The Measure of Existence, a final fantasy ix fanfic

The Measure of Existence
by Mina

Standard disclaimers for Final Fantasy IX apply. Final Fantasy is property of the almighty none-too-minor deity commonly known as Squaresoft. ::Mina bows humbly at the game giant's feet:: My fervent love of the characters (specifically Kuja and Zidane) is fuelled by Amano Yoshitaka's art—this man is my idol. I make absolutely nothing from this fic other than odd pleasure from manipulating characters with my twisted imagination. Yes, this means that suing would probably give you more of a headache than it would give me. ^_^

Warnings: Some language, lots of angsty introspection, Kuja (Who is currently much hotter than Sephiroth now, in my opinion. Maybe when the FFVII PS2 remake comes out it'll change…at the moment, I sincerely doubt it, though.), SPOILERS for the end of the game—scratch that: make it spoilers for the entire game—and lots of abuse of the Fanfic Author's Creative License clause. Face it: there's a lot about this game we don't know, like FFVII, and speculation's a helluva lot of fun. =^_^= Dialogue at the end is taken and slightly modified from the end of the game.

Extra Warning: Shounen ai involving very young boys. 'Course, it looks a bit like shotakon in the introspective flashback, so I'll throw in that warning as well…and it got a bit limey in parts. Well, kinda, I guess, though it's definitely got nothing on Blood Dance. Hmmm…come to think of it, some people take the whole 'brother' thing extremely literally, so I guess this should have a possible incest warning too. ::sweatdrop:: Shit, I'm breaking all of my own 'no-no' rules with this one. ::pathetic whimper:: Help?

K'lendel: ::pats on head:: Just listen to the muse, Mina-kaachan, and everything will be fine.

…That's what I'm afraid of.

It's funny—or, at least, ironic—how things eventually come full-circle in one's life. Garland once told me it was in my nature to feel too strongly, and because of that, I would abandon my feelings elsewhere—would abandon the things I felt strongest about elsewhere. I think he knew, twelve years ago, why I did what I did, but he never spoke of it to me—not after the initial confrontation, that is. Though he was arrogant, and though I hated him with a deep-seated passion that has yet to be quelled even after his death, I can admit that he wasn't stupid. No, he wasn't stupid by any means, and though he didn't pay as close attention to me as he did to Zidane and then Mikoto, he did know me well enough to surmise the reasons behind my actions.

I just wish that I had remembered my reasons.

Years of loneliness—combined with that hint of zealously ambitious drive to prove the measure of my existence that I was never able to rid myself of—is what set it all off, I think. Of course, I'm at liberty to reflect upon such things, now, like I never was before.

I'm dying. I, one of the most powerful creatures in existence, am dying.

It's stupid, I decide, as I lay back in my prison of roots, listening to the wails of the distraught Iifa Tree in my head; it makes me wish that telepathy wasn't part of the Genome design. In all honesty, though, I wish I could have died without remembering all of these things. Now I die with guilt, with fear, with sorrow, with regret, and I hate it as much as I hated Garland.

Oh, irony, how I loath thee.

I sent him away though, despite my more selfish urgings to keep him with me. For that, at least, I can feel a hint of pride in myself. Who would have thought that I would have the strength of will to do it again? I sent him away twelve years ago, hoping to save him the pain and sorrow of becoming the Angel of Death and instead… Instead I fell off the path and forced him to become a part of it all anyway.

He and his friends are safe—dying makes me want to be selfless for him. I can feel Mikoto out there as well, searching for them. I sigh, closing my eyes. Take care of him, little sister. Though I didn't know you well, though you probably only remember me as the vain maniac who was out to destroy a world, you are probably the only one who will know why I did this. And Zidane… Ah, Zidane will most likely never remember, and perhaps that is for the best. I am the only one left who will remember his time before Gaia, who will remember his life on Terra and at Bran Bal, and my knowledge will go with me. My little Zidane, the sun to my shade, the one I loved best of all.

The Tree is growing more agitated, the roots around me rising and falling in chaotic upheaval with the Tree's anger and pain. I can't help but laugh as it screams though. Give it up, Iifa Tree. Like me, your design was flawed and your life has ended. Give it up and die gracefully.

Die as I am willing to die: alone.

…Farewell, Zidane, I think to him, smiling faintly. Though I die alone, I will remember all of the time I spent with you before I abandoned you to a life of loneliness and thievery on Gaia, before you were Zidane Tribal, member of Tantalus. As I die, I shall remember the time when you were simply Zidane. I will remember a time before I was Kuja, owner of King's Auction House, a warmonger for Terra who couldn't remember himself. I will remember a time when I was simply a flawed Genome without a name.

I was told almost daily that humanity's ultimate concern is with existence, the 'here and now.' 'Are we real?' 'Do we have purpose?' 'Why?' …Such thoughts, I was told, I shouldn't understand, I shouldn't have.

Why?

Because I am not human.

Garland told me often that I shouldn't exist in the first place. I was an experiment, a prototype—I was supposed to be a shell without thought, without feeling, without a soul.

I guess that was really my first act of defiance against Garland, the fact that I had a soul. I didn't see it as such, but my creator did and hated me for it. You see, a soul should only go to a special sort of person…and I was never intended to be special.

He called me a 'Genome,' my creator did. I wasn't the first, and he assured me often that I wouldn't be the last, but I was unique…I was flawed.

There were other Genomes at Bran Bal, others that fit my creator's blueprint. They were slim and agile, fair of face, quick with their hands…and utterly mindless.

I was an outcast there, even amongst those that Garland deemed my own kind. The others all possessed skin of a pale gold, hair of variant shades of gold, tails of gold, eyes of deepest sapphire. Despite their lack of soul, of their own will, they glittered in my eyes like diamonds in the sun. They were carefree, peaceful, content—mayhap, even happy.

Though we all wore the same clothing, pants and shirt of dreary grey with added bits of blue, pink, or purple, I felt so awkward amongst them, so out of place. They were like the sun, bold and brilliant, and I…I was like the washed-out moon, pale and silvery, as different from my brethren in appearance as night and day.

My hair was silver-white, fading more towards a blue-violet every day that passed. My skin was marble pale, as flawless and colourless as milk or crème. Though I did the same work as the others, my body remained without real muscle definition; I wasn't weak, but my appearance made me seem delicate—it galled me to admit that. My tail was much the same shade as my hair; I tended to keep it curled about my waist or upper leg, unable to let it lash about like the others.

There were no mirrors in the compound—Garland knew nothing of physical vanity, and he was the only one other than myself that would have cared to look at themselves—but I had viewed my face often enough in the still blue water and glowing crystals that littered Bran Bal. I knew that I looked more like the female Genomes than the males, that my face was angular and pretty. I knew that my eyes were more amethyst than sapphire, that they tinged amber-red when I felt strong emotions, and that they were framed by long, thick black lashes—my body's one defiance against my paleness. The thing that truly set me apart, though…

Feathers. There were four, downy-soft and silver-violet like my hair. They swept up and back from my forelock, like the crest of a bird—and they were yet another reminder of how flawed I was.

Scowling at that thought, I drew my knees up to my chin and scooted back further on my bunk. If my creator was truly the god he says he was, why was it that I was flawed? Shouldn't I be perfect, like the others?

Maybe not. Maybe it wasn't that Garland had made a mistake, maybe it was that I had simply wanted to be real, that I had wanted to be myself. If that was so, then Garland would hate that even more, knowing that I possessed a soul because I, the mistake, had willed it—not because he had made a mistake.

There was the sound of heavy boots on the floor, and I looked up just in time to see Garland standing in the doorway.

"Somehow, I thought I would find you here."

He seemed almost amused, and amusement was something I did not appreciate in Garland. When my creator was amused, it usually spelled disaster for me. I had learned quickly not to show any fear I might feel, because Garland enjoyed that. If I feared him that meant that, despite my free will and soul, he had power over me.

I didn't want him to have power over me.

"What do you want, Garland?" I asked shortly.

Garland smirked, running a hand through his beard. "Come now, mistake, show respect to your creator."

I believe that, in all my eight years of life, there hadn't been a single time that he hadn't told me to show him respect.

Just what was it there was to respect about the man? His insane genius? His skills as a master manipulator? Oh, Garland, how you would have hated to view my thoughts; I know every trick you use to push my buttons and it is but by my will alone that I allow myself to succumb.

I smiled coldly, allowing my eyes to slide partially closed. "Creator, Garland? You didn't create me; you created this shell that I call a body. I created myself, Garland—I willed that I should exist, that I should live."

"I don't know why I just don't kill you now and be done with it," Garland muttered, glaring at me.

I had been correct with my earlier guess; Garland really was offended by the thought that I might not be a mistake, that I might be something else. "You've tried that already, numerous times," I reminded him. "Your last poison made me violently ill for three days—I guess that means that you are improving."

Garland snorted, continuing to glare at me. If I hadn't known him for as long as I had, I probably would have been scared. By appearance, Garland was a very old man, his hair and beard long and white. But he wore a suit of black body armour that was quite daunting, complete with a black and crimson cape. I know that he, himself, was a creation like the rest of us, and that he has been around for longer than I could ever imagine. He is extremely intelligent and powerful, too—I know that quite well, though I outwardly deny it.

