Between the Shadows
By: Ethereal Fury
Chapter Eight: Familial Twists
The sun was firmly lodged behind some clouds and the first few stars were making their shy appearance in the dusky velvet sky when Zephyr strolled resolutely through the Akademy's wrought iron gate. After having had to display his late-night permit, answer some questions, and use Punishment as evidence, he was finally allowed to step into the humid late afternoon enveloping Zion. He began to walk towards the bus stop located in the far corner of the Akademy's grounds when his keen hearing picked up the roaring sound of the engine of a heavy vehicle pulling away and he saw the red and white Zion bus driving away from the stop. Just his luck; the bus had just left and the next one didn't come for another hour. He decided to walk the lengthy distance from the suburbs, where the Akademy was located, to the heart of Zion since waiting for the next bus would be useless; besides, he felt the need to stretch his sore muscles. So Zephyr set off, hands in the pockets of his black jeans, down the darkened lonely street, Punishment's black leather sheath thudding comfortably against his hip in an almost hypnotic rhythm.
After a while of walking down deserted streets, Zephyr stopped at a tiny shop deep in the heart of Zion's characteristic maze-like alleyways. If it hadn't been for the small gunblade engraved on the shop's sign, he probably would have walked right by it without a second glance. But a shop that specialized in gunblades was rare, rarer than the weapon itself, and finally curiosity got the best of him and he stepped into the shop, bells ringing to notify the arrival of a new customer. The shop itself was exceedingly small— a single room with a counter near the door, some chairs, and various worktables in the back with odd tools strewn atop them. It appeared as though no one was in the shop, and Zephyr was about to turn to leave when a raspy voice called out. "Just a minute, I'm coming."
A fragile old man limped over to the counter and adjusted his thick glasses. "Yes, what can I do for you?" he asked amicably.
"You fix gunblades?" Zephyr inquired, although the answer was obvious. There was something remotely familiar about the man… something in his eyes, those eyes a shade or two lighter than his own… but he couldn't pinpoint what it was.
The old man nodded with a sad smile, a faraway look in his clear blue eyes. "Yes. Gunblades… fix them, make them, clean them… anything. But no one uses them anymore. They are weapons of old, very hard to maneuver, and requiring many years of practice. But they are extremely powerful, yes, effective and deadly too… but people don't seem to see that."
"I have one," Zephyr stated simply, placing his hand on his hip. Why else would I be here, you old man? he thought in annoyance.
At that, the old man looked up sharply and squinted at Zephyr through his thick glasses. His mouth dropped open and he couldn't seem to shut it fully, instead making fish-like gestures. "A… Auron Leonstrife? You… you're back?" he inquired shakily, his feeble hands beginning to tremble.
Zephyr's eyes widened at the mention of his father's name. "No… Zephyr. Zephyr Leonstrife. You… you knew my father?" he asked the old man, shock and suspicion evident in his voice.
The old man's eyes glazed over a bit and that faraway dreamy expression settled over his features again. "Yes… yes indeed. I can remember it like it was just yesterday. He was standing there, that hand on his hip just like yours, not a day older than yourself, a confident grin on his face, saying that he was going to join the Zanark Army and win us the Zanark-Aerith War and that for that he needed a gunblade that could be loaded and fired quickly. So I made it for him, the finest specimen anyone had ever laid eyes on—long, lean titanium frame that was far lighter and more maneuverable, a barrel that fit 12 bullets instead of 8 and could fire at machine-gun speed, and a smaller, sleeker handle for an easier and stronger grip. The best gunblade I have ever made," the old man began.
Zephyr was not really listening as the shop owner went on to describe his masterpiece in more detail. That sounded just like, no, it was Punishment. The longer-than-usual titanium frame, the larger gun barrel, the smaller handle… all the trademarks that set his gunblade apart from Reed's more modern one. He forced his attention back on the man as he seemed to finish depicting the craftsmanship of the weapon.
"… Yes, yes, I remember him well. Always surrounded by the ladies, though he'd always had his eye on that cousin of the Lockheart chap… what was her name? Kane… something Kane," the man continued.
Kane? No… it can't be… Lockheart? Zephyr thought dazedly. "Gale?" he supplied. It couldn't be… the man couldn't mean his mother, could he?
The shop owner nodded emphatically. "Yes, yes… Gale Kane. Shy quiet girl she was… good friends with my daughter… she was head over heels in love with your father… it angered her cousin greatly, even though he and your father were best of friends. Yes, I remember the many squabbles between Auron and Cain Lockheart… Cain thought Gale deserved better than your father and you'd often see them sparring with their gunblades over her. Auron would always win, and someone would have to pry them apart before they got too hurt. I remember their fights well… they used to fight right outside my door and it was always my daughter Kerryn, that little rascal Breckyn, or that good chap Decan that would always break them up," he continued, that dreamy look never leaving his face.
Did he say…? No, it can't have been… my father and Reed's father… friends? Well, that certainly explains the burning rivalry between Reed and myself…and the fact that I can kick Reed's ass without a second thought; my old man kicked his old man's ass too; it's in the genes. Mom, Reed's aunt? That makes us… third cousins. Impossible… Breckyn? Headmaster Rayn? It can't be… and… he mused. "Decan, sir? You don't mean Decan Jecht by any chance, do you?" Zephyr asked incredulously.
"Yes… yes… Jecht. You know him? Nah… you're too young… nice boy he was; used to work for me as my apprentice. But he always wanted greater things… he often said that one day he would become president and crush Aerith. He and my daughter were very close… I'm sorry, I'm wasting your time… you said something about a gunblade, did you not?" the old man queried, shaking himself out of his memories and readjusting his specs.
Zephyr nodded, not trusting himself to speak. It was too much… his father, best friends with Zephyr's archrival's father and married to his cousin… good friends with the Headmaster and the now-President of Zanark whom Zephyr was to assassinate… him and Reed related by blood. Still not speaking, he unsheathed Punishment and placed it on the counter. The old man's blue eyes widened and he trailed his fingers lovingly over the sharp blade and the sleek handle. His masterpiece… that one gunblade he had devoted so much time to.
"I want it cleaned and polished. The barrel is a bit loose… fix it… and sharpen the blade. I want a new case as well. And don't you dare even scratch it or I will test the blade with your neck. I will be back in a few hours," Zephyr demanded, tossing some Zanarkads on the counter and turning to walk out.
"You're just like your father, lad. He said those same words when he returned from the war all those years ago. I will be done by the time you return. And I will take special care of your gunblade," the old man called out to Zephyr's receding back, carrying the priced weapon to one of the working tables.
More alike than you think… both traitors to our homeland, Zephyr thought as stepped out into clear Zion night, breathing a sigh of what felt like relief. That man… there was something about him that was too familiar… he felt like he knew him from some place… like he was some sort of ghost from his past. He shook his head… no… it was definitely something from the present… now, where had he seen those eyes? His mind drew a blank, so with a shrug and a glance at his watch, he quickened his pace towards the tavern.
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R&R!