestry. It was hard to see any emotion on his face since there was a thin mask of blackness, smooth and unruffled. But he appeared tranquil, which angered her.

Sanimon frowned, her voice strained, "And if you dare to say 'it means to happen', I will get upset. I cannot understand how you could be so aloof when those children are so merrily marching in the darkness?!"

The Prophet lowered his head and crossed his arms. His voice was mild, "I'd seen death and darkness so many times that there's no reason for me to get sad over one more death."

Sanimon grimaced with remorse, averted away.

Then his voice was haunted, "But I do suffer. I personally feel sad when a Digidestined suffer, but it's for the good. It helps them to learn, help them to harden themselves so they won't suffer as much next time."

"But . . ." her voice grew tense, "they are only children."

"Only children have the ability to help people who are different. Adults are more likely to hesitate, harder to accept what is different. Children can see more. They understand what's like to be different. They have incredible imaginations, huge hearts." He then looked up to the tapestry. "And only children can save us."

She sighed. "Very well . . ."

The Prophet glanced to her. "I trust that you will help us in the future."

Sanimon stood upright and nodded sharply. "Yes, Prophet, I will." He was the one who gave her a second chance. She had changed, and she had devoted herself to aid the Digidestined anytime, no question about it.

The Prophet seemed to form a small smile on his dark face. "Good. Now I will notify the Watcher about the tests." He went to leave the room, but Sanimon's voice stopped him.

"Prophet, what's so special about the Watcher?"

He sounded mysterious, but straightforward. "The Watcher has the power – and the memories – to wield the Sword."

She was truly surprised. She knew about the legend. "You mean . . ?"

He only smiled, and then disappeared out the room.

Sanimon stared at the door for a moment, and then laid her golden eyes on the tapestry. Her mind was not on the tapestry or even the New Kids. All she thought was the legend. Her face lightened with ease ad relaxation.

"So it finally begins . . ."

Never the end, to be continued in the Children of the Digital!

Yes, yes, I know this part is short, but sorry. *Sweatdrops* I know, I know! I'm trying to finish the next part of the Children of the Digital! I swear . . .. *Bows repeatedly and hides under her digi-rock, typing the part as FAST as she could*