I couldn't say for certain why it was that Garland no longer frightens me. All I knew is that his threats have long since ceased meaning anything to me. A large part of it comes from the fact that he had failed to kill me so many times, I think. I wasn't cocky about it, but I was rather pleased that he hadn't been able to do anything more than make me ill.

Truth told, though, Garland merely had to show his face for that to happen.

"So why did you seek me out?" I asked coldly, cradling my chin on my knees. "Was there something you wanted to share with me or did you merely come to gawk at me in order to remind yourself of your failings?"

"When was the last time you came down to the laboratory?"

Garland's almost purring tone had me instantly on alert. "It's been a month or two," I said. My eyes watched him closely, heart clenching when I noticed that satisfaction and triumph glittered in his cold eyes.

Smiling, Garland said, "Then I think it's time that you came to pay myself and your brethren a visit. I have quite a…surprise for you, my dear mistake."

With that, he laughed softly, a decidedly menacing sound that grated in my ears, and left the room with a swirl of his cape.

Snarling, I slapped my hands onto the bunk, glaring at the doorway through which Garland had disappeared. If he'd been up to something for so long, how had he managed to keep silent on it? Usually he was in my face with his achievements…

…which led me to conclude that this was something big.

Scowling, I scrambled to my feet and out the door, racing through the myriad halls and trails of Bran Bal, around the still blue ponds that pulsed and glowed. I worried as I noted that none of the other Genomes were about—typically they never stray far from the blue of the ponds and crystals.

I was panting by the time I slid into the lower levels, into Garland's laboratory. I found myself at the back of the pack, stuck behind the rest of my brethren who were gathered about the testing stations and growth tanks, murmuring quietly. "What's going on?" I snapped, grasping the nearest shoulder.

Sapphire blue eyes blinked blankly, sombrely back at me. "Master Garland has created another. We shall have a new brother today."

My jaw dropped as I reeled back at the news. A new…brother? Garland had finally created another?

I had been the last, eight years ago. It had seemed that my…soul…had so disturbed Garland that his plans for Terra and Gaia's integration had been waylaid, and he hadn't created another Genome since.

"Yes, mistake. A new Genome shall be brought into this realm soon, one like yourself…one with a soul."

Garland's self-satisfied tone broke into my whirling thoughts, and I pushed my way through the crowd till I was standing in front of him, my feet braced apart as I prepared for battle. "What do you mean?" I hissed, hands balling at my sides. How could he create another like me? I was a mistake!

"You were intended to be a model," Garland said, as if reading my mind. "I used your genetic print in the design of my perfect Angel of Death. Everything has proceeded according to plan. The Terran soul has germinated inside of the Genome, and now shows signs of awakening. Aren't you pleased, mistake? From you, I have managed to create perfection. It seems that you served a purpose after all."

Jerking my chin up at his tone, I said, "That which is force-made shall never be as good as that which is self-made, Garland."

My words seemed to trouble him, but after a moment, he shrugged and turned away. "I told you that you would have to be replaced. Your design is perfect for the Angel of Death that Terra needs, but your will is too strong. Had you remained a dormant soul…had you remained dormant, I may have been able to do something with you. Now, you are simply a hindrance."

A hindrance. Garland had muttered over the years about how he would have to make do with a sub-par Angel of Death. Now, it seemed, he had somehow managed to create his perfect Genome after all.

That meant that I was no longer necessary. That meant that Garland had no reason to hold back on killing me.

"Where is he?"

My voice sounded odd, hollow and dead. Was it really my voice that had emerged from my mouth?

Garland arched an eyebrow as he turned back to face me. "Why do you care?"

I refused to flinch away from him. True, he was in his element, here in the laboratory, his mindless Genomes surrounding him adoringly. But I was hollow, empty…and quickly filling with the emotion I had learned early to call 'hate.' "Where—is—he?"

Snorting, Garland gestured absently with a wave of his hand. "In the tank, of course. It will still be a few minutes before Zidane awakens completely."

Striding past him, I stood in front of the floor to ceiling growth tank, eyes riveted on the small figure that floated serenely within. He was so small compared to myself and the others, yet everything I could see appeared to be the same, perfectly proportioned to his frame. So this was my replacement. Zidane, the only one found worthy of a name.

The perfect Genome.

I found it odd that something deemed "perfect" by Garland could be so small, so innocent. How was it that this child would be stronger than I? I wondered. True, I had been grown to near maturity from the start, but this new…child—yes, that was the word. This child, this Zidane…he was important enough to have a name, and someday he would grow up to replace me.

Giving up the position as Garland's Angel of Death wouldn't have been a terribly big loss, but I wasn't about to give up on living. That's what my creator wanted, and I was determined to defy him till the very end.

"Whatever you're thinking just now, you can stop it," Garland said sharply.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I murmured, pressing my hands flat to the glass. This new Genome of Garland's was so small—I couldn't seem to get over that fact—far smaller than I and the others had been when we'd emerged from the tank. How would this scrawny, awkward thing replace me?

Machinery began to sound, and I could hear the other Genomes scurrying about, muttering orders, fulfilling their designs. I felt more than heard Garland step closer, and I braced my feet apart in anticipation.

"Step away, mistake."

I flinched at his harsh tone but shook my head in defiance, pressing even closer to the tank. "If he is to replace me, to be better than me, than I want to be the first person he sees!" I spat. "Let him know with the first flutter of his eyes that I hate him!" For I did hate him then, because his birth signalled my death.

And then it became quiet and still, the only sound the hum of mechanics and the whisper of the other Genomes. I waited, breath coming in fast, light pants as I saw my replacement's hands twitch, his tail uncurl. Golden hair swayed through the green liquid as the small head slowly began to move.

I tried to put all of my hatred and anger into my eyes as I waited to see his face. It was childlike, round-cheeked with slightly pouty lips, golden skinned. In a sudden snap of motion, black eyelashes fluttered and I found two brilliant, deep wells of sapphire locked with my own paler ones.

There was life in those eyes, sharp and shining. But there was knowledge there as well, intellect. This Genome knew, was aware at birth as I myself had been.

This Genome had a soul.

I hate you, I hate you! I thought darkly, the words hissing venomously through my head as Zidane and I continued to stare at one another, locked into a contest of wills. Why are you perfect? Why am I a mistake?

At that moment, when I thought that our battling wills alone could shatter the planet, Zidane did something that startled and confused me. He cocked his head to the side, reached his small, chubby hands forward until they were pressed flat against the glass, mirroring my own, and he smiled.

Perfection had smiled upon flaw.

I reeled away from the glass, confused, frightened. This…I wasn't prepared for this. I didn't know how to handle this sudden curve that Garland had thrown me. So I did the only thing I felt I could do.

I ran.

Running can only last for so long. After awhile, the runner either becomes exhausted or the pursuer catches up.

In my case, it was a matter of both.

For the first year that Zidane had emerged from the growth tank, I somehow managed to avoid him. It wasn't easy, for it seemed that he had an endless supply of energy. He was everywhere, almost as if he couldn't make himself slow down, as if he wanted to take in everything at once.

Truly, though, I believe that was one of Zidane's traits that confused yet attracted me. I, too, had been curious—I still was. But Zidane's position of favour with Garland seemed to serve him well. He was constantly found trailing after Garland, chattering up a storm, pelting our creator with question after question.

I felt torn, conflicted. On the one hand, I wanted to follow Zidane, to learn more about this strange new creature that was like myself. But on the other hand, I couldn't forget that smile….

I shuffled down the corridor towards my room dejectedly, sweat trickling between my shoulder blades, down my forehead, making my hair stick to my skin. It was hot and sweltering in Bran Bal, high summer on Terra at its worst. I'd spent the entire day in a remote region of the territory, practising my black magic skills. It was a point of contention with Garland that I was determined to win; he maintained that I would never master anything beyond primary level spells, while I knew that I was capable of more. Though I was hot and tired, I was quite pleased with myself; I'd managed to cast all three secondary level elemental spells without a major effort. Fira, Thundara, Blizzara: they were now mine to call at whim.

At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to get a change of clothes from my room, scrub myself clean in the springs, and sleep for a week. Hopefully Garland would be holed up in Pandemonium until I felt ready to leave my room.

As it was, when I reached my room the bed looked so inviting, I couldn't help but flop down across it with a relieved sigh.

Or, at least, that was what my intention had been. When I fell forward, I fell on a soft lump that emitted a suspicious squeak when I landed on it.

I scrambled off the bed, tearing the sheets off with me as I stumbled and fell onto the cold, hard floor. My mouth fell open, working like a fish on land as I struggled to find the words to convey my surprise.

Large sapphire blue eyes blinked at me quizzically, a slightly chubby finger absently poked between pouty lips. A slim, golden-furred tail lashed about with unrestrained energy, caught in the other hand after a moment.

Somehow I managed to dig deep within myself and call up all of my anger and hatred. I scowled, pointing towards the doorway. "Get out," I snarled. A corner of my mind whispered, Cast Death. It was a tertiary level spell, but my determination at that moment seemed like it would be enough to pull it off. How dare he invade my territory?

A small smile crossed the heart-shaped face, a giggle emerging.

Great. I was amusing him.

Surging to my feet, sheet wrapped around my arm, I continued to point at the doorway. "Get out!"

