Seihad

by TK Takaishi

After fifteen years of lies, the Khaydarin Empire finally launches its invasion with frightening force. As the prophesied Final Seihad escalates, the only hope of salvation lies with six stand-masters who must relive the legacy of Adun…and surpass it.

7. Seihad Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: I don't own digimon. This is commonly known as a fanfic, i.e., not produced for profit. Simply for fun.

Seihad: Chapter Seven

By: TK Takaishi

**May 31st, A.S. 522. One week later**

Takeru shaded his face as he emerged from the tree cover and paused for a moment to take in the breath-taking view. Even though it was still some time before dusk, the late afternoon sunlight seemed to dance from peak to peak until all the mountains were aflame with golden light and the thick clouds in the western sky were dyed a brazen golden-red. Down the sides of the mountains, the swiftly flowing streams sparkled like ribbons of fiery jewels as they disappeared into the ancient boreal trees along the sides and bottom of the valley. From his vantage point, Takeru could see the thick carpet of green ripple like the surface of a pond as a stiff wind blew through the treetops. Raising his eyes, he squinted as he looked up at the gathering clouds on the western horizon. It's going to be windy tonight, Takeru thought to himself as he turned back to the road. Windy and dark.

His horse stirred aside tendrils of cool mist as he urged it down the mountain pass towards the bottom of the valley, and Takeru shivered as he adjusted the heavy cloak around his body and the sword sheathed at his side. Ishidan summers came late in the year. And even in the summer, the night chill fell heavily in these forests as cold air came in from the mountaintops and swept the lower valleys.

He had not even bothered to tell Lord Marc before he had left. He hadn't even told the other stand-masters. He knew that they would have insisted upon an armed escort, if they allowed him to go at all. And if Takeru had refused the escort, the Knight would have told his soldiers to follow at a discreet distance anyway. Much simpler to leave a message for Marc to discover after he had left. Takeru had simply packed a few belongings, gone down to the stables, chosen the best horse available and left Ardinberg within the day. He could only hope that Marc would forgive him when he returned. If he returned.

As he descended, however, all thoughts of guilt disappeared, wiped away by the familiar sense of awe and peace that the ruined city still inspired in all its visitors. This is more like the old days, he thought as looked around. Just me, my horse, and my sword. No guards, no Lord Marc, and no trumpeting fanfare announcing his passage. At night, there was no soft bed to fall into, or servants to wait upon his every need. Here, when night fell, his fire, silence, and darkness were his sole companions. In the morning, when the predawn gray found him already well on his way, the soft chirping of sleepy birds was the only thing speeding him on his way. Surprisingly, he found that he had missed the solitude. It was only in solitude that his thoughts became clearest. It was only in solitude that he knew where others' thoughts ended and his own thoughts began.

To the outside world, Palas was little more than an overlooked ruin, and Takeru wanted to keep it that way. To that end, he had not visited the holy city for six years in a deliberate attempt not to draw attention or fighting to the place, and he had wondered if the passage of years had changed it at all. However, as he turned the bend and the city came into view, his fears were allayed. Palas looked exactly as he remembered it.

The light gray walls gleamed in the sunlight as Takeru rode past them. As before, it seemed to Takeru that the city had been painstakingly planned and engineered to blend seamlessly into the landscape, like a temple chiseled right into the mountainside. Before him, the three-tiered levels of the city, separated by sheer rock cliffs two to three hundred meters in height, rose above him, hugging the mountainside like a carpet. Steep, broad staircases linked the three levels of the city, along with the charred remains of gargantuan water-powered elevators large enough to haul up to three teams of horses with room to spare for their cargo. Takeru paused for a moment as he looked up to gaze upon his former home. Then, bowing his head, he nudged his horse onwards.

Immediately, he was beset with memories. The streets and houses still stood as empty and forsaken as before, but Takeru could recall when they were alive and bustling with commerce and traffic. The flagstones were as broken, and the fountains as crushed as he remembered, yet he could recollect when they were whole, unbroken and proud. The air of quiet stillness lay upon the city like a blanket, and Takeru's horse's hooves sounded unnaturally loud as it echoed off the still, stone walls. The white domes, the empty flagpoles, the immense stone buildings…Takeru could recall every centimeter of it.

But where was Yamato?

Takeru glanced at the sun. There was still another two hours or so before dusk fell. It was exactly two weeks after his encounter with Yamato on the thought-plane, so he was here on the right day. Frowning, Takeru opened his stand's eye and began to look around as his horse cantered towards the center of the ruined city.

There wasn't a flicker of life around him. At least, not of human life. The richness of the flora and fauna which had quietly taken over the city created a dull, background hum and glow to the entire valley, but there was nothing human. Takeru checked his horse for a moment as he considered his next course of action.

That did not mean that Yamato was not here. The range of his stand's senses was very limited, and he would not sense his brother until he was within a hundred meters. Far enough to give him some warning before an attack, but not enough to find him in a city this large. Perhaps there was some way to extend a stand's senses beyond that - a way which Yamato might know. After all, he, Takeru, had only scratched the very surface of what the Perenic thought-plane had to offer, while Yamato had been trained in its secrets since he was a boy. For all he knew, Yamato could be watching him right now.

Or, Yamato could simply be late. That was unlikely, but also in the realm of possibility.

Or…it could be a trap.

Takeru's eyes narrowed as he dismounted his horse to lead it up the first, long staircase towards the second level of the city. It was possible that Yamato had been lying all along on the thought-plane. That he was still with Khaydarin. If that was the case, then everything was over. He would have told the Emperor all about the conference, and the stand-masters might as well just give up right now. Yet…

That moment of anguish he had seen in his brother's eyes, moments before they had parted company, had been real. Takeru prided himself on being able to read the subtlest hints in people's expressions. It was a vital skill he had been forced to develop to aid him in his negotiations with former Ishidan Lords.

Yet, despite that, he hadn't been able to read his brother at all, not until the last moment.

Takeru stood still at the top of the stairs for another moment and sighed. Swinging into the saddle, he murmured reassurance to his horse and urged it onwards. His gray horse whickered, then stepped deeper into the middle of the city.

Any of the three ways, Yamato would be here soon. Even if it was a trap, it would be worth it to walk straight into it just for the chance to see his brother for a moment. A moment was all that Takeru asked for. He didn't care that it was possibly the most illogical risk he could take. If he had tried to conduct himself logically, he would have given up years ago.

Half an hour later, after climbing another set of long stairs to the third, top-most level, Takeru looked up again as his horse stepped onto the flat, broad pavestones of Masaharu's square. Behind him, the flagstones of the square came to an abrupt end over a sheer drop down to the second tier of the city. The third tier had been a level reserved for the Lords and Ladies of Ishida and was thus the smallest of all three levels. The Royal garden was off to one side, as overgrown and unkempt as Takeru had remembered it. The only difference now was that the garden's wild flowers and plants were in bloom, whereas the last time he had been here, he had seen only dead, bare branches. The stage and altar were at the far end of the square, and the afternoon sunlight illuminated the Ishidan crest carved into the stone.

There was nobody in the square.

The silence weighed heavily on Takeru as he looked around. The only sound that could be heard was the light whisper of the wind sweeping the garden's leaves along the flat square. Takeru pulled on his reins, slowed his horse down to a walk and guided it towards the garden.

