Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Escaflowne or any of its characters.

I wonder how everyone is. God, please keep them safe and well. It's only been ten hours since they've left and I feel lonely already. There's no one to talk to since Celena's gone and Dilandau-sama won't be visiting me tonight . . . (You mean you want him to?) . . . No! Of course not! It's just something that I've gotten used to, and so it's a part of a routine that I'm going to miss. No, not miss, pause on. Yes.

She thought about Dilandau inside his red Oreides, slaughtering the innocent, burning cities to the ground. It troubled her, the way he thinks; his mind, so puzzling. In a way, he has the mind of a child that can only look from one perspective and can only focus and expand from a limited amount of feelings, that being hate, anger, and a passion for destruction. It was as if some parts of his mind were unexplored? Asleep? She could not find the word for it. Perhaps it is dormant, the love, hope, and happiness, perhaps it rests latent somewhere deep inside in untouched crevasses and folds. Perhaps he was waiting for someone to free him . . .

Deré was so bored, and since there was no one around to escort her, she decided that it would be alright to take a little walk. Possibly venture to some unknown parts of the Vione. She started by heading towards Folken's library as it had fascinated her the last time she saw it.

There were shelves full of books all along the walls, most of them old and dusty. It looked like a library from somewhere in her memory although she could not remember where. The room was rather dark, painted a blackish-blue color and lit only by a few candles flickering on the walls. It was peaceful and quiet with a calm and collected feeling. In the centre of the room was a large, round table laden with maps, various compasses, and many small figures that represented certain things or persons. A single oil-lamp stood by itself, emitting a significant radius of light. It urged one to sit down and think, or read a book; about life, about the world, just to discover oneself and his or her feelings. It was the home of a great mind.

As Deré entered this private area, she caught sight of a book on the shelf. It was titled, Journal, The Sorcerers of Zaibach. She carefully removed the book from the shelf and headed to a nearby window seat. Comfortably settled, Deré flipped through the pages. She stopped when she came to a series of drawings; atrocious, grotesque, and shocking. There were pictures of children, distorted and mutilated, some twisted beyond description. There were also adults, men and women, and animals. Some were not even human, they were creatures of legend—mermaids? Draconians, the winged people. She did not even know that they had existed. But these pictures and sketches were too real to be only imagined.

Deré shut the book silently, placing a hand to her cheek. She took a deep breath, rubbed her arms and leaned backwards a bit. Still feeling disturbed and uncomfortable, she decided to stand up and walk around, only to see Folken standing in the doorway, "I see you have found my book."

There was a hint of sadness, or was it regret, in his voice. She stared at him as hundreds of questions emerged. What is this book? Are the pictures real? Is it true and did you write it? Were you a part of it? How could you do this? However, all she said was, "Lord Folken, this . . . you . . . Dilandau-sama."

Why had she said that? Was there a connection, between Dilandau-sama— this— and him? And Celena? She prayed that there wasn't, even though it would explain many things. But she couldn't think of her master or Celena in that situation or state of mind; it would be too unbearable. There must have been so much pain, screaming, suffering, and blood. It was a form of physical and mental torture.

Folken, his cape trailing on the thick carpet, moved silently as he made his way to the round table. Without a word or gesture, he asked for her to join him. She came, slowly and cautiously, pulling out a chair and sitting down. "The only reason that that book was allowed to be published was because it revealed Zaibach's greatness and its superiority of technologies. It was meant to be a book of criticism of the ways of the sorcerers and the belief in the alternation of fate. It was a cruel and sinful practice. But I was a sorcerer once and took part in it."

He gave a sigh and paced towards the window. The moon shone brightly, making it seem as if they were seeing through a blue lens. The night was still young, the sun having set no less than half an hour ago. There were no stars yet, only faint traces of grey clouds. He took a deep breath and continued, "There were times that I wanted to die, to end it all, times where I couldn't take it anymore; the pain, the suffering, and the screams. They have been imprinted in my memory like a tape rewinding and playing itself over and over again; screams in my head that never fade or disappear.

