Disclaimer - I don't own Visions of Escaflowne. Folken, Dornkirk, Adelphos, Van, the Iron general, the Platinum general, Zongi, and Merle don't belong to me. Once again, if you're surprised, I'm sorry.

Ollen70: This chapter is on a whole new level of depressing.' I apologize for that, but this really hasn't been the greatest week for me. Plus, writing anything while listening to Torrini's Gollum's song, or Elizabeth Fraser's This Love is not a good idea if you're trying to be uplifting.

Again, there isn't any real reason why this should be rated higher than PG, except that the overall mood is far from happy. So if you're not really into angst, why on earth have you read this far in the first place?


Chapter Six - - The Collapse of a Strong-willed Man


Dornkirk's favor brought more responsibility than Folken had initially expected. Every morning, he was awakened by one of the Sorcerers of Zaibach and taken to a different part of the fortress. He didn't know if they moved him so much to intentionally keep him off guard, but it certainly worked to that effect. The constant strangeness made it difficult for him to apply himself as intensely during his lessons, but he found that, in time, his sense of perception had sharpened considerably. Every day the Sorcerer he was with presently would ask him vaguely about the lessons given the day before, and each day he recalled a bit more.

Three weeks passed before Folken was given leave to enter the machine labs again, only this time, he was allowed access to the lab of the Sorcerers himself. Remembering vague details from his...augmentation...and his failed attempt at subterfuge made him more than a little reluctant to enter, but the wonders that awaited him were too vast to pass up. In a matter of weeks, he was granted all the time he could spend poring over the notes of the Sorcerers and actually making progress on the matter of the liquid metal that had gotten him so badly beaten in the first place.

Folken fully supported the theory of one Sorcerer in that the metal was not actually a metal, but a life form of some sort. The way it behaved under stimuli like heat, electrical current and, as he had discovered earlier, human touch, initiated the edges of an idea in his mind.

On the northern front, the weaponry of the Zaibach empire was not as efficient as anyone would have liked. The northern armies were holding, their success heartening other nations that might have surrendered peacefully. It fell on the Sorcerers, as chief alchemists of the empire, to devise some new means that could give Zaibach a technological edge. The flame weapons all Zaibach Guymelefs used were highly inefficient, relying on the black waters found deep underground for fuel. Folken was set to work on these, with the hope that he might somehow find the means of improving upon the design.

At first, many of the Sorcerers had been openly skeptical of his ability. It wasn't until Dornkirk sent them the inventions Folken had been constructing since his arrival. Folken's embarrassment turned into confused pride when he was sent straight away to the labs, the Sorcerers convinced that he knew more than enough to be trusted with such complicated technology.

Progress, when it came at all, was slow and painful. Days could go by without any improvements in any of the designs, or, worse and more frequent, a model or design went horribly awry and had to be completely re-worked. Often he would return to his quarters to see the tell-tale signs of dawn stretching out again across the horizon, the day and the night totally spent in an endeavor he didn't support or believe in. But then, he knew he had no choice. To disobey would mean the death of far too many innocents, and he couldn't let that happen.

Time passed, and Folken found himself working more closely with Dornkirk. the old man would dictate to Folken what he thought should be done on a particular piece of technology, and Folken would see that it was completed correctly.
In those instances, Dornkirk imparted all sorts of wisdom from the land known as England' that he had come from. The ideas of science and gravity - with which Dornkirk was intricately familiar - empires, servitude and punishment, life, death, and God...

To Folken, the idea of an all-powerful, all-knowing God was an appealing one. The Fanelian Gods were petty, exacting revenge against the earth for the minor trespasses against them, committed by ignorant mortals. It was comforting to think that a God might exist to protect the worlds and the people who dwelt upon them, rather than punish them simply for being what they were. It was fitting that, as much as he would have liked to embrace the concept of such a God, he had already unwittingly allied himself with Dornkirk in a war against Him.

Given his new status, Folken was permitted in all parts of the fortress, even places he didn't know existed until a few days earlier. Among these were the elusive science labs that belonged to Dornkirk himself, the operations rooms, and the libraries. Of these, Folken found himself spending the most time in the latter. The collection of books was truly astonishing, containing old novels, non-fiction, historical entries, and all manner of scrolls and manuscripts in languages he'd never heard of before. When he read enough, he discovered that he began to become absorbed in the text, so swept along by the narrative that his own life seemed to garner the texture of a novel on its own.

The Sorcerers gave him more liberty day by day. Improvements made to the flamethrowers were far beyond what even he had expected. He'd found that it was possible to perfect the movements of the liquid metal - called which literally meant shining life - by exposing it to a carefully controlled electric current, but he was still curious as to how he could increase the weapon's effectiveness with this new knowledge. He felt like the stereotypical hero whenever a new discovery was made. The excitement surging through him was euphoric, yet sickening the more removed he was from the feeling. He reminded himself often to what end these discoveries would be put. Infuriatingly, it didn't make the feeling go away.



The most troubling story was the one told on the nights when Delleva visited him in his chamber. She was gaining courage, stopping by much more frequently now of his restored state within the empire. The way she looked at him indicated that she felt pride, but he often wondered who she was proud of - him, or herself?

Usually when she visited, she only held him. Often times she'd kiss him, or else delicately trace the flesh of his back with her fingertips. It didn't really matter. Whatever took place, it was always what she wanted. It had been some time since he'd resisted her. he lost the will to resist when he'd bowed before and accepted his fate blindly - ironic, when Dornkirk's purpose was to break the bindings of God's fate and unleash absolute fortune for the people of Gaea.

The setting was always the same. Sometimes the dialogue would change, but often it too was as static as the plot. She would come, and then leave him as less than he had been before. He was nothing to her. All the power in the room belonged to her and her alone, and he hated her for that. He was no longer a Sorcerer in her grasp - he was nothing more than a frightened, mangled boy, alone with her because the world hated the sight of him.

She pulled him close, resting her head on his chest and then lay perfectly, unbelievably still.With the pressure of her against him, he could feel the beating of his own heart very clearly. It was not panicking, as he was. It was merely doing the work it was made to do, throbbing in time with his soul - the pendulum of his being. Suppressing a scoff at his own fawning sentimentality, he turned his eyes to the ceiling.

They were using each other. That's all it was and all it could ever be, as much as it upset him to finally admit it. She needed him for position and prestige in the empire. As long as he did as he was beckoned by Dornkirk, she would never lose her leverage. And he, he clung to her like a child to an item of security. She reminded him of everything that he could never have again, no matter how much success he might gain through his newer role. She was the mountains, the forests, the streams, the quaint cottages, the towering monuments, the regal wings of the palace that had been his home... She was as close as he could come to Fanelia. And they both knew it.

In the moment she closed in around him, her proximity stifling in the chill of the room. He detested her arrival as much as he craved it, longing for her touch even though it was empty. It was reminiscent of affection, but held none by itself. He couldn't imagine it ever being more than what it was just now. A tear slid noiselessly down his cheek. He could tell himself that he was in control as often as he chose. The truth of the matter was that nothing would ever change.


Ollen70: A shorter chapter, and I'm sorry about that. The next one will be longer, I promise. I'm also sorry that it's taken me awhile to get this up. I hope the next chapter will be faster, but I'm having trouble figuring out where to go with this. Not that it's stopped me before...

I always say this, but I really appreciate it when I get reviews. It helps unbelievably.