When he reached the edge of the garden, Takeru dismounted and looked around one more time. With no gardeners to prune and sweep the garden, a two-inch-deep layer of dry, dead leaves from the wild, untended trees of the garden had accumulated on the ground like a soft carpet. Sighing, Takeru unfastened his saddlebag from his horse and laid it on the ground. Then, he tethered his horse and attached a feedbag to its muzzle. "Rest for now," Takeru said as he stroked its neck. "You've traveled far and fast."

The horse whinnied in response, and nuzzled Takeru's palm. The stand-master grinned as he laid a blanket over the horse's back. Then, choosing a comfortable spot on a broad, sun-warmed flagstone, Takeru sat down to wait. If Yamato wanted to play a waiting game, then Takeru was ready.

The hours ticked by. Takeru watched as the sun began to sink behind the western mountains. The last vestiges of blue sky disappeared as the heavens became awash with the crimson gold of sunset. Takeru looked up at darkening sky and hummed an old Kurtalian tune to himself as he waited patiently. Every once-in-awhile, Takeru rearranged his cloak and blew on his hands to ward off the settling night chill, then settled back down to wait as the shadows of the trees behind him began to lengthen. Wearied by the journey, he closed his eyes.

Suddenly, a sliver of blue shot out of the darkness and sliced Takeru's horse's tether neatly in half. The horse whinnied in surprise and fear as it backed away from his severed tether. Another sliver, this one as small as a needle, lanced through the air and struck the horse on its backside.

This time, the horse drew up in panic and clawed at the air with its front hooves as a terrified neigh escaped from its mouth. Without a backwards glance, the horse plunged off wildly into the streets of Palas, trying to get away from the stinging blue slivers that seemed to come from nowhere.

Takeru sighed and sat up. "Yamato," he said reproachfully, "you did not have to scare my horse away."

"I needed to make sure that you would not leave," the familiar voice said. The stones from the square seemed to reflect the sound until the echoes came from every direction. The voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once.

"You needn't have bothered," Takeru said as he stood up. Calmly, methodically, he removed his cloak, folded it and placed it atop his saddlebag, leaving him in his shirt and trousers. "I'm not going to run away."

"You're not drawing your sword," Yamato's disembodied voice said. "I thought you'd learned that lesson about not letting your guard down."

Takeru opened his stand's eye a little. He could sense the slight haze of his brother's spirit at the very limit of his perception. He smiled as he turned to face Yamato. "I'm not here to fight you, onii-chan. I just want to talk."

Yamato laughed. Then a dark silhouette detached itself from one of the garden's trees and stepped out into the light. His already-drawn sword flashed a brilliant, crimson red in the fading twilight as Yamato held it by his side. "That's funny," Yamato said lightly. "I am here to fight you."

Takeru held up his hands. "Please, Yamato," he said, "listen to me! Not everything can be resolved with a sword."

"Perhaps not," Yamato said as he advanced. "But it's the only thing I understand."

"You came so that you could understand the source of my strength," Takeru replied. "You came to understand more! Try and see things my way!"

Yamato stopped. In the fiery red of dusk, Yamato's eyes were gleaming blue. "I have had it with your way, Takeru," he said bitingly. "You found your way after only a year of searching. Six years, I have searched your way. And it has only made me weary. Weary and more and more frustrated."

"You've been looking in all the wrong places," Takeru said as he extended a hand. "Let me help."

Yamato stood still for a long moment, and Takeru held his breath. Then Yamato swung his sword. The gleaming blade caught the sunlight like a diamond. "Remember what I said six years ago?"

Takeru lowered his hand and let out his breath. His eyes clouded in disappointment. "Yes."

"You heard me," Yamato said. "Even though I didn't say it out loud, you must have heard me through your stand. I said that if you didn't kill me now, I would hound you and hound you until one of us is dead. I said that I wouldn't accept your position as my better."

"You remember my reply?"

"That you never wanted to be my better," Yamato said, grinning sardonically. "But that doesn't change the fact that you are. So far."

"So you lured me out here to satisfy your pride?" Takeru demanded. "To reclaim your title as 'strongest' like this whole war is some kind of…of tournament?"

"I don't have to explain myself to you, Takeru," Yamato said as he crouched slightly.

"Why not?" Takeru shouted. "You think that a battle is the ultimate test for truth? You think your sword will bring you salvation?"

"It will bring me salvation, Takeru," Yamato said calmly as he aligned his sword. "If I lose or if I win. I will have my answer either way." His right wrist rose and locked into position next to his ear as he turned sideways. His left hand reached out to brace the tip of the blade as his legs coiled like a spring. Dusk-red sunlight reflected from the brilliant blade, and left a band of crimson across the stand-master's face.

"I really suggest you fight back, Takeru."

"And if I don't?" Takeru said. He eyed the blade warily. It was a gatotsu stance his brother was aiming at him. There would be no warm-up. Yamato was going for the kill.

"Then this," Yamato said, as blue flames danced up and down his sword, "will be a very, very short battle."

And he charged.

Quick as a snake, Takeru's sword cleared its sheath and barely managed to turn Yamato's thrust up and over his shoulder. Takeru gritted his teeth as his brother's blue blade whistled so close to his head that it shaved off a few strands of blond hair. Then, gathering his strength, he shoved Yamato's sword away, and leapt backwards.

"I won't fight!" he shouted again.

"You've learned," Yamato said approvingly as he flicked his sword. "You didn't give me a chance to use my sword's hilt."

"Yamato," Takeru said urgently. "This is not a game!"

"You think I'm playing?!" Yamato shouted furiously. For a moment, his eyes blazed silver with rage. Without waiting for an answer, Yamato pushed off his right foot and swung into battle again with an ear-splitting scream of rage.

For a moment, the stand-master's speed was so great the edges of his body blurred into a blazing blue streak. The only thing that could be seen of Yamato was a line of whirling sand and leaves that streaked towards Takeru like an arrow. Biting off a curse, Takeru lifted his sword again.

Ichibou met Yamato's charge with a resounding crash and the battle began in earnest. In a heartbeat, both swords were suddenly consumed in the auras of their masters as both fighters stepped into an intricate, breath-taking dance. Thrust was met with parry; slash was met with block. The wide flat square echoed to the musical ringing of the two swords as their wielders savagely smashed them together. Their struggling shapes, silhouetted by the golden dusk light, danced across the entire square as their swords left liquid arcs of blue and gold in the still, cold air. Showers of orange sparks and screeches of tortured steel erupted from the blades as their masters pitted them against one another with all their strength.

His sword flicking in and out like a snake, Takeru deflected as many of Yamato's surgical stabs and slashes as he could. Those he could not turn aside, he dodged desperately. As he ducked under Yamato's slash, Takeru hissed as the blow smashed one of the garden's trees into flying bits of kindling. Flying wooden chips pelted both stand-masters. Before Takeru could gather his breath, Yamato's sword was drawn back, and Takeru brought his sword up just in time to block the savage downwards slash. The two swords slid against one another with an earsplitting screech until the hilts met with a resounding crack. The blades locked.

"You can't stop me like you did before, Takeru," Yamato said as he leaned heavily on the blade, forcing Takeru down to the ground. "I've learned."