"Yes, Dilandau was a part of it; he was a victim, a victim of fate. Many experiments were performed on him; he is considered a great achievement, and also a great failure. Some believe that it is essential to create or modify emotionless humans to serve in war. Others believe that it is better to have whole beings, they thought that Dilandau was incomplete. In this sense, he was labeled a failure. His feelings towards war, power, hate, and violence were too strong. They did not want individuals who possessed such aggressive emotions. It would harm the empire.

However, because of the importance for him to feel needed and his insuppressible pride, he remained loyal to Zaibach and to Emperor Dornkirk. He always did his best in war, because he wanted to be the best, to surpass all others; his pride would not allow him to lose. He earned his own title as General of the Dragonslayers and he proved his skill as a warrior. His name as one of the most famous warlords of Zaibach is true and worthy. But there are many that are against him, he is despised and detested by many in Zaibach. Often by those who believe that he is too young to hold such high status, and those who are jealous of his power."

Deré listened in silence; she did not know what to say. She had to admit that she already guessed a lot of this, but it had been unclear; it was all jumbled pieces of a puzzle that she hadn't come to put together yet. But never would she have guessed that Dilandau-sama was not a real person. There were even more questions than before racing through her mind. For example, Celena, and how she ties in with it all.

"And then there is Celena. If you haven't already noticed, I would like to point out that she is the exact opposite of Dilandau. The reason behind this is, they are one person."

She was in total shock; taken by surprise. Of course she had noticed that there was a connection between the two, and yes, she had assumed that there was a relationship, but one person? How can that be?

"You see them as two, but they are one. Dilandau is Celena, he emerged from her. When she was a child of seven, Celena was kidnapped from her parent's estate in Austuria. It was very common at the time for Zaibach to experiment on children, as they are easy to take care of and to manipulate. They did things to her, similar to the drawing from my book. It was called 'Fate Alteration', something that Emperor Dornkirk believed would strengthen Zaibach and give it absolute power.

"As time went on, the little girl Celena changed into Dilandau. There is a reason why Dilandau is the way he is; his love of fire and destruction, his glee in seeing others suffer and die. Celena didn't have any of this, never engaged in anything like it. She didn't even come close to exploring those parts of the human mind that is part of human nature. When the alteration proceeded, that side of her surfaced at full blast, completely wiping everything that existed before; compressing those emotions into tiny fractions that would never had a chance to develop again. The boy that was born became known as Dilandau Albatou."

Folken looked at the girl, she seemed dazed, struck by too much at one time, as if she were floating through a sea of bad dreams. Perhaps he should stop here. There is more to tell her, but maybe it is not the right time. This girl, Deré, Folken believed that she was the hope, the light, she would be the one.

She was running, searching for him . . . Dilandau-sama. She heard him scream, a painful, piercing scream. It echoed throughout the halls of the dark building. She heard the hustling of footsteps behind her slowly catching up. She needed to find him, save him, protect him. I'm coming Dilandau-sama . . . She ran, as fast as her legs would allow, towards the screams, the cries. It made her heart ache, so painful, as if it would explode, as if she were feeling his pain. Finally, a door; she pushed it open and franticly rushed in, "DILANDAU-SAMA!" There were tears in her eyes as she beheld the sight before her.

He was confined on a table, needles and tape covering his body. Blood was trickling from various wounds; sweat plastered his hair to his face. It was a terrifying sight. He was mentally unstable; his eyes, dilated, wide red pools staring at nothing. He thrashed wildly against his bonds, his wrists raw from the heavy metal chains. She held her hands to her mouth to stop from puking. Her body wouldn't move even though her mind was crying to go rescue him. She stood there, just stood there, unable to direct her eyes away. No one seemed to notice the girl by the door, as they were busy worrying about the boy on the table. Then the pursuers came and she felt someone grab her. It was Folken, he used his metal hand to cover her eyes and she felt the cool steal against her eyelids, and at that moment, Deré awoke.