Again, to my surprise, he shook his head, smile not wavering in the least. The finger left his mouth with a slight 'pop,' his other hand releasing his tail. He crawled forward to the edge of the bed on his hands and knees, tail lashing once more as he cocked his head to the side and blinked at me curiously.

"Who are you?" he asked, timbre childishly light and cheerful.

I sneered, arching an eyebrow. "Didn't your beloved Garland tell you? I'm the mistake."

He frowned at that, chewing on his lip. "Doncha have a name, though?"

His question confused me. I felt a stabbing sensation in my chest, as if someone had stuck a hot poker in me. "A…name? Why would I have a name?"

"Well, I've gotta a name," he said matter-of-factly. "An' Father has a name. An' the other Genomes kinda have names like Rose an' Leaf an' Chaser an' stuff. So why don't you gotta name?"

The others had…names? Slowly I sank back down to the ground, clutching the sheet in my hands. If they had…names…then why…why didn't I…?

The hot poker in my chest was twisted and buried deeper.

He jumped off the bed, slowly walking towards me as if I were a wild animal that might try to dart away at any moment. Had I had my wits about me, I just might have. His close proximity was disturbing on many levels. He crouched down so that we were on eye level, hands balanced on his knees. "Doncha want a name?" he asked softly.

…The child was incredibly cruel. "Of course I want a name!" I hissed icily, hoping that my eyes were spitting the venom that I felt. "But I was a mistake—I don't deserve a name."

At that, he smiled sunnily, another burbling giggle escaping. "Everyone deserves a name, silly!"

I watched him warily. I wasn't used to dealing with another such as myself. But the hot poker sensation was lessening. "Why? How do you know?"

Pressing his fist to his heart, he said, "'Cause what's in here tells me. It whispers to me all the time. Doesn't yours?"

My…heart? My soul? To which was he referring? I knew that I possessed the latter, but the former…? "I…I don't know."

Suddenly my lap was full of grinning, giggling golden boy, thin child-arms yoked around my neck. "You're so silly! I know, though. I know that you're supposed to have a name." He whispered that last statement softly, conspiratorially.

Unsure of what else to do, I decided to humour him. "I am, am I?"

He nodded, hair tickling my cheek. "Uh-huh. I was reading a book this morning, and I saw a name… And when I said the name out loud, I knew it was yours. You're Kuja."

Kuja. Ku…ja… Ku-ja.

"Are…are you sure? It was probably just some word you read, wasn't it?" The hot poker returned, not as forceful as before, but still there.

Those small hands laced into my hair, tugging none too gently. "Nuh-uh! It's your name, I know it. You're Kuja, no matter what. So, that's what I'm gonna call you—always."

It's silly when you think about the little things that make you happy. To most people, a name probably isn't that big of a deal. But I was nine years old and I'd never had a name other than 'mistake.' Now, here was my replacement telling me that I had a name…that it was my name, for always.

I felt him sigh against my chest, child's warmth seeping into my bones. Despite the heat, it felt…welcome.

"Know what else my heart tells me?"

Tentatively I wrapped my arms around him, wondering at the feel of holding another living being. How did one's heart talk to them? I wondered. "What?"

"That Kuja and Zidane will always be together."

"We will?" Why…why did I suddenly feel light and happy?

Zidane nodded, stifling a yawn. "Yep. 'Cause Zidane and Kuja are supposed to be together. That's why I was reaching for you. But then…then you ran away." He sounded hurt, confused. "Why'd you run away?"

"When…?" When was he talking about? There had been innumerable times that I had seen or sensed him coming and had run the other way.

"When I first opened my eyes. I felt you there, waiting for me. I tried to go to you, but I couldn't get out yet. And then you ran away. I couldn't figure out how to find you until today."

I felt as though I should apologise—yet another oddity. "I'm sorry. I…I don't know the kind of things that you do."

And I didn't. I didn't know about listening to your heart. Did mine even talk to me? And I didn't have his certainty, his conviction.

"That's okay," Zidane replied cheerfully, cuddling closer. "I'll teach ya what you need ta know."

And something told me that the little imp would do just that.

"Hey, Kuja?"

Kuja. My name.

"Yes?"

"Do ya plan on takin' a bath anytime soon? 'Cause you stink."

"Disrespectful imp!"

Dancing out of my arms with a laugh, Zidane paused in the doorway, eyes bright, grin in place, gesturing to me with his hand. "Come on, Kuja. I'll race ya!"

He waited till I rose to me feet before he took off, and to my surprise, I found myself racing after him.

Life is full of surprises, and none is more surprising than finding out that 'joy' is an emotion that can be experienced outside of a word on paper.

"Kuja, what's that place in the sky?" Zidane asked, turning to me with his wide sapphire eyes sparkling. It was the fourth time that we'd managed to sneak away from Bran Bal in the past four months, and the freedom of roaming about the twisted countryside was heady. We'd been gone from the main compound for nearly two days now, and I was more than a little bit surprised that Garland hadn't come from Pandemonium to look for him.

However, I wasn't going to look my gift horse in the mouth.

Zidane was boundless energy, guileless existence, and utterly infectious. I wanted to hate him for the fact that, when he matured, Garland would do his best to end my life. A part of me did hate him, I think. But another part of me…

"Kujaaa!" Zidane wailed, tugging on my arm.

I sighed, glancing down at the boy beside me. I had only 'known' him for such a short time, yet it felt as if I'd known him forever. "Why do you wish to know, Zidane?"

He grinned, pointing into the sky with a chubby finger. "That round thing in the sky, all blue and shiny…it's so pretty! What is it?"

I couldn't help but smile at his exuberance, pulling him into my lap and settling my chin atop his head. Touching him seemed second nature, as if I had never not done it. How I wish that I could have even half your innocence, half your purity. "That's Gaia," I murmured, breath stirring strands of gold. "It's our sister planet—our mirror." A younger version of this dead rock that we will one day make a new Terra from.

"Hey, are there people like us there, Kuja? Huh?" Zidane wriggled in my lap, craning his neck to look at me. "Does Gaia have people like us?"

Closing my eyes to try and block out his painfully open and eager expression, I shook my head with a small, breathy sigh. "No, Zidane. Gaia has people, but not like us. The only people like us live in Bran Bal. But even then…even then, you and I are different."

Zidane sighed, tail absently winding around my wrist and forearm as he settled against my chest. "Is that why you're always so sad, Kuja, because there aren't others like us?"

Again, I smiled faintly, running my pale fingers through his golden hair a few times before wrapping my arm around his waist. How could you explain to a creature whose soul couldn't remember pain or sorrow or fear that you were afraid of them, that a tiny portion of yourself hated them even as you liked them—liked them more than you'd ever liked anything ever before. He'd told me that he'd watched me from the shadows constantly, often noting my melancholy moods; any chance he had to escape from Garland he spent trailing me. "Maybe."

"Don't worry, Kuja—I'll always stay with you."

Such solemn words and expression seemed out of place coming from my little brother…and yet, at the same time, they fit him so well. "Don't make promises that you can't keep, Zidane," I whispered harshly. I hated to disillusion him, but I didn't want to lie to him either; the truth of the matter was, he would be stronger one day and when that happened, my use to Garland would cease.

My life, as it was, would cease.

Zidane turned in my lap, throwing his arms about my neck and burying his face in my hair. "I love you, Kuja."

So innocent, so naïve…little Zidane must have been reading from Garland's library again. Where else would he have picked up those words, picked up their meaning? Certainly not from our creator…nor from myself, for I have never believed in them—not until Zidane. When he does things like this, curls up trustingly in my arms, speaks those…those words, I wonder how it is that he will become Garland's Angel of Death. He won't survive it, my little Zidane. The part that makes him so special, so precious—his kindness, his quick smile and bright laughter, his innocent trust—will be crushed beneath the weight of the guilt and pain that accompanies the position.

And he has become that—my little Zidane.

"How do you know, Zidane?" I asked him softly.

He shrugged, but I could feel him smiling against my neck. "Just do."

I didn't understand love—didn't even try to pretend that I could understand it. Four months ago, I wasn't even certain I had a heart. In Garland's books, "love" is why children were born, created. But Garland doesn't love me; he hates me, hates that I draw breath, that I exist. And I can't pretend that he loves Zidane either, for all that he makes my brother call him "Father." Garland wants to keep Zidane a tool, a coveted item.

As for myself… I knew that a small part of me resented Zidane, resented the fact that he was perfect, that he was given a name, that he met with Garland's approval. And part of me hated the fact that Zidane could do not wrong in Garland's eyes, that despite Zidane's currently lower magic abilities, I was still a "failure" to my creator.

I'd hated Zidane at his birth, hated him while he was tottering around at Garland's feet in his first weeks. I can still recall how much I wanted to cast Death upon him when he ran away from Garland and into my bed not quite a year later. But when he just sat there, expression quizzical, innocently open and asked my name…

I felt something then, some sort of sharp stab near my heart. The pain only grew worse when he insisted that I have a name and gave me mine: Kuja. I hurt at that moment, and again a month later when he first said those unheard before words to me.

It still hurts, every time he says my name, every time he says that he loves me.