Takeru, panting heavily as sweat poured down his face, didn't waste breath responding to Yamato's taunt. His sword was slowly being shoved downwards until Takeru was forced into a crouch. His arms trembled with the effort. I can't hold it, he thought as gritted his teeth so hard he could hear his jaw creaking. I can't hold it…

Suddenly, a golden streak erupted across Takeru's back. The gauntleted arm of his stand emerged out of his left shoulder and aimed a swift blow at Yamato's midsection. Just enough to stun him, Takeru thought desperately. I have to get away…

Yamato smiled. There was a corresponding blue flash and another whirlwind of leaves as his wolf-stand closed its iron jaws on the golden stand's speeding fist.

Takeru paled as he felt his left hand go numb. Looking up to his sword's hilt, he saw his left hand beginning to tremble as streams of blood began to pour from the teeth marks embedded into his knuckles and palm. Grimly, Yamato leaned even harder on his sword.

"You may have learned, ototo-kun," he said. "But I've learned too. You tried that on me, six years ago. And once I've seen it, it won't work on me again. Not even your precious Shun-Ten-Satsu."

"You…," Takeru grunted as he was forced to his knees, "apparently didn't learn enough. Or you wouldn't have come here."

For a moment, all the shadows in the garden were driven away as a brilliant flash of golden light illuminated the entire square like the mid-afternoon sun. A mighty gust of wind blew downwards and scattered the loose dirt and leaves around the dueling stand-masters like a small explosion as six wings snapped out from Takeru's arched back and flapped downwards. Takeru's stand's right hand emerged like smoke from his right shoulder, and plunged itself deep into the stony ground. A real explosion of flying rock shards and shrapnel whistled in front of Yamato's face.

More startled than harmed, Yamato unlocked his sword and leapt back, shielding his face from the sudden light, the flying sand and the whistling rock shrapnel. Takeru flipped himself upright, and his stand's wings flapped furiously as they whipped up a smoke screen from the leaves and dirt on the ground. Backing away cautiously, Yamato threw an arm over his face as he narrowed his eyes against the barrage of sand.

The smoke screen was not perfect. Yamato could still see Takeru's dark silhouette in the cloud he had created about himself. Even as he was flying backwards, Yamato's left hand whipped to his waist and drew his long dagger. Immediately, the blade flared a dazzling sapphire. "You fool!" he shouted. "I can still see you!" And with that, he coiled his body in mid-air and threw his dagger.

The blazing blue dagger sped into the heart of the dust cloud and pierced Takeru's middle. The roar of the whistling cloud obscured the younger stand-master's scream. Yamato sucked in a breath as he saw his brother's silhouette fold around the blade…

Then the blade and flew out of the other end of the dust cloud, carrying Takeru's white cloak along with it.

Yamato cursed and looked around wildly. It took him a precious second to see Takeru speeding towards the southern edge of the square. Across the flat ground, Takeru had obviously let out all the stops and was dashing as fast as he could to reach the edge of the square, which overlooked a dizzying drop to the lower city. So great was his speed that the only thing that could be seen of him was a rapid series of still images alternately glowing gold and white.

Yamato took off in pursuit. "Takeru," Yamato shouted after him. "You're running away?"

Takeru paused for a fleeting instant at the lip of the drop and all the images of him stretched over the square merged into one. His face looked sad as he cast Yamato a quick glance. "You think I'm running?" he said softly. "Onii-chan, I'm surprised at you."

Then he leapt off the lip.

Yamato raced up to the edge and looked down. There was Takeru, dropping like a stone. Then, his stand emerged from his back and the young stand-master suddenly snapped upwards and forwards, soaring on the wind like an eagle.

Behind him, left on the edge of Masaharu's square, Yamato cursed as he looked down at the sheer, two hundred-meter drop. Not even a stand-master could survive a drop like that. Turning, his form blurred and disappeared as he gave chase along the ridge-top.

**********

Takeru's chest heaved for breath as he soared above the ruined city of Palas. He didn't know what he hoped to accomplish. He only knew that if he stayed in Masaharu's square, the battle would be over in seconds. He would either be forced to seriously fight back, or be killed just as Yamato had said. He had to find a way to draw the battle out longer. To stretch out the fight. To give himself more time to think. More time to talk.

Once he was about a kilometer away from the edge of Masaharu's square, Takeru looked up at his stand. Promptly, the angel folded four of its wings, leaving only the middle two open. Takeru felt the wind roaring in his ears and whistling through his hair as stand-master and stand angled into a steep dive. Looking down, Takeru saw the streets, merely thread-thin ribbons of white before, rushing up at him with alarming speed. It was all in the timing. Too soon, and Yamato would see where he had landed. Too late, and he would die.

Then, a mere ten meters from the ground, Takeru's stand snapped all six of its wings open again. In a breathtaking moment, Takeru gritted his teeth and felt his stomach lurch as his stand's wings strained to halt his reckless descent. Then, a second later, Takeru's feet touched the ground as softly as if he had stepped off a ten-centimeter drop.

Takeru let his stand disappear as he caught his breath. As he did, he used the precious second to look around. He knew he was near the western outskirts of the city as he had seen the edge of the great gray wall less than five kilometers away as he had descended. A kilometer away to the south, the city dropped another three hundred meters down towards the bottom of the valley towards the first and lowest tier. Judging from the size of the large size of the buildings around him, he was in what had been the commercial district of Palas.

If he was not mistaken, he was on the main road that led directly from the front gates to the castle of Palas. Behind him, more than a kilometer away, a very long series of broad stone steps scaled the cliff that Takeru had just leapt off of. Although some of the streets were now unrecognizable underneath the rubble of burned and gutted buildings, Takeru could still distinguish some of the smaller roads that branched off from the central pathway, each of them looping gracefully back from the main road, hugging the landscape subtly like the tributaries of a river might hug a rocky mountainside.

Quickly, Takeru looked behind him and searched in vain for his brother's blue form. He had no doubt that Yamato could find him eventually. But he was not ready for him. He needed time to think, to plan. He had to keep moving. For a moment, Takeru considered unfurling his wings again, then thought better of it. He was as visible as a sitting duck in the air, and it would only make it easier for Yamato to find him. He would have to go on foot.

Choosing his direction, Takeru set off at a dead run due south. A curious raven turned its head in bewilderment as the young stand-master raced past so fast that he was distinguishable only as a smooth, rapid series of still images, and his passage discernable only by the dim golden trail he burned behind him. Less than a minute later, vaulting over broken flagstones and pits of ash and shattered stone, side-stepping broken carriages and pieces of debris from the burnt buildings, Takeru looked up as he ran.

The way was clear all the way to the outer gate, more than five kilometers away. He could see it from here. But the road was far too straight and far too open. Plus, it was the road he had landed in. It would be the first place Yamato would look. But if his stand's memory served, this road was not the only way down to the first tier.

The land had risen on both sides until they resembled sheer, stone cliffs on either side of the road. Ishidan architects had built the causeway so that it seemed to lead through a ravine, with tunnels and narrow roads that lead off of it, through the cliffs, and out to similar tunnels and streets on the lower level. Twenty meters above him, buildings, houses and other roads were built on the raised land on either side of the street, as if the city had been built on two levels.

Takeru tacked left, or due east.

Although the roads of Palas were graceful in their loops and gentle curves, they also followed a logical layout. Without hesitation, Takeru turned off the main road and into a dark tunnel that led beneath the arches of the higher levels. Shafts of red dusk-light came down into the darkness through holes in the ceiling of the tunnel designed for just that purpose. Soon, he could hear the faint bubbling of a shallow stream of rainwater running alongside his path, and he leapt into it without hesitation. Running through the shin-deep water, Takeru pressed onward.

