Ollen70: I'm very, very sorry that it's taken almost two weeks for me to update. Since I really messed up my eyes, I haven't been able to work much on the computer, because looking at the glowing screen isn't all that pleasant. To make up for it, this chapter is pretty darn long, and I promise it won't take me so much time to get the next one up.

Before we get started, I'd like to say thanks' yet again to Myst Lady and Atari for reviewing almost every chapter of this story. =) You're wonderful, just so you know. I really, really appreciate all the comments and suggestions.

This chapter is pretty much just flat out depressing. Forget the intrigue and the angst. It's just plain old sad. And abrupt, in many places, which I might have to fix later on, because I'm pretty sure there are some places that don't really make sense. As always, I'm looking for someone to beta these chapters before I post them. If you're interested, it'd be great to hear from you, and I'd be more than happy to return the favor if you'd like me to.

Disclaimer: Same old, same old. Surprise, surprise.

Chapter Seven - - Onward, unto the Breaking Dawn



Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

Dylan Thomas - - Fern Hill



...and now, the metal will respond to the electrical impulses transferred by the guymelef's pilot. In other words, the Chlima claw will change to form whatever the pilot wishes, within certain boundaries, of course. But with this new weapon, who could stand before the guymelefs of Zaibach? Once more, we will be utterly unstoppable! The Chlima metal would do more than what the Sorcerer told the massed soldiers below him in the parade ground. Its combustibility made it the perfect fuel source for the flamethrowers, as well as an independent weapon. Folken watched the announcement from a window on the eastern side of the courtyard a little sadly. This new form of terror could be attributed to him and him alone. There was no one more responsible for the Chlima claw than he, and all the lives it claimed would be on his conscience. His fingertips found his cheek and traced over the tear that he'd emblazoned there. It was customary for the Sorcerers to mark themselves in a distinguishing fashion. He couldn't think of any other symbol that would fit him better. Since he had no real tears of his own left within him, it was alright to remind himself of the sadness that would never leave him fully.



Lord Folken. Folken turned to face the Platinum general as he approached. The man wasn't exactly smiling, but he wore a reasonably friendly expression. Under different circumstances, Folken might have appreciated the other's presence, but for the moment, his customary loneliness was something he craved. The other man put a hand on Folken's back, carefully below the metal shoulder blade. Folken knew he did this to keep Folken from remembering his deformity, yet the action only made him more aware of it.

You're looking well. It was a blatant lie. Even to himself, Folken looked far more gaunt, the angles of his face sharper than they had been. His skin, pale before, now nearly glowed, standing out against the dark circles about his eyes.

This is a great day for the empire, my lad. You've done much for us, and we owe you our gratitude. The man spoke in a manner that reminded Folken of Adelphos, save that the Platinum general's voice was softer and more accountably personal. Our enemies will fly before us. Think of the soldiers you have saved with this new device.

Folken didn't think it would have been possible for the man to choose words that would wound him more. Instead of heroic Zaibach soldiers, his mind was more preoccupied with weeping widows and orphaned children in the nations Zaibach would overtake - of burning villages and the empty, burned out ruins that would stand in place of flourishing cities that once held laughter and joy. Was there anything good in this world that he had not blighted?

I thank you... Folken replied awkwardly, wondering what else he could have said.

I can imagine how Dornkirk's aims must appear to your eyes. When I first agreed to become a general under Zaibach, I felt the same. But he offers us a chance to mold our own fortunes as we see fit.

We've always had that choice. It just takes more work.

The general scoffed. You're bright, young lad. I knew there was a reason I liked you. But do yourself a favor and continue to be bright. There isn't a future outside of Zaibach for you.

Folken was inwardly cross at the man for bringing up these points again. Hadn't he just proved his loyalty with the invention of the new weapon? Hadn't he twisted something innocent and remarkable to cruel end?

I will stand with Zaibach. If Dornkirk accomplishes what he's set out to, the world will be kinder for everyone. I stay because I believe in his dream.

Don't lie to yourself. We both know better. His eyes never left Folken's face. You stay because of her. There was no need for him to explain who her' was. You've lost a limb. Surely you can vouch for the old rumor - that sometimes you actually believe that you still feel sensation, even though there's nothing. Emotion is, in many ways, very much like that. We trick ourselves into thinking we love or we hate, when in actuality, nothing could be further from the truth. Just because you feel it doesn't mean it's there.

I... I guess that's true... Folken pulled his thin black cloak around his shoulder unconsciously, not meeting the general's gaze.