But it's a nice pain, a reassuring pain—it lets me know that I'm alive. I still pinch myself from time to time, just to make sure that this isn't a dream, that my little Zidane isn't a dream. He always laughs when I do so, but not maliciously.

Zidane is more precious to me than my own life. He taught me to smile, to laugh, to love myself. I would willingly sacrifice this free will of mine that Garland so curses if it meant that Zidane would be safe.

Soft child's fingers trail across my face, settling on my cheek. I look up from my musings, a little surprised to find Zidane staring at me solemnly with wide sapphire eyes. "What is it, Zidane?" I asked gently. His bangs had fallen into his eyes, and I couldn't help reaching up to brush them back.

"Why are you always so sad?" he whispered, sounding on the verge of tears. His fingers wandered over the planes of my face, and I closed my eyes to avoid his watery gaze.

"I am a creature made for sadness," I replied. In my nine years of life, it had seemed to be the truth.

His fingers brushed over my lips. "But why, Kuja? I try so hard…I try to make you happy. Why can't I?"

I felt guilty when he said that. Did I truly never tell him? Could he really not see that he did make me happy—that he was the only thing that made me happy? "You do make me happy, Zidane," I said, catching his hand and pressing my lips to his knuckles.

"But it's not enough, is it? I'm not enough."

He sounded so tired, so pained when he whispered those tearful words—and he seemed so certain as well. I had to remind myself, in that moment, that he was only a year and a half old; for all his wisdom and maturity, for all the knowledge his Terran soul contained, he was still a child.

Ah, but what a child! It was my turn to wrap him in my arms, to bury my face in his sunshine-scented hair. "You are enough, Zidane. You're all I need."

I felt his hands slowly begin to draw through my hair, and I sighed in relief, relaxing my tense posture.

"I love you, Kuja."

…Love…

…Kuja…

Kuja, the mistake…

Kuja, whose will was too strong…

Kuja, who had no purpose…

Kuja, who wasn't supposed to be real….

I've never cried before—not really. But hot tears slid down my cheeks as I closed my eyes and hugged Zidane tighter. Had he been anyone else, I would have felt foolish, embarrassed…weak. But in this game of tumultuous emotions, my little Zidane and I knew our places. He was the strong one, the one with the power and without fear. I was the weak one, the frightened one

In this, I was the child.

"Shhh…it's all right." His hands were in my hair again, gentle and soothing, tracing across my scalp and down the back of my neck. "Please don't cry, Kuja. I didn't mean to make you cry."

"How can you love me?" My voice sounded harsh and thick to my ears. "How, my little Zidane?"

"Because…I believe that you are beautiful. Not just outside, but inside too."

In that moment, as I continued to quietly cry, I wondered how it was that Zidane could be so much older than his years—older than myself. Was this what made Zidane perfect?

I would never really know the answer to that question, what it was that made Zidane perfect. But I would remember, for the rest of my life, even during the mania that came to rule me later, that he was just that: Perfect.

My relationship with Zidane was different from any relationship I'd had in the past—indeed, it was different from any relationship in Bran Bal period. We were close, touching often, found lolling together in the same bed like children, soaking up the warmth of the blue-tinted sunlight and each other. It was comfortably, the ease with which we talked, touched.

Inevitably, though, it spawned its own problems.

"Kuja? Why aren't the others like us? All they every do is stare at the blue light all day."

I paused in eating, absently setting my fork back down as I considered his question. Why, indeed. I'd always known I was different—that Zidane and I were different—but I'd never stopped to wonder why. It wasn't as though Garland urged me to consider such free thoughts either.

"I—" Closing my mouth, I frowned. Why hadn't I bothered to ask Garland? If I was a mistake….

Zidane flashed a sunny smile, unrepentantly stealing a handful of grapes off my plate. "You don't know, do ya?"

Snorting, I smacked him lightly upside the head. "Disrespectful imp."

Sapphire eyes went impossibly wide as Zidane gave me his "innocent" expression. "But…" His bottom lip began to tremble, eyes turning watery…and I knew I was in trouble. "But you still love me, right?" He sniffled, small fist knuckling his eyes. "Right, Kuja?"

My little Zidane is a master manipulator.

Sighing in exasperation, I nodded and prepared for what I knew would follow.

"Yatta!"

Like a shot, my lap and arms were full of grinning, golden boy.

"One of these days you're going to injure me," I grumbled. Nonetheless, I wrapped my arms around him, settling my chin atop his head.

"I'll never hurt you, Kuja," Zidane avowed, snuggling against my chest.

I laughed. "Not even on accident?"

He shook his head, hair tickling my chin. "Nuh-uh! I'd never forgive myself if I hurt you!"

"So vehement," I teased, trailing my fingers through his hair.

With a small sigh, Zidane subsided into quiet, and I contented myself with holding him. Silence was plentiful in Bran Bal, but not like this…not this peaceful.

"Kuja, if I was made to be like you, why does Father say you're a mistake? Does that mean I'm a mistake too? Huh, Kuja?"

…Then again, Zidane never had liked the quiet.

Smiling wryly, I pondered how to word my response. "I was supposed to be a model," I said slowly, chewing on my lip. "Garland designed my body in detail—how I would be built, my mental and magical capacity, the whole bit. …I was supposed to look like the others though, like you. And I did, for a couple months. However, I began to lose my colour and assert my independence, and that is what makes me a mistake. Something in Garland's plan didn't go right…and I am the end result."

I smiled bitterly, glad that Zidane couldn't see my expression. "You are lucky in that respect, my little Zidane. You, at least, look like the others. I don't even have that consolation."

There was another brief silence before Zidane replied.

"I wish I could look like you, Kuja." He spoke softly, tail slowly sweeping across my leg. "I wish I could be like you. You're pretty and smart and talented…. Father may have wanted me to be like you, but I'm not. I can't be."

"And why do you say that?"

Zidane squirmed in my arms to look up at me, pressing his fist to his chest. "I know it in here. Every time Father mentions this power, this magic that I should have, I look for it inside of me and I can't find it. There's something there, but it's not that, and it's not that powerful."

He smiled, reaching up to touch my cheek. "I don't know a whole lot yet—not compared to Father, not compared to you—but I know you, Kuja. You were the first person I saw when I opened my eyes, you know." Smile becoming a cheeky grin, he added. "'Course, now that I see your face every morning, I wonder why I felt so attracted to you in the first place."

We wrestled amongst the high grass, lunch forgotten as we pulled hair and tails, tugged clothing and tickled bared skin. Never before had I felt freedom such as this, freedom to abandon my worries and cares, freedom to let go of everything and simply be.

By the time our tussle ended, I was breathless on my back, Zidane straddling my hips as he grinned down at me in triumph. His hair had escaped its ponytail, and his flowed around his face and over his shoulders, highlighting him all over in gold.

"I win!" he crowed, wriggling in delight.

I gasped at the sudden contact, skin against skin friction that was warm and shivery in a way I'd never experience before. My eyes fluttered shut, heart racing, breath panting across dry lips.

"Kuja?"

That first time, it was pure accident. In my hast to sit up, I spilled Zidane forward onto my chest, our foreheads bumping, noses rubbing…lips touching. We stared at each other incredulously at first, both of us wide-eyed with surprise and confusion, wondering why such a small contact could cause such an astounding reaction.

The second time…was curiosity.

Which of us leaned forward first, I cannot say. All I know is that when our lips touched again, it felt…right. Hesitant motion, the dry, warm touch was foreign yet familiar. Breathless seconds later, Zidane licked my lip and I gasped again, eyes fluttering closed. As it was with emotions, I was willing to follow where he led.

Drowning in summer kisses, I learned true warmth for the first time—and realised, much later, that I was also learning to love.

I dabbled my fingers in the water with a small smile, watching the spreading ripples drift. The warm sun felt good upon my bare flesh, and the playful wind teased my hair across my shoulders, neck, and cheeks.

"So pretty…"

"Hmmm?" I looked up from the water, blinking questioningly. Zidane was crouched down a few feet away, eyes wide. "What did you say, my little Zidane?"

He slowly crawled forward, eyes never leaving my face as he rustled through the grass. Without ceremony, he dropped down beside me, wrapping his arm through mine, pressing his cheek against my shoulder. "Kuja, how old are you?"

"Eleven." I looked down at his bowed golden head, lips pursed; it was hard to believe that so much time had passed in our relationship. "Why?"

"Well…I just turned three, and Father says I'm maturing too quickly. But I'm still little, Kuja—you're bigger than me."

Zidane sounded troubled by this. "When Garland created me, I was born this size," I said. "Well, I was a little bit smaller, but not much; as my soul germinated, I grew as well. That you are smaller than I isn't a problem; to compare, I have an adult body while you have the body of an eleven or twelve year old human."

He continued to look pensive, almost unconsciously sucking on the tip of his thumb, leaning against me even harder. "Is there something else bothering you?" I asked.

Zidane started from his thoughts, turning to blink at me owlishly. "Wh-what?"

I smiled, inwardly delighting his slightly abashed expression, the faint blush on his golden cheeks. "I asked if there was something else bothering you."

If anything the blush deepened, and my curiosity was piqued. What had my little Zidane been thinking about?

"Weeellll…kinda," he said with a small stutter, eyes downcast.