Takeru allowed himself a small, grim smile as he slid to a stop beside the turbulent, swift-flowing river Mukaibo. It was as he, or perhaps his ancestors, remembered. The river Mukaibo flowed through the center of the city after passing through a grilled culvert beneath the northern city walls. It was a swift-flowing stream that ran straight and true, but Ishidan architects had long ago built high dikes on either side of the river bank to protect the city from flash floods. Takeru could see them right now, towering above him and the Mukaibo river. The tunnel had led him exactly where he wanted to go. Through the dike and right to the very banks of the river. Stone dikes had obviously been far too durable for even Khaydarin to destroy, for, down here, the destruction that had devastated the rest of the city was hardly apparent.

Takeru hesitated for a second, then turned right and resumed heading southwards along the bank of the river. His ancestor's memory had not failed him yet, and he saw no reason not to continue trusting it. And he was proven right when, a few minutes later, he came around a slight bend, and saw the waterfall less than a hundred meters ahead of him where the Mukaibo poured over the edge of the three hundred-meter cliff to continue on its course in the lower city. Takeru allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief as he ran for the waterfall. There should be a small, access ladder hidden somewhere beside the waterfall. Yamato would not be watching that way down to the lower city, he would be watching the major stairways. And once in the lower city, there would be plenty of places to hide.

And then what? Takeru thought.

He had not been lying when he had promised Yamato he would not run. Yet he still didn't know what to do. He simply needed time to plan. Perhaps to try and take Yamato by surprise and disarm him. Or trap him somehow, so he would listen. Perhaps wait until nightfall, then try and track his brother down in the darkness. He had seen Yamato fight firsthand. He was older, more experienced with his stand, and perhaps even stronger. Takeru had only won by a hair last time, and even then he had been so severely wounded he hadn't been able to breathe properly for two weeks. The only thing Takeru had left at his disposal was his speed. That, and the element of surprise. And he would need both of them. As he ran, his mind raced ahead, and the beginnings of a plan started to form…

Takeru heard the faint hiss of Yamato's thrown dagger a mere split second before he threw himself backwards and saw it whistle past a centimeter from his nose. The instant he hit the ground, Takeru was already rolling sideways into the shallow river as Yamato's stand lunged and blew a two-meter wide crater in the artificial river-bank reinforced with dressed stone. Panting, Takeru whirled around on one hand and flipped upright in a fountain of foam, sword drawn and at the ready.

On the opposite side of the river, above the dikes, Yamato stepped out from behind a pile or rubble. He said nothing.

Takeru brushed the water out of his eyes, adjusted his grip on his sword and smiled ruefully. Of course. What a fool he had been. I should have realized. You know this city just as well as I do.

You can't run, Takeru, Yamato said grimly as he stepped off the twenty-meter dike as if it was a curb, and landed lightly on the river's level. Beside him, his stand trotted up and passed him his dagger. Without looking, Yamato sheathed his dagger, then gripped his sword with both hands. His stand crouched on the river bank, its lightning-blue eyes staring fixedly at Takeru.

If I wanted to run, Takeru replied as he raised his own sword with a flick of his wrist, I would be a lot farther away by now.

It wouldn't be far enough.

Yamato, put down your sword, Takeru pleaded. Listen to me!

I'm done with listening.

If you would only-

"I waited six years," Yamato screamed out loud. "You know how long that is! Two words, Takeru. Two words! Easy enough to say, but to live them? It hardly does justice to the eternity of purposeless wandering you condemned me to!"

Takeru backed away slightly, and crouched into a defensive stance in the middle of the river. "Yamato…."

"You!" Yamato roared as he advanced. "You and your…your rabble of stand-masters. You and your ridiculous ideals that somehow seem to work! The very puzzle of your existence vexes me. I can't sleep without dreaming of you. I can't run away from you, no matter how fast and how hard I ride. I When I turn around, you are always there, with that insufferable smile on your face. I can't escape it!"

"Yamato," Takeru said urgently, stepping forward in an attempt to calm his brother. "Listen to yourself. That's exactly why you should-"

Yamato's voice rose even higher, if that was possible. Each word was punctuated by a wave of blue fury that rippled across the river's surface and stirred up white-crested waves. "I ran, Takeru. I tried to forget you and it nearly drove me insane. I tried to go on my own pilgrimage and I found nothing. Nothing makes sense anymore. I don't know whether Khaydarin is right or wrong, whether you're insane or brilliant, or whether you're both wrong. You are driving me mad!"

Then, Takeru's eyes widened in alarm as Yamato's stand lunged forward again.

Automatically, Takeru's own stand appeared in front of him, staff held out and at the ready to deflect the mad charge. But the blue wolf didn't seem interested in charging him. Instead, it plunged into the middle of the river, exactly halfway between him and his older brother.

A geyser of water and even a shower of small pebbles erupted skywards, forcing Takeru to shield his eyes and step back. The blinding shower of white foam obscured Yamato like a veiled curtain.

Then every droplet of water in the air seemed to glow with a brilliant, fierce blue as Yamato's stand let loose a burst of light as blinding as Takeru's own burst. But this time, it was magnified a hundredfold by the flying geyser of water as each individual drop refracted and reflected the light like a prism. The source of light was no longer apparent.

Instead, for a fleeting instant that lasted an eternity, Takeru was blinded by a veritable wall of blue light.

Takeru recognized the smoke screen for what it was an instant too late. By the time he had gotten over his initial shock and surprise, Yamato was already charging through the wall with a wordless roar of fury.

For Takeru, the world suddenly seemed to go into slow-motion as he allowed his stand to flood his mind. He could hear the splashing of the Mukaibo as it surged around his boots. He could feel every tiny droplet of water that fell upon his face and shoulders. He could see every detail of Yamato's sword as it thrust at his throat with terrible force, count every facet of light that reflected of its brilliant steel with startling clarity. And he gave up trying to think his way through the battle.

He only reacted.

Stepping backwards, Takeru twisted aside and barely managed to turn the first blow aside. The resounding ring of colliding swords echoed in the narrow ravine. As Yamato twisted his sword to push Takeru's blade away, Takeru turned his body sideways, shifted his grip to divert the force of Yamato's thrust behind him, and slipped away from Yamato's push like a wraith. Yamato lunged past Takeru as his younger brother slipped around behind him, his own sword raised to deal a crippling blow.

But Yamato wasn't there anymore. Instead of planting his feet and turning to face his enemy, Yamato put on a burst of speed. By the time Takeru was still turning around, Yamato was already hurtling towards the other wall. Tucking into a shoulder roll, Yamato flipped around in the air, landed feet-first against the sheer wall of the Mukaibo's western dike with his legs already coiled into a spring, and was already charging back for another pass when Takeru was still raising his sword. And this time, the glint of a drawn dagger flashed in Yamato's left hand.

Takeru's stand appeared, and its staff blocked Yamato's dagger as Takeru's sword blocked Yamato's sword. Yamato smiled thinly. Then he blurred, disappeared, and the battle began in earnest. Again.