It was a dream, only a dream. Dilandau-sama. Is that what had happened to you? She was breathed heavily, feeling cold sweat on her back; the images had chilled her to the bone. There was a great sorrow, a sadness, not pity, a deep agonizing sadness felt for him. To have been treated in such a way, to have suffered through so much and at such a young age, in such a way, such a horrible way, not wonder he is the way he is! Who can blame him! Celena too! In reality, they were just as much the same as they were different; they both hid under a mask to escape from those times, those memories. No wonder they love war, to kill, in a twisted way must give them a sense of liberty; to become lost in the present than to be locked in the past.

She thought about Folken. When she had seen him in the door she had been surprised, thinking that she had been alone on the Vione. She remembered perfectly the look he had on his face. It was a kind of realization, funny, at first she had expected him to be angry or disappointed in her for intruding in his private study. However, she later came to understand that he had known she would come. The belief of 'Fate Alteration', what was it like doing those things, had he enjoyed it at a certain time? There was regret, she knew, and overwhelming guilt. Perhaps that is why he is so emotionless, so gloomy and so depressed, but carefully concealing it. Poor Lord Folken.

He had wanted to tell her everything, even though he had offered to stop and give her time to digest what he had said thus far; except, it was she, who had requested him to continue. She remembered how his hand had trembled at times and how he had to pause at times, especially during the part of Celena's rebirth.

Deré still didn't understand how it had been done. But all she knew was that he had found a way to separate them, Dilandau-sama and the overpowering mind of Celena. She had awoken, minuscule at first, just a presence in the back of his mind. But she had grown, developed and gained strength. She became so powerful that a transformation had become possible. It was then that Lord Folken decided he must separate the two, or face the consequence of loosing both of them. Deré didn't understand all the details and procedures of the separation, but she knew that they had almost died. It was a tough challenge, even for someone as experienced as Folken. Deré turned and shifted in her bed, unable to regain sleep.

Have I said too much? Was it the right time? I must clear my mind, erase the images that have resurfaced to haunt me. Banish them, for now at least, because they can never completely vanish; they have become a part of me as I am a part of myself. Those victims, those tormented individuals, I am truly sorry. I do not ask for forgiveness, because it is unforgivable; I am unworthy. My sins are boundless. There is too deep a mark, an ugly scar that cannot heal. I have dedicated my life to protecting them and looking after them; Dilandau and Celena. Pray that I may live the rest of my life to repent for my sins. And still, that is not enough. It can never be enough.

How many more days until their return? She missed them, especially Celena, and as much as she didn't want to admit it, she missed him too; her master. She missed the way he made her feel special sometimes, how he warmed a part of her that no one else had access to. He has become special to her, someone that she cared for, not loved, cared for . . . But it's all too familiar, the feeling, and the waiting. When was it? A few years ago?

She remembered someone, who had said goodbye, someone very dear to her. Very important, who held a special place inside her heart. Who was it? A fuzzy image appeared in her head. It was a man, a young man, with parted blond hair and violet eyes. That was all, all that could be distinguished. The rest of him remained a blur, an indecipherable blur of a young man who had said, "I'll see you soon! Just a few days, maybe a little more . . ."

How long had it been? How long had she waited? Who was he! Frustrated, Deré gave up trying to remember. It only hurt her head and made her angry.

It had been four days now since they had left for battle. She visited Folken often, chatting with him, or just reading in the window seat. It was a nice place for her to relax, and she felt better being with Folken than alone. He had taught her things, things about Zaibach and the ways of war. He had shown her maps of different lands and told her stories of great battles won and lost. Also, sometimes but rarely, he let slip little tidbits about himself, his past life, his childhood, his happy memories.

She learned that he likes to drink tea instead of coffee, he likes blossoms, and he had a younger brother whom he loved dearly and shared many happy memories with. It was nice, even though he did and said things, as always, hiding his emotions perfectly. She began to understand him, to read him from his words, according to his choice of words. She could tell, if only a little, how he was feeling. She hoped that this would be the beginnings of a strong friendship; she really admired and respected Folken. In a way, he was like an older brother.

O4o86