His tail began to lash, brushing across the back of my bared thighs, making me shiver. "Are you going to tell me, or do I have to try and read your mind?"

My dry comment earned me a small giggle and a grin. "We're friends, right, Kuja?" he asked, eyes glancing up hesitantly.

I thought about that for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, I guess we are."

Hair had trailed over my shoulder, and Zidane began to run it through his fingers. "And we're family too, right?"

"Well, you are my little brother," I pointed out. True, we weren't related by blood, and we looked not a thing alike other than basic body structure, but he was the brother of my heart and soul.

I must have given satisfactory answers; Zidane's tail became less agitated, more languorous in its movement. The slow and steady sweep across my skin, however, was beginning to make me tingle.

"Have you ever… Have you ever loved someone before, Kuja?"

His question caught me completely off-guard. "Loved…someone…?" I blinked, mind racing. "I've never really thought about it before." Absently I worried my lip between my teeth as I thought. Did I know what "love" was, even after all this time with Zidane?

Slowly I turned my head to look at Zidane. My eyes swept over his impish features, his wide and honest eyes, the sweep of golden hair that curled against his jaw and over his brow. Was this love? I wondered, gaze dropping down to where Zidane's bare arm coiled about my own, warm gold over cool crème. This shivering, achy feel that hit in my chest when I looked at him; the tingle of excitement that burned through my veins, that made my body want—was this love? Or was I mistaking physical desire for something else?

"What is love to you, my little Zidane?" I asked, dropping my head so that my cheek rested against the top of his head.

He cuddled closer—most likely emboldened by the fact that I hadn't left—ducking under my arm so that I was now holding him. "Love's like…like flying," he said, wrapping my arm about his bare middle. His voice carried overtones of awe, of delight. "It's kind of like jumping from the rooftops. You don't know if you'll land safely at the bottom, if someone will catch you at the end, but you hope and pray… And the fall is exhilarating, so that even if no-one catches you and you get hurt, at least it was pleasant on the way."

"Sounds painful."

"Sometimes," he spoke softly. "But it's addicting, like candy. Once you know what it feels like, tastes like, you want it all the time."

Addicting… That described Zidane perfectly. Nothing was ever boring with my little Zidane around—everything seemed new and bold and breathtaking, as a matter of fact. When he smiled at me, or laughed, I could feel that I wasn't a mistake, that he was the reason I had been created.

So…so maybe this was love after all.

"Zidane, I…" I felt his fingers tighten about my arm, and I glanced down sharply at his bowed head. "If…if that's what "love" is…then I think I love you, my little Zidane."

Zidane was trembling, and for a moment I feared he was crying. And when he looked up, there were tears in his wide sapphire eyes, but he was smiling. "I'm glad, Kuja," he said.

"Why?" I leaned more of my weight on my shoulder, continuing to hold him, reaching with my fingertips to catch a tear that slipped free.

"I don't wanna die unloved." As soon as that statement slipped free, he squirmed about and threw his arms around my neck, burying his face in my hair.

I smiled sadly, hugging him in return. Dying… If either of us needed to worry about dying, it certainly wasn't him. But who was I to burden him with such thoughts, such realisations of things to come? Instead, I simply held him and whispered, "You are loved, Zidane. You are loved."

I wondered, at times, if Garland didn't suffer from some form of split personality disorder. He preached daily, fanatically, of the importance of his task, to preserve the people and culture of Terra, to join our slowly failing planet with healthy young Gaia.

He treated Zidane so much differently than he treated me, however. To Garland, I would always be the failure, the creation that went wrong. Zidane was perfect, following the designs according to plan. And I think…I think that Garland did, perhaps, think of himself as Zidane's father. He certainly had more patience with Zidane than he'd ever had with me.

What worried me, though, were his teaching methods. On the one hand, it seemed that he wanted Zidane to be as human as possible, to think and feel and rationalise; and yet, at the same time, he wanted him to be a malleable puppet that would one day become Terra's ultimate tool.

I was completely and absolutely jealous of the time Garland spent with Zidane. I wanted my little brother all to myself, to talk to and laugh with, to hold and touch, to kiss and—

"Kuja, what are you doing in the shadows?"

I started at Zidane's bewildered question, glancing up from my hands to where Zidane sat sprawled backwards in his chair. Garland scowled at having had his prize creation's attention diverted, but I was all the happier for his irritation.

"Observing," I replied, propping my chin in my hands. My eyes were hooded as I smiled at him, and I delighted in the flush that stained his golden cheeks.

"And what is there that is so interesting to observe?" Garland asked sharply.

"Why, the entire world is interesting, Garland," I answered. "From the observations of others to our own…life, beauty"—I smile coyly at Zidane, who blushed even more but didn't look away—"and, of course, the most important thing of all."

"And what would that be?" Apparently Garland was in the mood to humour me.

"Don't you know?" I arched an eyebrow, trailing my fingers through my long silvery locks. When he simply sat mute, I smiled as he often did—as if I were the better, speaking to someone beneath me. "Love, of course."

"Love?" He pressed his lips together, craggy brows drawn over his eyes. "What would you know of love, strong-willed mistake that you are? Weren't you the one who declared that emotions were beneath him?"

"Oh, but they are beneath us all!" I rose to my feet, feeling a thrill in the power that I knew I held. Zidane's sapphire eyes never left me as I swayed slowly across the floor to their table, and neither, for that matter, did Garland's. It seemed that he didn't know quite what to make of me, now that I had thrown off the clothes—and the guise—he set for the Genomes for ones that more suited me. Maybe it was the confidence I now held as I walked, as I watched him with half-lidded eyes, that disturbed him.

"Emotions," I continued, "are but tools—traps, even. If we give in to such things as love and hate, anger and sorrow, we are that much more apt to fall off the path."

I reached Zidane's chair, and to the surprise of them both, I threw my arms about my little brother's neck. "A child's emotions are the best to observe, though." My voice was low, and to my own ears it seemed gravely, like it did after sleep or a long bout of talking. Zidane squirmed in my arms until he was facing Garland again, but I refused to loose my grip. To Garland, it must have seemed that I had my hands poised for the kill; his eyes had widened and his face had paled considerably.

Zidane, however, knew differently. Away from Garland's eyes, my fingers trailed teasingly along the back of his neck, and I pressed my cheek against his own, silver hair mingling with gold. My breath was warm when it touched his skin, and I smiled to myself as he shivered in reaction. "A child's emotions are the best, Garland. They have no restraints, no boundaries, no rules. They aren't trained or taught; they simply are."

"Kuja…"

My eyes snapped up as Garland softly growled my name with underscored warning, narrowing with a hate I barely managed to suppress. He knew that I didn't like it when he used my name. I smiled, though, and continued as if I hadn't heard him. My eyes must have been flashing amber, for even though Garland maintained he was not afraid of a mistake such as myself, he sat further back in his chair. "I suppose I should thank you for this learning opportunity, Garland. You see, I have decided that I—"—here I raked my fingernails slowly across Zidane's bared middle, smirking slightly at the muted cry that left his lips, the way his muscles tightened beneath my fingers.

Garland thought the cry was from pain and started to get up from his chair. Zidane and I knew differently, however, and my little love shook his head slightly, causing our creator to return to his seat. "What is it that you have decided?"

I smiled and half-closed my eyes, breathing the sunshine scent that was Zidane, relishing the feel of his silky skin and hair against my face. "Why, I have decided that it is Zidane I love best, Garland."

At that moment, I believe that my creator knew fear for the first time—fear caused by me, that is. But he didn't know me, not the way he thought he did. I wasn't the heartless creature he'd tried to convince me I was, but with the twisted doctrine he'd fed me at Zidane's age, it was a wonder that I wasn't insane. Had that been the case, had I truly been insane, I believe that I would have feared myself as well. Because I believe, that if I was insane, I would still have loved Zidane—and such love would have, no doubt, ended with his death. It was sanity that allowed me to control my jealous propriety, and it was sanity that gave me leave to laugh at Garland's lack of knowledge.

Later, much later, I would realise how right I had been. And, I would realise, how close I had come to making my predictions a reality.

Hell comes in many forms, but none so complete, so destroying, as emotional torment brought about by watching a loved one in pain.

Though Garland's brilliant test idea had worked, today's events had made me realise that things couldn't continue. I couldn't continue to love Zidane—and he couldn't continue to stay on Terra.

He was so trusting, so innocent… I wondered what he would be like five years from now, ten years from now. Surely not much different—at least, I hoped he wouldn't be.

I knew that, by the end of the night, I would never be the same again.

When he offered his mouth to me that night in the sanctuary of our room, I believe I startled him with my hunger, kissing him as though I were starved. And indeed I was, for I would never have this again. Zidane was sweet to taste, all his emotions flavouring his mouth like heady wine. My fingers threaded in his hair, urging him to tip his head back while I latched on to the side of his neck with teeth and lips and tongue.

"K-Kuja," he groaned, eyes fluttering shut.

I wanted him to forget what had happened today on Gaia. I wanted to forget what had happened on Gaia, but I knew that I never would. The helpless rage I had felt as Bahamut had attacked the Invincible and Zidane had fallen through the portal, fallen towards the bloody waves and rocks of Madain Sari…

Today, I had looked real Death in the eye and had been afraid. Not for myself, but for the lovely child I cradled in my arms. Feeding Ultima through the Invicible's portal and generators had been insane, and through I'd destroyed Madain Sari beyond recognition, a Summoner was still alive somewhere, controlling Bahamut's own rage, still sending the Eidolon after us.