The fight was unlike any other that Gaea had ever seen. Stand-masters and stands whirled through the narrow Mukaibo ravine like a typhoon throwing up huge geysers of water and foam. The stone banks of the river blackened, cracked and crumbled from the force of their auras as they passed. The stone dikes flickered and flashed with the brilliant explosions of blue and gold light each time their weapons clashed. Swords, dagger, staff, claws, fists, elbows, knees and feet whirled through the air, each seeking and failing to find the weak point in the other's defense.

This isn't going to work, Takeru thought desperately. He'll kill me. Or I'll kill him. One way or another, one of us is going to die! Think Takeru! Think! He put his sword and staff together to block a particularly powerful thrust and was still smashed back a few paces from the impact. Unless…unless…

Slowly, Yamato began to push Takeru back with his attack. Grim-faced, bleeding from a dozen different wounds, Takeru surrounded himself with blazing clouds of silver and gold as his sword and staff deflected Yamato's frenzied attack. Step by step, Yamato forced Takeru backwards towards the eastern dike of the river where he could be trapped and destroyed. Takeru gasped as Yamato's dagger flicked out and slashed his right leg, and his sword faltered. Yamato doubled his attack. Takeru was driven back another few meters.

Unless…, Takeru thought as he leapt backwards. Perhaps…

His stand appeared in front of him. The whirring staff snapped to a standstill as the angel gripped it firmly. Swiftly, it leveled one end of its staff at Yamato's forehead, spread its wings, and lunged.

Yamato swung his sword upwards and smashed the staff aside. The former Praetor grinned as the stand wavered like a hot flame and disappeared as it stumbled past him.

A grin which faded an instant later when Takeru himself came charging in right behind his stand.

Yamato did not have a chance to recover.

Takeru's sword struck the hilt of Yamato's sword, and instantly a series of explosions rippled up and down the blade. Yamato's sword went flying into the river.

Yes!

Then Yamato's dagger whipped around.

A spray of red blood erupted as its keen blade sliced deep into Takeru's right forearm. The blood splattered across both stand-masters as Takeru dropped his sword. Yamato roared as he withdrew his dagger for the final death-blow.

But again, Takeru reacted faster.

Yamato would have grudgingly admitted to himself that his brother was fast. Very fast.

He would have, if he hadn't been so flabbergasted by Takeru's unthinkable move.

Instead of leaping back, as Yamato would expect of an unarmed man this close to an armed one, he leapt forward, his hands extended into claws.

Yamato halted for an instant from the sheer audacity of it.

Takeru's golden staff snapped around and struck his dagger. Yamato felt his left hand go numb as the weapon sailed away and landed in the river further downstream. Then Takeru fist caught him full on the jaw.

Yamato staggered backwards, then disappeared as he dashed away. Neither of them bothered to go for their weapons, which were hidden somewhere along the riverbed. Instead, they went at it with their bare hands and their stands. Around and around the ravine they fought, using every last trick they knew of to gain the advantage. The battle whirled past far too fast for the eye to follow as strikes and kicks were deflected and holds were broken. The constant roar of the waterfall was almost drowned out by the small explosions that rocked the ravine. The water alternately flickered blue, gold, and finally blood-red as the brothers sparred savagely.

Finally, Yamato slapped aside Takeru's thrust so viciously that Takeru staggered. Rushing forward, he overwhelmed his brother with a quick series of jabs and thrusts. Then, drawing back slightly, Yamato darted forward and planted both fists on Takeru's chest and stomach.

Takeru felt the breath rush out of him as the blow lifted him off his feet. Soaring through the air, he collided with a bone-jarring crunch with the dike behind him, then slumped down to settle in a broken heap at the base of the dike. Dimly, he saw Yamato smile triumphantly. Raising a hand, the older stand-master sent his blue wolf stand springing forward. The stand's roar seemed to fill the whole ravine. Before he could move, Takeru felt the wolf's paws crush his shoulders as the stand opened its steel-like jaws to rip his throat out…

Takeru closed his eyes…

The wolf's fangs halted a fraction of a centimeter from Takeru's throat…

Takeru opened his eyes.

Yamato was standing very still in the middle of the river. Behind him, with all six of its wings raised for balance, Takeru's stand had its staff poised a millimeter from the back of Yamato's head.

Rocked, both stand-masters stood locked in their impasse for a long moment. On the bank of the Mukaibo river, Takeru's back arched as he coughed up blood. Every rib and muscle in his body ached with a vengeance. It felt as if Yamato had cracked, if not broken, a couple of ribs. Before him, Yamato stood less than ten meters away from the edge of the waterfall. He did not appear to be in any better shape. His wet blond hair was matted to his head with a mixture of water and blood from when Takeru had smashed his head into the riverbed. A thin trickle of blood ran from the left corner of his mouth.

"You could have killed me," Yamato said softly. "You had your stand behind me the whole time, didn't you? You could have killed me anytime."

"We would have joined one another in death," Takeru replied, grimacing at the effort it took to speak. "And what would be the good in that?"

"It would end my existence," Yamato said. "That is reason enough, don't you think?"

"No!" Takeru said vehemently. "Isn't that exactly what Tichon wants us to do? Destroy one another in hate?"

"So?" Yamato shot back. "He may still be right. And if he's right, then we deserve to die."

Takeru was silent for a moment. Then he looked up. "Yamato, you asked me six years ago where my God was in the midst of all this."

This time, it was Yamato's turn to be silent.

"Look around, Yamato," Takeru said. "See what we have done so far, and what we are going to do in the next few weeks. Ishida is beginning to reunite. Jakt and Fan-Tzu have reconciled. Even Sheid and Yagami have begun to cooperate. The Taelidani are supporting Ichijouji. Yamato, do you think that we managed to do this alone?"

Yamato still said nothing.

Takeru arched his back as he tried to sit up, but the wolf pressed him down. Staring into the wolf-stand's eyes, he said, "Yamato, take away your stand. There's no reason to kill me anymore. There never was a reason to kill me."

"No," Yamato said hoarsely. "You remove your stand first."

"You think I'd kill you?"

"Never let your guard down. I thought you'd learned that lesson by now."

Takeru allowed himself a slight grin. "And what guarantee do I have that you won't kill me immediately after I take away my stand?"

"You don't have any." Yamato's voice was beginning to fray with madness.

Takeru paused for a long moment. Then, slowly and cautiously, his stand's staff pulled away from Yamato's head. The angel stepped back onto the bank to rejoin its master, then phased into nonexistence.

Yamato stared at Takeru. "You shouldn't have done that. I can kill you right now."

"Well, I did," Takeru said. "My life is in your hands. But I'm betting you won't."

"Why?"

"Because you're not here to kill me, you're here to find the truth."

Yamato stared at his brother. His eyes grew wide and his hands trembled. This was the moment he had been waiting for the past six years. The man who had caused him so much torment, so much agony was fight in front of him, at his mercy. The man who had managed to defeat him in a sword-fight, and then spared him to a fate much worse than death. His stand's eyes flashed with indecision.

A far-off rumble began to build-up from upriver. Both stand-masters turned at the noise. The rumble was getting louder, like the ominous rolling of threatening thunder, except this rumble was constant and unceasing. A faint sense of unease began to settle over the dueling pair and Yamato's stand closed its jaw as it too turned to stare upriver.

Then a flash of a half-remembered memory struck Takeru like a lightning bolt. "Yamato!" he shouted. "Run! It's a-"

He was too late. Suddenly, the rumble became deafening. The roiling white wall of a mountain flash flood cleared the corner of the ravine less than a hundred meters away. Within moments it was right on top of the stand-masters.