Do you honestly think she could love you? I don't mean to be cruel, boy, but open your eyes. Surely you've felt love - any kind of love - in your life before. Don't you know that what she gives you couldn't be further from it?

Folken wouldn't admit to the man's face that he was right, but privately he had no doubt that every word was true.

Why is it your concern? His voice held bitterness and he made no attempt to disguise it.

It isn't. But it's something you should know, just the same. All I ask of you is to consider what I've said. The general left him to the balcony. The man's orations, though probably meant with the very best intentions, proved to set a very low precedent for the remainder of the day. He righted himself at once - the railing beneath his hands, once friendly to his touch, denied him now. It wanted nothing to do with him, and he didn't blame it. There was little in this place that cared for him. The city itself found him distasteful, which increased his own dislike of it ten-fold.

Nowhere he went made him feel more secure in the decisions he'd made. Like always, it was his punishment to always live somewhere between the present and the past, forever regretting every choice he'd ever made. Whatever future fates waited to be decreed by a higher power - or by Dornkirk, if they succeeded in their mission - he doubted that he would ever escape the guilt that clung to him like an odor.



When the last light had fled from the sky, Folken ventured to the top of the fortress, leaving his tunic and cloak behind. For the first time in months, the moon shone brilliantly across this kingdom that dwelt long in coldness. Spring was still some time away.

After carefully scanning the area for eyes of any kind, he stepped up the the edge of the roof and spread his arms wide. Taking a deep breath, he forced it out and bit down on his lower lip, never quite used to the sensation his wings prompted when they emerged. It wasn't exactly painful - more than anything, it reminded him of waking up in the morning after sleeping all night with his good arm underneath him. The pins-and-needles twinge that ran through him didn't last long, so he flapped the wings twice experimentally before racing outward to embrace the night.

It had been long since he'd last flown. He'd forgotten how liberating it was, to be alone in the sky, as separated from other people as he could be. There was no one here to judge or deride him. He was truly lord of the sky, soaring so high above the ground in a plane no human would understand and no levy-ship or guymelef pilot would ever appreciate the way he did at this moment.

In this one last freedom, Folken wasn't ready to let himself grow distant. He soared through the air until his wings grew so heavy it was all he could do to beat them. The air was cold and still under the light of the moon. No thermals rose, so all his altitude was gained out of his own effort alone.

He flew until dawn. After the ceremony the day before and the unrefuted success of the new Chlima claws, Folken knew it wouldn't matter to anyone if he couldn't be found for a day or so. Even if it had, once the band of light that was the morning stretched across at the edge of the world, he knew he couldn't turn back even if he'd wanted to. The call was too strong, and he had no desire to deny it.

The fertile hillsides below him, most untended and allowed to grow into a wild tangle of underbrush, gave way reluctantly to the peaked tops of houses. Whatever this village was, it wasn't one he'd ever seen before. The lines between kingdoms were blurred under his eyes and wings, and he soared high above the dappled buildings with no care in the world.



Every two days he flew in exactly the same direction, marveling at each new detail that caught his attention. He was well aware that his absence was starting to raise eyebrows among the Sorcerers, but since Dornkirk had recently begun working so closely with him, his idiosyncrasies were publicly ignored. He had no doubt the Iron general might voice his objections, but ever since the incident involving Zongi, few paid him any mind.

As long as Folken completed his tasks on time, no one had any right to complain of his stranger behavior. Dornkirk had commissioned him to work very closely with Zongi on a defensive device for the guymelef army, and though Zongi had no knowledge of machinery or technology of any kind, his unwavering concentration and almost filial devotion to Folken helped them make much more rapid progress than when he'd built the Chlima claw.

This particular morning, he soared lower than normal. A light fog kept him safely obscured from the peasants below, but it was probably more of a risk for him to approach the villages today than when the sky was bright. The peasants in many villages were highly superstitious - he did not doubt that this one was not an exception. Many did not know the legend of the draconian as well as the people of Fanelia, and so did not readily associate them with ill-fortune or disaster. On this shrouded day, he could understandably be mistaken for an eagle or hawk out for a hunt. The arrows of the peasants were sharp, even if their eyes could be fooled.

Perhaps it was Delleva that had encouraged his latest excursion, or at least his carelessness in descending, when he knew there was no good reason for him to. This village was not special. But it was a refuge, far away out of the reach of anyone who might manipulate him.