I was powerless. I had absolutely nothing left to fight the vengeful beast with, no reserves left to draw on. As it was, I could barely hold mental contact with the Invincible to draw enough power from the generators to keep us from crashing into the earth below.

He had entered Trance. My little Zidane had tapped into the hidden reserve of power that Garland and I had always know he had.

Tears splashed unbidden down my cheeks, traitorous things that they are. I buried my face in Zidane's hair, drawing in great, gasping breaths. I had the strength to do this—I had to have the strength to do this.

"Kuja…"

I pulled back to stare at his flushed face, swollen lips and glassy sapphire eyes. And I leaned forward one last time, lips touching one last time, breaths mingling one last time, and I cast the most powerful Sleep spell I could muster, feeling my magic saturate his mind, body, and soul. And when he went limp in my arms, I gave my tears free rein and mourned my loss.

For the sake of the one who taught me love, I would send him away.

"Where is he?"

I didn't look up from my book. "Where's who?" I asked flippantly.

"Zidane. What have you done with him?"

"Zidane? Oh, after the mess up on the last mission, I decided you didn't need him. He's gone—and you'll never see him again."

I finally looked up and wished I hadn't. Never have I seen Garland look so ready to kill, face suffused with crimson, blood vessels standing out on his forehead.

"Stupid, stupid creature!" he snarled, lashing out and catching me across the cheek. I reeled back in my chair, tasting blood as my teeth tore through my cheek.

"Stupid?" I spat, glaring as I rose from my seat. "What exactly makes me stupid, Garland?"

"That you would throw away my most perfect creation because of some…some…misbegotten jealousy, because I would recognise Zidane and not you."

"You never understood, Garland!" I hissed, narrowing my eyes. "I never wanted you to admit that you needed me—I could care less. I never wanted you to say that I wasn't a mistake—I already knew that. The only thing I ever asked of you was to realize that I was unique, that I was an individual. And you couldn't do that, could you?"

"You killed Zidane because of this?" my creator spat, seeming to have missed the point entirely. "You killed my greatest accomplishment, my perfect creation, for something as mundane as this?!"

I chuckled softly as I cocked my head coyly and placed one hand on my hip, eyes half-lidded; Zidane would have appreciated my expression and posture. "Kill Zidane? Why would I do that? No, Master Garland, I simply sent him away. You will never see your perfect Genome again—I am the only one that you have left. I am the only one who can become your Angel of Death."

Garland must have ice in his veins, for it seemed that my heated words and attitude had little effect on his exterior. "Did you really hate him that much, Kuja?"

My name on his lips nearly caused me to recoil. How dare he speak my name? Only Zidane could call me Kuja, for that was the name he had given to me. Garland hadn't seen fit to give me a name in my first nine years of life.

But I couldn't deal with that right now; now, I needed to fool Garland in order to save Zidane—in order to keep the boy I loved from becoming the monster I would become in his place. It was only right, after all, that the one who was flawed should be the one sacrificed.

"Why would I waste feeling on Zidane?" I drawled, arching an eyebrow. Oh, how these lies hurt! "Hate, in any form, takes attention away from important details, Garland. If you truly want to merge Terra with Gaia and use the Iifa Tree to restore Terra's souls, you need someone who can manipulate Mist, someone who is a powerful mage."

"You, a mage?" Garland laughed, loud and sneeringly. "What would you know about magic, Kuja?"

I smiled thinly. He knew so very little about me, this one who had created me. Zidane and I had destroyed Madain Sari, an entire city of summoners, and he still remained nearly clueless. Had he really thought that the Invincible had done all the work? It was almost pathetic to know that he had conceived of my body and mind, and yet he failed to realize all of the abilities and potential he had stored within me.

"I can call Flare in my sleep, could dance a wave of Holy without twitching an ankle and follow it with Shadow in mere moments. I could level Bran Bal in seconds by calling up a mastered Ultima"—I looked at him slyly—"I could steal the life from your creations with a word, with Death, and raise them again with Full-Life.

"You see, Garland," I continued, swaying slightly as I drew closer to the man I hated, "power comes in many forms. And while you were busy playing 'house' with your perfect Genome, I was mastering the magic abilities that you gave me. Black magic, white magic…Mist manipulation for the summoning of monsters. You want someone who can stir war on Gaia without having emotions get in the way. I am the only one you have left, Garland."

Garland's eyes swept over me, eventually settling on my face. "You're insane." He spoke flatly, voice void of any emotion.

Cocking my head to the side, hair spilling over my shoulder, I laughed. "Maybe a little. But I am everything that you made me to be, Garland. You were the hand, I was the will. I told you, remember? Four years ago? I told you that which is self-made is better than that which is force-made. He never would have been able to fulfil the role of Angel of Death—and you know it!"

I flinched, realising that I'd raised my voice and I was shouting. So much for proving that I didn't have any emotional attachments.

"Maybe…maybe, you're right."

He spoke so softly I wasn't sure I'd heard him speak. I looked up and over at him, blinking in curiosity as I waited to see if he'd speak again.

Garland sighed, looking for once like an old man and not an insane scientist. "Maybe you are right, Kuja. Maybe I was blinded by my joy in Zidane."

I was taken aback by his sudden admission. "What?" Surely I had heard him wrong.

"Understand me, Kuja. I have been alone for a long time, here on Terra. These souls long dormant created me, entrusted me with insuring that they would be reborn on Gaia as Gaian souls. They left me no plans, no designs to accomplish a means to their ends. Everything I have ever done has been of my own accord, my own experimentation."

He turned to me, looking not like a mad scientist but rather a tired old man. "You are my mistake, Kuja; I cannot remedy that, no matter how either of us would wish it. You came into existence at an inopportune time, disrupting plans I had carefully laid in place."

"So sorry," I murmured, though I truly wasn't.

"No, you're not. How could you be, when your existence wasn't any more planned than the conception of a dream. You tell me that you willed yourself into existence, and, in that, I am inclined to believe you. You wanted desperately to exist for some reason, Kuja. And, even now, you continue to want your existence. You want to prove something, to show us all something that you think is important."

For once, his words were not the ramblings of a mad genius, either. Rather, I was surprised at how lucid his speech was, how unclouded with hate and bias his words were. As for having something to prove… Well, of course I did. As his hated mistake, I had but one thing to prove, to him, to Zidane, to myself: the measure of my existence.

"It's in your nature, I think," he continued, turning away. I think, by that point, he had forgotten that I was there; indeed, his words seemed more introspective than directed towards me. "You want things so desperately that, when you get them, you seek to push them away, to abandon them. It's always what I have seen in you, even as a child. When you grew too attached to that stuffed teddy bear I had given you, you disposed of it. I watched, from within Pandemonium. You barely even cried as you burned it upon its little funeral bier, which I found odd. Despite your soul, you seek to detach yourself from the emotions it allows you to feel."

I swallowed the lump that had made its way into my throat. "Emotions make you weak," I said, attempting a laugh. However, my heart wasn't in it, and I think Garland knew that.

"True," he murmured. "And, yet…yet they are what separate humans from animals, the ability to feel emotions, to categorise and rationalise them."

"Rationalise, categorise… Have you fallen into your dotage, old man?" I sneered. Secretly, though, his words had me shaking, for they had hit rather too close to home.

As if he had tuned me out, Garland continued to ramble as he walked up the stairs towards the bridge to Pandemonium. "I only hope that your submission to the human condition doesn't make things worse, Kuja. Submission… Perhaps I should say, your denial of the human condition. You once professed to love Zidane, Kuja. I wish that had been reality rather than mockery."

And then he was gone, leaving me with his stupid, stupid parting words. I waited a moment before I slid down the wall, my breath hitching in erratic, painful gasps. Tears slipped down my face, and I hurriedly buried my face in my knees before the sobs could begin. It wasn't a mockery, you stupid bastard. It was reality—it is reality. And I will prove the measure of my existence by keeping him safe, by keeping him away from all of this pain and carnage that we must do. Cast away my emotions? Oh, I only wished that I could.

Later, I returned to my room, and found a simple piece of paper waiting for me atop my clothing. I opened it and nearly broke down again.

The letter was unsigned, the writing unfamiliar. I never realised who had left the letter for me, but upon reflection, I think that it was mayhap Garland who sent it.

—Casting your emotions aside, as you often do, only makes the void of loneliness greater. Be wary, for your love will fester, becoming hate, becoming a darkness that will consume you whole.—

Truer words were never spoken—nor written—than those. And I am their living—now dying—proof.

And as I lay here now, the rough vines of the Iifa Tree digging into my back, aggravating the wounds already seeping my life's blood into the soul-stealing vessel, I can't help but laugh at my foolishness. I tried to save him from Garland, from Terra, but who was there to save him from me? Princess Garnet? True, the golden canary I had once watched with interest had blossomed into a young woman that would prove to be a powerful sovereign. The knight? While his heart seemed to have opened finally, there seemed to still be a few fireflies missing from the lantern he called a head. The black mage? Ah, now there was another regret, for I can remember his creation having been planned in one of my more lucid moments. He would never know how he had been one of the greatest, most precious things I had ever created. The thug, Salamander, and the gourmand Qu? I couldn't see either of them standing a chance against me. The rat Dragon Knight of Burmecia? She was powerful, but her heart wasn't in the fight for it flew after another who was not there to catch it. The young summoner from Madain Sari? How I wished I would be able to watch that child grow, for her spitfire temperament and outrageous tenacity reminded me so much of Zidane as a child.