Again, it was Takeru that reacted faster. Pushing off Yamato's unsuspecting stand, he gathered his legs under him and leapt upwards to safety on top of the twenty-meter high dikes. Turning around, he felt his heart stop.

Yamato was standing stock still in the middle of the river, gazing impassively at the flash flood that loomed over him like a wall, making no move to leap to safety.

"Yamato!" Takeru screamed. "Get away!"

Yamato turned at his brother's voice. When he spied Takeru on top of the dike, he gave him an anguished stare. Takeru was struck again by the anguish and the torment in his brother's eyes as Yamato opened his mouth. For a moment, a moment that broke Takeru's heart, he saw a single tear escape Yamato's eye to trace its way down his blood-caked cheek.

Then he was swept away by the flash flood.

Normally, this wouldn't have been a problem. A stand-master could survive a flash flood with minimal injuries.

But not when there was a three hundred-meter waterfall less than ten meters downriver of him.

Again, the world seemed to shift into slow-motion for Takeru as he allowed his stand to flood his senses. Again, he didn't think. Only reacted. Only moved.

His stand flashed into existence, superimposed on top of Takeru's own body like second skin. In the blink of an eye, Takeru went from a standing start to a burning dash. The flagstones on top of the dikes cracked and burned away as he passed. In an instant, Takeru reached the edge of the cliff just before the falls went over their hundred-foot drop. And without hesitation, he leaped off.

Folding all six wings tightly around his body, Takeru dove as he had never dove before.

**********

Yamato felt the white water envelop, pound and claw at him as he was borne along with the raging current, completely helpless to resist it. He didn't fight it. He only surrendered himself to the white flames around him and embraced death as his warrior code demanded he should. He had lost again. Takeru may have made it sound like a tie, but his stand had been ready all along. He had lost.

So what was the point?

He had his answer now.

Then perhaps this was the only fate that he deserved.

Yamato felt himself lurch as the flood threw him off the edge of the falls. Tumbling amidst the roaring thunder of white water like a small fig leaf caught in a hurricane, Yamato allowed himself a brief smile as he contemplated the sharp rocks more than three hundred meters below. It was over. His pilgrimage was finally over.

His head slammed into a jutting rock, and for a brief moment, Yamato saw stars. His mind already only semi-conscious from the blow, Yamato frowned as he saw a white streak of foam traveling upwards against hundreds of tons of pouring water. Must be his imagination. The mind did funny things when it had taken as much punishment as his had. He closed his eyes.

Yamato didn't even feel that jarring crash as Takeru caught his falling body in the middle of the falls. He was already unconscious. Gritting his teeth, Takeru called up reserves of strength he didn't know he had, and flapped his stand's wings one last time. That last feeble thrust ejected them from the falls. Then, utterly exhausted, Takeru could do nothing to stop the crazy tumble that he and his brother had fallen into. Nor was he able to soften their descent from the twenty-meter fall.

With a thunderous splash, the two stand-masters hit and rolled along the shallows of a small sandy cove at the foot of the falls. Takeru wrapped himself around his brother's unconscious form and rolled into a ball as they bounced along the sandy shallows, slamming into river boulders and bits of debris and rubble. It seemed to be an eternity before the shifting and tumbling stopped, and they finally rolled to a rest half in and half out of the water.

Takeru released Yamato, turned on his side and retched. River-water and blood splashed over the sand. Utterly drenched and completely exhausted, Takeru shivered as he huddled in a wet bundle. Every muscle in his body felt as if it had been strained, hammered, and twisted by the falls. For long minutes, Takeru lay on the beach beside his unconscious brother, trying to regain his strength after that last Herculean flight. It was all he could do to remain conscious. Even breathing seemed to him an arduous task as he waited for his strength to return.

Several minutes later, Takeru rolled over and got to his feet, albeit rather unsteadily. His boots splashing in the water, he grabbed the unconscious Yamato and hauled him onto dry land. Then, he bent over his brother's still form. The bleeding from the wound on the back of his brother's head had already mostly stopped. He would be all right. Once he woke up.

Once he woke up…

Takeru stared at his brother's peaceful face. When he woke up, it would start all over again. They would be locked in eternal combat until one or both of them died. Yamato's warrior code allowed for no other way. Takeru almost cried with despair. No! he thought desperately. I can't let that happen again!

I refuse to let it happen again!

So Takeru took a deep breath. Lifting one hand, he placed it gently on top of Yamato's face. No-one had ever taught him this, but he had read about this technique in his studies of the thought-plane. More by instinct than by reason, his thumb and middle finger found their places on his brother's temples. Then he closed his eyes.

He saw the picture. Formed the world.

And made it real.

**********

Yamato opened his eyes.

He stumbled, and fell onto his knees.

Wearily, he looked around.

He felt no surprise at his surroundings. It seemed he had been among these barren, stunted trees for years, centuries, millennia. The dry, rolling land, cracked and parched like a piece of withered parchment, was broken only by random stands of broken boulders and clumps of leafless dusty trees. All of the trees seemed to be dead and it didn't seem as if it had rained here in years. Yamato stayed on his knees for a long moment as he caught his breath and tried to ignore the oppressive heat that weighed on his weary shoulders like a physical burden.

The desert stretched away to the north, south and west as far as the eye could see. Yamato knew there was nothing there but more sand dunes, boulders and dead trees. He knew because he had spent centuries scouring them meter by meter, kilometer by kilometer. Coughing through his parched throat, Yamato turned his gaze eastward. The long rift that divided the desert into two stretched from the northern to the southern horizon. Yamato had also been there. The kilometer-wide rift was completely impassable. He had thrown rocks off of the edge and watched them descend into the dark abyss. No matter how many seconds or minutes he waited, he had never heard the thud of the rocks hitting the bottom. A truly bottomless pit. Yamato was far too weary to try to understand how that could be.

Lifting his gaze, Yamato looked longingly at the far side of the rift. There were people there. He could see them from here, living happily on the green-filled land in peace and contentment. He could see the rivers that coursed through the land on the other side and spilled their endless waters off of the edge of the abyss. Quickly, he wrenched his eyes away as tears began to form in his eyes. He was desperately thirsty, but he couldn't reach the water. He had never been able to.

Slowly, unsteadily, Yamato got to his feet and began to shuffle forward as he always had. He continued to scour the edge of the rift, trying to find a way, any way, across to the other side. An outcrop of rock, a way to the bottom of the rift. Anything. He continued to search as he had for millennia. All he had left was hope. He would not allow even that to be wrenched away…

"Are you lost, friend?"

Yamato turned and blinked.

The hooded stranger had appeared from nowhere. Perhaps he had stepped from behind one of the clusters of boulders that dotted the desert. His dark brown cloak rippled in the wind and disturbed the hood, but Yamato could see nothing of the face inside. Yamato's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Who are you?"

"A friend," the stranger said, with a touch of amusement in his voice. "Just a friend, traveler. You look weary."

"I'm trying to get to the other side," Yamato said as he pointed across the rift.

"Ah," the stranger said, as if that explained everything. "And do you know the way?"

"No. But I am searching for it."

The stranger's voice turned grave. "That is not good. You cannot find the way on your own."