What could you be to me? A battered boy with no past? Why should I condemn myself to a future as bleak as the one you've decided to paint yourself into? You consistently choose to aim low, then achieve even less than that. I couldn't love something so weak, even if I felt like I should try. All I can do for you is pity what you've let yourself become. Her voice had not been indignant or loud when she railed upon him. In fact it held only relative disdain that was all the more upsetting.

I've become what you asked me to become! His anger was not pure anymore. It was already occluded with many other nameless emotions. What more could I do?

You'll never be anything, Folken Strategos. You're a dead man with no home, no pride, no honor, no family... Do you think yourself worthy of love?

I hate you! He spat at last, desperate within himself, shaking with impotent fury at everything and nothing. I hate you more than anything! He wanted to share the pain with her that was his life. He wanted her to show him that she felt anything, no matter what it was. Love, hatred...it was all the same.

Well then. Her lips curved in the cold shadow of a cruel smile. She once again consumed him in her arms, not leaving him to his own self-pity. I'm glad we understand one another. He didn't cry when she kissed him. Not outwardly, at least.



Now, his wings flared against the strain of the air, his senses heightened by his own distress, he was more aware of a thick trunk of smoke that spiraled upward into the sky. Closer and closer he drew, his mind reeling with a thousand other things that did not at all concern this one moment.



You're a draconian, aren't you? The Platinum general had asked, coming to his room not long after his confrontation with Delleva.

Folken was taken aback by the abruptness of the remark, as well as the fact that the general knew. He was sure he'd been secretive when he'd left each night, shielding his secret for all he was worth.

Dornkirk has always known. It's one of the reasons he saved you, after all. Who better to manipulate fate than the descendant of the Atlantians themselves?

Folken cursed himself for never making that connection sooner. Of course Dornkirk rescued him because of what he was, not who. But that didn't matter any more. He didn't need to be loved, or cared about, or regarded with any kind of compassion at all. He'd forgone those things. What mattered now was that he meant to spend his life on behalf of all of the others in the world who might find themselves in a position like his, suffering so that they wouldn't. The fingers of his real hand found the metal shoulder and traced it quietly.

Of course it is. But how did you know? I doubt he'd tell you outright.

He didn't need to. Everyone knows Draconian blood flows in the family of Fanelia. Besides, I saw you land last night. Be more discreet in the future, Folken. There are others who are not nearly so accepting as I. It was when the man was finally gone that he realized the general hadn't answered Folken's question.



He was closer now, so closer that the rising smoke burned his eyes and filled his lungs as he gasped against it, but he held his course. A building burned merrily on the outskirts of the village, but it looked as though it might have been set deliberately. There were villagers about, but none of them seemed concerned with the fire - in fact, some were piling rubbish on it to fuel it to even greater fury. Since it was by no means an old or run down structure, Folken was confused. What reason did anyone have to burn such a place? And why did he feel an overwhelming sense of dread when he looked into the rising flames?

Harsh shouting tore his attention from the blaze to a large mob armed with farm implements and torches, heading northward toward the bluffs that overlooked the village. Whatever their intent, Folken would bet his good arm that it wasn't noble. He wheeled once sharply and anticipated their course, swooping straight in that direction and so outdistancing them.

Two tiny figures huddled on the edge of the bluff seemed to be their destination. He could make out very little about them, save that they were sleek and difficult to distinguish against the rust and silver on the cliff, brought out by winter's end. Before he could gather himself enough to decide what he would do, the figures leapt into the empty air from the face.

Without hesitation Folken drove downward with a speed he did not know he possessed. From such a distance he was sure there was nothing he could do, but he urged his wings to lend him greater strength all the same. The race with gravity ended abruptly when he swept both figures into his arms and drifted to the ground, made lazy now with his own vast relief at his success.

No sooner had he released his two burdens than they both turned and lashed at his hands with sharp claws and teeth. Though he winced, Folken made no move to draw his hands away. He shouldn't have expected any different from two frightened little girls. Two frightened leopard girls, to be more specific. It wasn't of interest to him before, given that he was desperate to reach them and so did not care who or what they were, but these two were decidedly young, one a sterling silver hue and the other brilliant gold. Both were lithe and beautiful in their own right.

Poor things. You must have been so frightened...



Ollen70: It's a weird place to leave off, but there should be more up in a matter of days. The next chapter probably won't as long, since I leave to climb Diamond Peak with some friends at the end of the week. After that, everything should be back to the general once-a-week routine.