No, there was no-one who could save Zidane from me. No-one, that is, save myself. Again, he had taught me so much in those last minutes of mortality, things that I wished I could share with him. But I'll never have that again; I gave up that right twelve years ago, gave it up willingly in order to save that which had been most precious to me.

I hope that Princess Garnet—hmmm, she would be Queen Garnet soon, wouldn't she? I hope that she will realise how precious Zidane is, hope that she will love him as wholly and completely as I did—both then and now. And I hope that Zidane will never remember his past, never remember why he knew of the Invincible's Eye at Madain Sari, never remember why Bahamut had caused such a tingle of fear within him, never remember his past from Terra, never…never remember his time with me. It would be better that way, in the end, for everyone.

And Mikoto… I feel you, here on Gaia. I know that you are helping them, hoping that you will find your brother alive. I hope that you, too, can move on with your life, can find the measure of your existence, can prove your worth to yourself and the others. Though Garland did not intend for souls to germinate within them until Terra's integration with Gaia was complete, we two know better than anyone else how well Garland's plans often worked out. I have faith that, like my black mages, our siblings have souls, hidden deep within. I hope that you will teach them how to find them, to help them blossom into completion. Little sister…I hope you can find happiness and smiles, for I never once saw you smile.

At last, it seems to clear. The measure of my existence, my worth…Zidane proved to me long ago what it was. I am a creature, made for shade and shadows and sorrow, whose purpose in life was to serve as a lesson to others. I am a creature made from flaws, made with mistakes, who became more than intended. I am a creature who was used to cause strife and who was afraid—afraid of death, the final death from which there would be no return. But now…now I will welcome my end with open arms, for it signals an end to all of those things that are negative in the world. With my death, such things shall be banished, at least for a while. Long enough, I hope, for Zidane and his friends to live a long and peaceful life. Let my death play as the last beat of this tiring waltz and prove to all the measure of my existence.

Ah, Iifa Tree! You long for my death as much as I do, do you not? You desire my end for betraying you, for ending your existence. Who are you to complain? You had five thousand years of existence, and what do I have? Twenty-four years of anger. Twenty-four years of hate. Twenty-four years of blood and pain and despair.

But I had four years of love, and for that, I shall not begrudge you your anger, Iifa Tree. I shall lie here in the pain-wracked sprawl I landed in, supine in my misery, and keep my eyes shut, ignoring the water that seeps into my tattered clothes from the pool that surrounds my bier. So come, mighty Iifa. Come and wreak your awesome vengeance.

Kuja, can you hear me? I'm coming to get you!

My eyes flutter open, a gasp escaping my chapped and torn lips before I can stop it. That little idiot! What on Gaia could he possibly be thinking? I had sent him away for a reason and now he thought he was going to come back? You still have time… Forget about me and go. Yes, it was for the best that he leave, that he not see me like this. At least allow me my vanity, oh glorious Iifa Tree. Do not let him see me like this; keep him away.

Just shut up and stay where you are!

By Terra and Gaia both, his stubborn streak hasn't changed a bit. …I don't understand you. I tell him this quietly, even though my heart beats wildly in my chest, making my wounds burn with pain and brilliant star flares blossom in my eyes. And, at this point, I don't understand him, for his reasoning cannot be the same that it would have been twelve years ago. He doesn't remember a thing about then, so what purpose will coming after me serve?

Okay, here goes nothing.

I don't think I'd been intended to hear that last part, but I'd heard it nonetheless. And I knew, without a doubt in my heart, that Zidane had just plunged headlong for the heart of the Iifa Tree. I could also sense the tree reacting to his presence, trying to keep him away, to repel him from entering, from reaching me. And though a part of me desperately wants him to go away, to not reach me, to not see me in my dilapidated state, another part of me wants to see him one last time before I die. The selfish part of me that screamed in protest both times I had sent him away refuses to allow me to do so this last time.

The tree is crashing in tumultuous upheaval, vines and roots lashing about in roaring, frenetic agitation, the likes of which has never been, nor will ever be, seen again. The tree wants desperately to keep Zidane away—as desperately as I now desire to see him. I close my eyes and wait…wait for either my death or my salvation—or, perhaps, both.

The tree falls silent for a few moments, though I can still feel distinct rumbles rippling through my body and mind. It has stilled, for some unknown reason, though it hasn't stopped entirely.

"Hey, are you all right?"

I smile bitterly at that question, using a bit of my remaining strength to open my eyes and stare at the being I am lying here in place of. Glorious, even injured as he is. Blonde sunshine and sapphire skies, guileless innocence and tenacious courage… Do you know, Zidane, that death is painful? I hadn't known, until now, now that I am gazing at the reason for my death. And yet…yet, I cannot hate you like I thought I would. For though death is painful, it doesn't hold a candle to the feeling your beauty causes within my tattered soul.

"Zidane, what are you doing here? I thought I told you to go." My voice sounds raspy, and the simple act of talking aloud hurts more than I imagined it would.

Zidane smiles down at me, a sad, almost melancholy twist of the lips. "Wouldn't you do the same for me if you knew I was dying?"

I close my eyes, clenching back the salty lava-flow of tears. If only you knew how much that question hurts, my little Zidane. I cannot answer you—please, don't ask me to, either. I am lying here in your place, my little Zidane, because I didn't want to be in the very position you are suggesting.

He sighs, the words, "Never mind," slipping from his lips as he sits beside my prone body.

It sounds childish, but in that moment, I wanted to ask him to hold me. Earlier I said that I didn't fear death any longer, but it's funny how as Lord Hades creeps upon you, the fear returns a hundredfold. However, I would never voice my request; it wasn't in my nature. Inane discourse, though, I could manage. "Your comrades were able to escape?" I knew they had, but I was hoping to ease the tension a bit. I didn't have much longer, in the realm of the living, and I would prefer my last moments to be as peaceful as possible.

And, I would prefer them to be with Zidane.

"Yeah," he says, peering over at me with that same smile. "I knew you had something to do with it."

One of the most powerful creatures in existence should be able to do good with his magics and well as wreak havoc. I was glad that I'd been able to perform at least one last act of generosity before the curtain closed on the comedic tragedy of errors that was my life. "I'm glad they made it."

"Yeah, well…now it's our turn to get movin'."

I can feel him, bristling with adrenaline-born energy. I can hear the edge of optimism in his voice, the true belief that we can both make it out alive. It hurts to hear such a sound, for I know that it is merely a lie. Even if Garland hadn't told me my life was limited, the crystal and the Iifa Tree had made certain that my death was inevitable. "…I don't deserve to live, after all that I've done. I'm useless to the world." A former warmonger, a former megalomaniac? What could I possibly contribute to the society that would rise from the ashes of the chaos I had caused?

His energy takes on a panicked edge, one that I can taste in his thoughts as well as hear in his voice. "No-one's useless. You helped us escape, remember?"

Oh, if only you knew why, my little Zidane; if you knew the truth, you would most likely not be sitting here right now. Instead, I shall feed you half lies and partial truths, and I shall have you take them as you will. My body is growing tired, my limbs numb, and things within my head are starting to seem fuzzy. "After you and your friends bested me, I had nothing left…nothing left to lose. Then I finally realised what it means to live. I guess I was too late."

Even speaking is hard now, my voice betraying me by breaking off at the end. Traitorous voice—I would curse you aloud, had I the breath.

"Hey!" Zidane's voice is panicked, that much I can tell, but he sounds hollow and far away. "Hey, don't you go dying on me, all right?!"

In my head, I laugh. All I want is death, Zidane. You were taken from me, albeit by my own hand, but you were taken away nonetheless. All the agony I caused, all the agony I suffered…I just want it all to end.

The Iifa Tree suddenly snaps to life, as if it had been waiting for that thought to come from me. In an instant that seemed to last forever, I forced my eyes open and smiled as I watched the vines heading towards me to deliver the final blow. Yes, death, I welcome you with open arms! Come to me, like Marcus unto Cornelia, and offer me the embrace that is often likened unto that of a lover. Come, Iifa Tree, and be my Angel of Death.

In the thunderous rumble, I think I hear a hoarse shout come from Zidane. And then I feel him, warm and alive and terribly, awfully noble, throwing himself atop me, shielding me from the tree. And I feel his power, that awesome ability of Trance, of Dyne that is his alone, enfold me much as his arms have, before I fall into the nothingness that has long been beckoning.

If this is Death, my Angel Zidane, let it prove to be worth the measure of my existence.

EPILOGUE

Mikoto paced with ease along the twisted tangle of vines and roots that was the dormant Iifa Tree. She paused, looking towards the knotted cluster that lay towards the base, the heart of the tree, sighing. Kuja…what you did was wrong. But you gave all of us one thing: hope. We were all created for the wrong reason, but you alone denied our fate. We do not want to forget this. We want your memory to live on forever, to remind us that we were not created for the wrong reason—that our life has meaning.