A spark of rebellion flared in Yamato's heart. His gaze hardened. "I will find it. By myself. I am strong." His words sounded childishly petulant even to his own ears, but he didn't care. It was the truth.

"Strong enough to fly, my impulsive friend?"

Yamato didn't say anything.

The stranger extended a hand. "Come and follow me. I know the way across, and I will show you."

"How can you know more about this rift than I?" Yamato challenged. "I have explored the edge of it for centuries. I know every meter of it."

"Yet you do not know the way."

"If I cannot find the way," Yamato said as he drew himself up, "then there is no way, and the people on the other side is only an illusion."

"Such certainty." The stranger's shoulders shook as if he was trying to hold back his laughter.

"You cannot know the way," Yamato said firmly. "Not if I don't."

"Yet know the way I do," the stranger replied. "I am from the other side."

The world reeled. Yamato put a hand to his head as he tried to collect his wits. "You're lying."

"Why?"

"If you have been to the other side," Yamato said as he gestured to the green, fertile lands opposite him, "then why would you come back to this wasteland?"

"To guide others," the stranger said simply. "To show them the way that I have found."

"But you can simply go to the other side and stay there, can you not?"

"I can," the other admitted readily. "But I choose not to."

"What do you want in return for your guidance?" Yamato asked.

"Nothing, my friend. My services are free."

"I'm not your friend," Yamato said bitterly. "Stop calling me that. And I still don't believe you."

The stranger's shoulders slumped. When he spoke again, his voice was disappointed. "You will die if you remain here. Forever. The only way to get across is my way."

"Then I will die with my chin up and my dignity intact," Yamato said as he turned his back and resumed his search. "I will not sell my soul to you."

**********

Yamato opened his eyes.

He gasped and instinctively flung his hands across his face. As if by magic, his sword materialized in his hands and he barely turned aside the spear-thrust that came at his face. Yelling, Yamato swept his opponent's sword aside with a vicious effort, and killed the soldier behind it with a single upwards swing.

As the man fell, Yamato staggered backwards, his chest heaving with the suddenness of it all. Hadn't be been…where was the…but no…he had been here all along, hadn't he? This darkness. This cold, this dampness.

There was no heat here. Instead, it was a cold, barren mountain of granite rocks that looked as if it had been carelessly piled together by a giant. On all sides, a nearly sheer-drop to the granite plains below yawned beneath Yamato's feet. Underneath his right foot, a piece of rock crumbled and Yamato jerked forward away from the edge. Swinging around, Yamato's disbelieving eyes swept across a vista of lead gray dust and black rock, of low, threatening storm clouds…and of teeming masses of men. All below him, surging upwards, storming the top with singular purpose.

The next fighter reached Yamato - a large man clad in the tattered red uniform of Fan-Tzu, dressed in his nation's full regalia and wielding two swords in his hands. Yamato had no time to think. Instinctively, he raised his sword and blocked the man's downward swing, then spun around and lashed out with his foot. Roaring with frustration, the man fell from the steep pile, smashed against the jagged rocks more than a hundred meters below him, and rolled into an unmoving heap at the base of the mountain.

But Yamato had no time. The next was already upon him. This one wasn't even human. Yamato caught a glimpse of a hunter-seeker's crimson red eyes and snow-white teeth before the creature was upon him in a storm of slashing claws and ripping teeth. Yamato staggered as the creature opened deep wounds on his thighs with a single slash, and almost fell when the hunter-seeker leapt for his throat. Then a deep, red rage overtook him. Roaring with anger, he reached out and grabbed the creature's throat with one hand. As rich black blood ran warmly over his hand, Yamato closed his iron fingers, crushed the hunter-seeker's throat, and threw the lifeless carcass down the mountain.

But more were coming, surging, pressing, tearing. Yamato's sword flew of its own accord, severing limbs, heads, weapons and armour. Ishidan soldiers, Yagami soldiers, Khaydarin soldiers, Taelidani, stand-masters, mirrireid-bearers, Praetors…they all came surging forwards and were all promptly killed. As the blows came in thick and fast, Yamato gasped as a sword scored across his chest. A glancing blow from a spear furrowed his side and sent a quick flash of pain ripping across his torso. Then he staggered and nearly went down as a hunter-seeker sunk its teeth into his thigh. Tearing loose from his attackers, Yamato threw his head back and roared. A brilliant blue burst erupted from him and for a single, blessed moment, everyone was thrown backwards from the cliff. Roaring and screaming, they tumbled down the sides of the mountain

The point of Yamato's sword plunged into the ground as he collapsed onto his knees and panted. As he fought for breath, a stream of blood from a cut on his forehead trickled into his right eye, and Yamato angrily wiped it away. As he did, his eye fell upon the teeming masses gathered around the base of the mountain. Hundreds. Thousands. Tens of thousands. Men from every nation and tribe and tongue, friend and foe, all waving weapons at him and roaring in their lust for the top. As the next wave began charging up the hill, Yamato staggered unsteadily onto his feet and raised his sword with trembling hands. No…the top was his! They would not have it! They would never have it!

"Do you plan on defeating all of them?"

Yamato did not have to turn. He had heard Takeru's voice in his dreams so many times before he could recognize it instantly. Neither did he have to turn to envision the piercing stare Takeru was undoubtedly leveling against him.

"Not even you can do that," Takeru's calm voice continued.

Yamato hefted his sword and grunted. "This isn't real."

"But of course it is." Takeru said as he stepped up beside his brother and gazed downwards at the roaring, charging masses. "It's what you do everyday. What Emperor Tichon would have you do in his deceit."

Then the brothers could talk no longer as the next wave was upon them. Desperately, Yamato swung out with his sword, but already he could feel his limbs stiffening and his mind wandering. Each hit lessened his chances of blocking the next, and the next…and the next…. Helpless, Yamato felt himself being dragged under…

Takeru's sword made a scything golden arc as it carved a huge chunk out of the granite cliff. A screaming Khaydarin legionnaire disappeared under a barrage of falling rocks as the granite rockslide went thundering down the mountain-side. Again, peace descended.

"Only the best deserves to rule," Takeru said quietly as he watched the men pick themselves up to begin their charge again. "And you are the best. So you must be the one to strike down everyone else so you can take your rightful place at the top. But, Yamato, what happens if someone arises that is stronger than you?"

Yamato snarled. "Then I don't deserve to be here, and that someone does."

"Then the war starts all over again," Takeru said. He turned, and Yamato was suddenly aware of a strong hand gripping his shoulder, of blue eyes filling his vision. "Don't you see it? Even the biggest of us will fall eventually. If not by our enemies, then by the slow decay of time."

"Then what would you have me do?" Yamato roared. "Surrender myself to those swords to save them the trouble?"

"And what would that accomplish?" Takeru challenged. "All the others would then turn on the one that defeated you, and this would start over again."

"It won't happen," Yamato gritted. "They won't defeat me."

"Listen to yourself, Yamato!" Takeru shouted. "Even if all that you hope for comes true, even if you defeat me and claim your title as 'strongest', even if you shatter every kingdom, king, stand-master and people in the land, Khaydarin cannot hold. The one-ness of the kingdom it seeks to establish cannot last, because eventually, one of them," Takeru gestured violently at the gathered attackers below, "will rise up and cast down their rulers. Yamato, you are stronger than all of them. But they will keep coming and coming until you are cast down. To ensure that the strongest will always hold sway in Gaea means that the war will never end!"

