A.N.: Here comes another chapter... I confess, I may have spelt Ophiuchus (the name of the Stellazio author) incorrectly - I'm not at a point in the game where I can find out, so if you can correct me, do. Huge thanks to everyone who has taken the trouble to review already - I love you all! Sparks - you asked why I haven't updated my other fics. Well, I might, sooner or later - it depends what comes into my head. I'm not too fond of Kupo (he's irritating...) so I think I'm done with him, though something may happen. I had an idea for carrying on with Fratley, having him meet up with Puck somewhere, but I'm not sure how to handle how they'd react. Maybe one day. Natalie I love, she's a great voice, but her story feels so complete. If I did her again, it'd be a sequel, not a new chapter. And I think I've said all I have to say about Dagger for now. Thanks for asking - it's nice to know that people enjoy my little ficlets.

I don't own anything in this except for the towels, I think you all know that by now. Oh, and I've got my own views on moogle movement too. In my fics, they can only fly about as well as bumblebees, ie. a little bit at a time, not too high, and not if they're carrying anything much. I think that's fairly canon - how much of FFVI could you have skipped if Mog could've flown? The entire Magitek Research Facility? Most of Kefka's Tower? And why does Stiltzkin walk everywhere if he could wing it? Besides, where's the fun in scaring my characters if they know they can just fly away? Oh no, they're earthbound...heeheehee...


#3: The Sanctum

Desert Palace

"Mene?"

He's lagging behind me again. Not only that, but he seems to have fallen in a ditch. I trot back and help him upright, gently, and I wipe the end of my Towel across his head. "Thanks," he says, ducking in my shadow to block the sun out. I don't blame him, it's a wickedly hot day - then, I guess we did just get posted to the middle of a desert. The bad news is, it's midday, and we're headed dead straight southwards…

We set out again, me muttering "not far now, not-far-now…" under my breath like a mantra.

He hears me and asks, "Really?" with a deep, sharp look straight into my eyes. I surpress a shiver - he's too odd, sometimes, Mogryo…gods it's getting hot…I feel lightheaded all of a sudden…

"Y-yeah. Stiltzkin said, in his book. S-six hours from the sea." We beached here just past sunset yesterday (they dropped the rest off on the Donna Plains before they came here, and was Kuppo's face a picture when he saw his new posting…). We camped out on the beach and set off about dawn today. Last night was really fun, the first time I've slept outside since those hot autumn nights at Iifa, and Mogryo turned out to be great company. He taught me the names of the stars. Not the useful ones like the Northern Cross and the Evening Star - Stiltzkin told me those - but the others, the beautiful, mystic ones, the ones who don't just tell you which way to walk along Gaia. Stellai, he said; birth-stars. He knows what they all mean. He's born under Scorpio, which makes him a shadow-seeker. (Scary thought; are one in every twelve people really that creepy? He's a great guy, just…). I told him my birthday, August 26th, and he said I'm Virgo, someone who's seeking something but doesn't know what until they find it. It - fits, I think; I really don't know what I'm looking for…

It's been a tough morning. Deserts are not nice places to walk through, even in spring. I've got the Towel wrapped round my head as a shade, and Mogryo is looking more than a little envious. He needn't be, because it's not doing much good at keeping me cool, just soaking up excess sweat before it reaches my eyes.

"What's that?" he calls frantically a few minutes later, ahead of me slightly at the top of a rise. I scuttle up to him and look.

Down below us is a wide, flat valley with mountains rearing up out of the sand on the far north side. In the centre is a huge pit surrounded by rocks, like a cavemouth. I smile widely, remembering Stiltzkin's description. Mogryo's howl of anguish takes me somewhat by surprise.

"What?" He slumps to the ground in apparent despair. "What's wrong, Mogryo?"

"Th - it's not there! Look, Mene, it's not there! We're going to have to cross all those mountains…" He starts to sob dejectedly into one paw.

"Um, Mogryo?" He looks up at me. "It's there." I point to the cave with a slight flourish.

"What? That's a cave, not a palace!"

"It's an underground palace. Stiltzkin says."

A slow-moving wave of comprehension breaks over his forehead and washes slowly down to his chin. "Oh." He refuses the paw I offer and lurches to his feet under his own power. "Fine." Before I can say another word he launches himself straight down the hill in a fast trot.

I follow at a more sedate pace. Yeah, he does that occasionally - he hates being wrong, and he regularly is, but I know he'll have cooled down before I can catch up with him. No harm done. The slope starts to tease at my feet, daring me to run, and I relent. It's glorious, running down hills, isn't it? Just letting go and turning yourself into nothing but momentum, flying forever, not even thinking about stopping moving… A cloud of dust rises up under my feet, so I close my eyes and let the road carry me along.

I skid to a halt soon after the slope levels out, almost burning my left foot, and bend over, breathing hard. Something I'd forgotten about running - it only hurts after you stop. A water-flask appears before my eyes and I take it gratefully, squirting the cold balm over my tongue. "Thanks," I pant, passing it back to Mogryo.

"You're welcome." He eases my head up. "Look, we're here!"

The cavemouth is actually above us now, huge and gaping. I can vaguely make out a green tile pattern on the ceiling inside, dulled by time. It looks haunting, enchanted, inviting -

- and between us and it is a ladder.

Bloody damn.