One life or two, she couldn't tell which, flickered within the spirit-heavy confines of the tree's knot. If Kuja lived and Zidane were dead, then the elder Genome would not be long in the world of the living; she knew this as certainly as she knew that Terra was gone. If Zidane lived and Kuja were dead… Many would rejoice at her elder brother's demise, but she would not. Though she had spoken a eulogy for him, in her head and heart and soul, she prayed that his death was not a reality. Her Terran soul longed for an end to the strife between people, longed for peace within and without.

She had watched Kuja, watched him as Zidane had, from the shadows of Bran Bal and Pandemonium. She had watched his decline from a creature of sorrow and introspective moods to an unpredictable and vain megalomaniac. And she had seen those moments of lucidity, moments that Garland, too, surely had seen. She had watched him weep for a boy she had never known, a brother that had made the pale creature smile in a time she had never known.

The Black Mages had been allowed an attempt to redeem themselves. Could not her brother do the same, if he returned to a state of sanity? Did he not at least deserve a quiet existence until the end of his natural life?

Resuming her walking, she continued to contemplate life on Gaia. True, her other siblings seemed to be settling into new roles within Black Mage Village, but it was hard for her to consider such a life. All she had known before were Kuja and Garland, Bran Bal and Pandemonium, the dying void that was Terra. Garland had taught her well, and though she was well-read and intelligent, she had a fear of interaction, even with the other Genomes. She wanted guidance, even if it were just Garland's offhand commands or Kuja's derisive opining. Was it fair that she was now the one the others looked to for direction? She was only twelve, after all. Wasn't it rather a lot to ask of an adolescent?

A sudden dispelling of a tremendous amount of energy sent her tumbling to her knees, scrambling to keep her perch. Dyne. It was Dyne energy she had felt, the power of Zidane's Trance technique. With a burst of energy she didn't know she had, Mikoto jumped to her feet and began to run.

She reached the knot in moments, pressing herself against it as she panted for breath. "Zidane? Oniisama?" She made the call aloud even as she made it with her mind, hoping and praying for an answer.

…Mikoto, please don't be so loud. I've got the world's biggest headache at the moment.

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry; she thought, perhaps, that she did a little bit of both. "Are you all right? How do I get you out?"

It took a moment for Zidane to reply. Well, I'm fine, all things considered. Kuja's certainly looked better, but considering the fact he was doing his best to play Suicide King at the end, it's expected. As for getting me out… I have no idea.

He sounded rueful, but she smiled—smiled as she never had before—tears of happiness streaming down her cheeks. "Kuja…he's alive?"

…Sort of.

Mikoto didn't know what "sort of" meant, but she knew that if she wanted to see for herself, she was going to have to figure out a way to make a hole in the knot of roots and vines. She only knew a handful of magic spells, most of them having been learned from watching Kuja when he disappeared into the wilds of Terra. She chewed her lip as she thought, weighing and measuring her options. The Iifa Tree was a Terran creation, so magic most likely wouldn't do a whole lot of damage. It was a plant, which meant it should be vulnerable to ice and fire, but, given its strength, she doubted that her meagre abilities would be enough. It was made from souls—discontented, angry souls, that longed for release.

Again, she smiled, hoping that the conclusion she had reached was the right one. Flare and Ultima were beyond her skill, and Shadow was something she would never command, but she could call upon Holy.

And call Holy, she would.

Unschooled and raw talent that she was, it took Mikoto a few moments to call up the spell, to feel the white-lightning tingle dance along her skin and through her soul. And the tree reacted, like she had hoped it would, recoiling the vines closest, pulling back to protect the tree's heart…

Pulling back to reveal the supine forms of Zidane and Kuja.

She stumbled in her haste to reach them, dropping to her knees when she made it to the bier-like island that were on. "Oniisama?"

Zidane slowly raised his head, giving her a shadow of his normal rakish grin. "Hey, Mikoto. How're you doing?"

"Better than you, it seems," she retorted, taking in his bleached appearance; even his hair and eyes had lost colour. "What in Terra's name did you do?"

He sighed, slumping back over Kuja's form; whether consciously or unconsciously, he clutched the pale Genome's body to him as if he would never let go. "Would you believe me if I said I don't know?"

She blinked. "Yes."

This time Zidane jerked his head up, wincing. "You would?"

Mikoto nodded. "That is what Trance is, after all. A sudden upsurge of emotion causes an unknown reaction within the body. That is the reason that Trance has been documented so little; it varies from person to person. Your particular ability, Dyne, is one that descends from Terra. It is an old ability that manipulates the power of the planet, combining all elements into one through the use of the old runes. No-one knows for certain all of the things that Dyne is capable of. So, when you tell me that you aren't certain what happened, I believe you."

There was silence for a moment. Then, Zidane said softly, "He wanted to die, Mikoto. He was ready to die, and he wanted it with a certainty that I could taste in the back of my throat. But I couldn't let him do it."

Again, she nodded. "Kuja… Oniisama wanted to die for a very long time. However, he had something to do, something to prove before he could die. I hope that his willingness to die means that he accomplished his task."

Zidane stared at her in amazement, pulling himself into a sitting position and pulling Kuja's limp form into his lap. "You would have let him die."

Looking away, Mikoto said, "Please realise, Zidane, that I understood Kuja more than anyone. I know everything about him—well, most everything—either through watching him or through Garland. Yes, I would have let him die, but that is because, if you hadn't returned for him, continued life would have been meaningless. And if you had died and Kuja had lived, I would have sent his soul on, because—again—continued life would have been meaningless. I would have done for him what he could never do for himself, because of his desire to protect someone important."

Zidane continued to stare at her, gaze edged with confusion. "Why?"

"Why? Because he suffered more in his life than most. Because he was a pawn more than anyone. Because he lost himself in order to save another."

Zidane buried his face in his arms, into Kuja's water and bloodstained hair, shuddering. Feathers ticked at his face, the warmth of the elder Genome's body seeping into his suddenly cold skin, the scent of lavender clouded with blood and char saturating his senses. Familiar…it seemed so familiar. "Who?" he asked, voice muffled. After a moment, he raised his head and repeated his question, fingers unconsciously drifting through the pale silver-violet strands. "Who?"

Mikoto stood, expression impassive; in that instant, she looked much older than either Zidane or Kuja. "Can you think of no-one, Zidane?"

"Dagger?"

"The queen intrigued Oniisama, both for her potential and her ability as a Summoner, but, no, he did not risk such a venture for Princess Garnet til Alexandros." She tipped her head to the side. "Come, Zidane, let us take Oniisama to the Black Mage Village. I can't examine him clearly here."

Zidane stood shakily, pulling Kuja's arm over his shoulder. "I think that whatever I did put him into a coma."

Mikoto nodded. "Yes, it wouldn't surprise me."

"Does anything surprise you?" Zidane asked acidically, changing his mind and sweeping Kuja up in his arms; the elder Genome was surprisingly heavy, despite his fragile appearance.

"Try psychokinesis; it'll make him lighter," she replied, having caught the hints of his exasperated thought. "And, no, the only that really surprises me is your continued avoidance of that which you know is the truth."

"And what is the truth?" He tugged on the corner of his brain where he often "felt" the telepathy kick in, applying what he hoped was the right desire for "lighter" in his thoughts. After a moment, he felt Kuja's weight lessen. "One man's truth is another man's fiction, Mikoto. All it takes is one person to change a truth to a story, to falsify reality into fantasy. The truth is what you make of it—or what you turn it into."

"Stop it!" she snapped, fists clenching at her sides as she glared up at him. "Stop sounding so condescending, so jaded. You sound like him when you do that. At least he had a reason. He sent away the thing most precious to him, the thing he loved the most, in order to protect it. In return, all he received was abuse and grief—and, eventually, dementia. He cut himself off from everything, from everyone, in order to keep that person safe. He sent you to Gaia not because he hated you, not because he feared you, but because he loved you more than he loved himself. He traded his sanity for your life, Zidane; the least you can do is honour that by appreciating it."

She spun on her heel, trembling with anger and frustration, with fear and grief. She added softly, in a tear-thickened voice, "For the memory of a golden-haired boy who had pried him from his isolated world, who had given the flawed prototype a name to call his own, he denied fate—defied fate. And he lost—oh, how he lost!—but his memory will live strong within his brethren, and they will remember how he dared so much for something that we will strive to achieve for the rest of our lives: love."

She began to walk, hoping that Zidane was following, praying that he was following.

"I love Dagger."

Closing her eyes briefly, she said, "I know."

"That won't change."

"I know." Then: "But, he loves you. And that won't change, either."

Silence reigned until they reached the border of the Iifa Tree.

"Are we going to have to walk all the way to Black Mage Village?"

She noted the exhaustion that had crept into his voice, and felt her anger melt into sympathy. "No. Now that we have passed the Iifa Tree's boundaries, I can teleport us to the village."

She began to trace the runes in the air, incanting softly. The blue haze of the spell began to envelope them when she heard him ask softly, "What did he want to prove so badly to me, to himself?"

"The measure of existence," she said, closing her eyes as they began to fade. "The measure of existence."