Ten feet. Ten feet and just look at what we're carrying! I might - might - be able to fly it empty-handed, if I had a decent rise for takeoff, but with this stuff - oh hell, I can't even climb with this weight, and I hate climbing -

I turn to Mogryo, steeling myself for another hysterical outburst.

But he's moving already, shrugging off his pack and taking the smooth metal frame in both paws, determination singing from his eyes. "Um? Mogryo -"

"It's not that hard," he murmurs, and tucks a folded knee over the second rung, pulling up with his paws at the same time. I watch, mesmerised, as he ascends over half the ladder that way. He looks down and grins - anyone else'd smirk at my ineptitude, but it's just a friendly, happy grin - and says "Alright, I've got the rhythm now. Can you get the vairë and tie the corner to the pack straps? If you push and I pull I think we can get it all up here."

I unravel the Towel, slower than I'd like; my fingers aren't working right in this infernal heat. "Where'd you learn to do that?" I ask, gesturing at the four feet of air vertically between us.

"Cleyra," he replies succinctly. Oh. That would explain…a lot of things. I kneel and start hitching the bags together. No wonder he knows the Stellai - I'm pretty sure Prophet Ophiuchus was Cleyran, and I know I read that they still follow his lore there. (Must have been by Mochos - he's really factual about culture-writing). He acts a bit Cleyran too, with the…the upward-looking attitude, the too-mature eyes…what am I thinking about? He's just a moogle

I slide another knot onto the growing collection and lift the backpacks, one in each hand. He draws in a deep breath and drops down a few feet, fluttering into a thermal (there's plenty to spare…) before he can crash, leaving him hovering just above my head. I quickly put the loose end of the fabric into his hands and he catches the ladder again.

We ascend ponderously - he rolls over the top at the point where I'm standing on tiptoes with the packs held precariously above my head, then he holds them as tight as he can while I get far enough up to give them a little lift. He's stronger than he looks, you know. I reach the top, dizzy with exertion, and he hustles me into the shade of the cavern before I can die of heatstroke.

It's a huge space, big enough to hold an airship if it had to. Our steps echo ominously as we walk, and I'm starting to get a little cold. Somewhere in the gloom I hear something moving - I'd cry out, but I don't want to hear it come back to me… We cross a little stone bridge, but there's no stream underneath, and that scares me, I don't know why but it scares me so much…

A blue light burns in a circle at the end of the bridge-stair. Mogryo extends a cautious foot into the glow. "What's this? -"

a - thiss…, the reply comes, and I force myself not to tremble. "I think it's a portal," I whisper, as quiet as can and still have him hear my voice.

"A portal?" He frowns.

ah - ortah…

"A - a magic door. Stiltzkin -" He sniffs, and steps straight into the light. "Mogryo?!"

ohgiho -

He smiles at me, and vanishes.

Damn. Well, I can't stay here…damn him… I swallow, hard, and stand inside the circle.

Oh, my… It's like all the weight has just fallen off my body and I'm flying, not just skimming a draught but really flying, falling upwards through an airless pool and seeing the stars from the inside...is this eternity in here? Where am I…? What - there's a light above me -

I blink, feeling something cold below my feet. I think I made it. Mogryo too; his pack lies forgotten in front of me and he's staring inquisitively at a statue of a twisted man with wings. He turns to me, and comes back for the luggage. "Looks like we're here." Yes. I suppose it does…

It's a beautiful, ornate room, aside from the two blue portals nothing too unlike a chamber from Lindblum Castle; thick red carpet, crafted white walls, majestic exiting archway, tall handsome statues… Only there's something about the overall effect that's wrong, like one of those pictures where you have to spot the hidden mistake - are the gold railings the wrong way out? Should the statues be closer together? Shouldn't there be the slightest speck of dust in the carpet…?

Mogryo finishes his inspection. "Well. This seems promising." …Oh. That's okay then… "Shall we try the corridor first, or the other portal?"

I don't know that I can take too much madness at once; it's likely to prove contagious. "Corridor. Definitely the corridor." He waves me ahead of him, and I lead through an arch into a short hall. It's more obviously strange than the last room; it looks like someone built walls around a quarter of a wheel and ran a carpet through the middle… I set down my pack and knock timidly on the vast double doors at the end of the hall, feeling the sound reverberate through the - bronze? I'm not sure what it is. I'm not sure I can trust what I'm guessing about anything here. Where is the all the light coming from?

The doors swing wide, and a voice, smooth and dark and sweet like blood spilled on marble, calls: "Enter."

We obey, and I don't think I'm imagining the way he's trying to stand as close to me as possible. The light's lower in here, coming naturally from mounted torches which sends shadows chasing round the corners. But what I can see is far stranger than anything I ever dreamed at Iifa…

He's standing before a great bookcase, on the other side of some weird floor-fitting I can't work out. His white-clad arms are trailing from his sides like stray feathers, sleeves brushing his long legs, making him look like a twist of purple smoke. Ivory hair falls in soft locks over his back, swaying from side to side in the still air of the room. He swings around slowly, and reveals a face like carved marble, skin too pale to be human, features too perfect to be real…

His eyes open, thin and liquid, sharper than swords, and I can physically sense his gaze sweeping over me. "You are the ones I sent for." I can't think of a suitable reply, or any reply at all for that matter. Mogryo shrinks back, moving behind my shoulder. I'm just frozen to the spot…

"Welcome to my Palace, little spirits."


T.B.C.