"No," Yamato said hoarsely. "I will destroy the others."

"But they will keep trying," Takeru said as he eyed a Shienar soldier struggle upwards towards them. "You can't stop them, Yamato, from constantly rising against their rulers. It is in their nature. Until you cure their base lust for violence and power, you will have to keep striking them down every year, every day, every moment. And eventually, they will overwhelm you. In a year, a decade, a hundred years, a thousand…it will happen."

"No!" Yamato said fiercely. "I will destroy them utterly! They will not get a chance to come at me."

Takeru's eyes looked sad as he swept an arm out to encompass the grim spectra before them.

"But Yamato, if you have to destroy every person in Gaea to bring peace to it, can you really say you seek to save our land?"

**********

Yamato opened his eyes.

He wiped the sweat out of his eyes as he paused to rest his aching arm. Then, for what seemed like the thousandth time, he drew back the hand that was holding the rough tangled rope. The long rope rested in a coil at his feet. One end of the rope was tied around a tree behind him. Taking a small step forward, Yamato cast the other end as far as he could across the void.

He stifled a despairing laugh as the looped end of the rope fell pathetically short of the other side, again. Gracefully, it descended into the depths of the void and disappeared into the gloom. Yamato felt the hope fade from his heart as he looked down. Then, he bent down and untied the knot around the tree. The rest of the rope followed into the dark gloom of the void. Wearily, he turned and stumbled onwards along the edge.

A century later, he stopped. The edge still went on, arrow-straight, all the way to the horizon. Yamato sank to his knees, and his shoulders shook with despair. There was no way across. He had tried everything. No matter the years he searched, the rift did not end. Always it extended all the way to the horizon. There was no bridge, no narrow ledge he could leap across. The land remained divided into the blessed and the cursed, and the rift was as wide and impenetrable as ever. He must have been walking around in circles, for all the good that his searching had done him.

Is this hell? he wondered. To be imprisoned on this accursed land, forever hungry and thirsty. To be condemned to an eternity of wandering and searching for the way across, while all the time the blessed land lay tantalizingly in sight.

"It's unfair!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "There is no way! Damn you all! Damn you!"

He slumped forward and pounded the ground with his fists in frustration. Hot tears of rage and torment carved tracks on his dirt-caked cheeks. He didn't even know who he was cursing. He only needed to curse something. It was someone's idea of a cruel punishment. There was no way. There never had been.

A smothering blanket of despair flooded through him like a tidal wave. Forcing himself to his feet, Yamato staggered slightly with exhaustion as he looked down. The darkness looked inviting. Perhaps that was the answer. Anything was better than this unbearable existence. He should have done this a long time ago. His feet seemed to move of their own accord, and he slowly shuffled forward, until he was poised right on the edge of the precipice. A flash of white-hot rage broke over him. He would not be someone's plaything. He refused to act as the amusement for those on the other side. Taking a small step forward; his right foot dangled over the darkness.

Closing his eyes, Yamato's cracked lips curled into their first smile in over a millennium as he leaned forward and felt himself beginning to fall.

A hand darted forward, grabbed Yamato's shoulder, and pulled him back.

Completely losing his balance, Yamato fell backwards onto the desert in a graceless heap. In a flash, he spun around in the dirt and was up again on his feet, his fists raised to fight.

The cloaked stranger stepped back out of range.

Yamato lowered his fists. "You had no right!" he shouted.

"You would have died," the stranger said.

"That was the point!"

"You don't understand!" the stranger said. "If you had leaped off that edge, you would only come back to this desert. Only then, even I would not be able to help you find the way. The way would be forever closed."

"I would have escaped," Yamato hissed.

"You would have condemned yourself to an eternity in this desert!"

"I am already condemned to an eternity here!"

"No," the stranger objected. "You are not. I told you. I can show you the way."

"I have looked for centuries!" Yamato roared. "There. Is. No. Way!"

"You think you can find it by yourself?"

Yamato paused. "Why not?"

"No matter your power or ability, there is nothing you can do to get yourself to the other side," the stranger said. "You need to admit that you were wrong and helpless before I can help you"

Yamato shook his head as he looked down. A memory stirred. He looked up, suspicious. "Are you Takeru?"

The stranger laughed. "No," he said. "I am not Takeru. But he…led me to you."

"Unveil yourself," Yamato demanded.

"No," the man replied evenly. "I will not."

"Why not?"

"The time will come when I will lower this hood," the stranger said cryptically. "But that time is not yet."

"And when will that time be?"

"Soon," the hooded man said. "But it is not for you to know exactly when."

"But you know the way," Yamato said flatly.

"Yes."

Yamato paused for a long moment. He looked at the barren desert, at the bottomless rift, and at the blessed land on the other side. Then he took a deep breath.

"Tell me…," he said hesitantly, each word forced through his mouth with an immense effort. "'Tell me…friend…what must I do to find the way?"

The stranger's head lifted, and Yamato had the distinct impression that a broad, delighted smile had spread across the man's face.

"That rift," the stranger said as he gestured at the gap, "has already been conquered. I have gone before you, and fallen into that rift. Then I rose again. I have seen the bottom, and defeated it. I am the only way across that rift."

"But what must I do?" Yamato said, broken and defeated.

The stranger held out his hand before Yamato. "Why, nothing my friend. Like I said, there is nothing you can do to conquer the rift.

"The only thing you have to do is to take my hand. And never, ever let go."

**********

Yamato opened his eyes.

It was night-time. He could tell by the dark, misty cold that enveloped him, and by the pale blue stars that twinkled overhead. He was lying flat on his back on his back under some pine trees. Someone had carefully placed a rolled up bundle of cloth under his neck so that the wound on the back of his head would not touch the ground. Another cloak had been spread over his body to keep him warm. He could hear the crackle of a nearby fire and the faint, sweet scent of burning pine resin.

"Am I still dreaming?" he muttered.

This time, no, Takeru's voice answered in his head. You're really here.

Yamato's eyes snapped open in shock.

Takeru was sitting on a fallen log on the other side of the fire. He had his chin cupped in his hands, and was staring at Yamato with an expression of concern. As the last cobwebs of unconsciousness were swept away by the cold night air, Yamato noticed that Takeru was dressed in only his trousers, boots, and sleeveless tunic. Beside the fire, Takeru's wet shirt and cloak hung steaming on a rough trellis fashioned with tree branches. Lying on the ground were the two swords that had been lost in the river. Apparently, Takeru had recovered and cleaned them. Around them, the dark shapes of the ruined buildings of Palas loomed silently.

Gingerly, Yamato probed the back of his head. A clean white bandage had been wrapped around his head to stem the bleeding. The wound throbbed with pain but it didn't seem like it was getting infected either. Takeru had cleaned it. "What have you done to me?" he said hoarsely as he tried to sit up.

Takeru made no move to stop him. Slowly, Yamato sat up and instantly regretted it. The headache behind his eyes exploded and the world swam in and out of focus. Taking a deep breath and fighting the vertigo, Yamato looked over at his brother.

I caught you when you fell off that waterfall, Takeru said simply, poking at the fire with a long stick. You must have bumped your head on the way down, so I cleaned and bandaged your wound.

You saved me? Yamato hissed incredulously. Why?

I told you, Takeru said. I'm not here to fight.

Yamato stared at his brother from across the fire. Takeru sighed and put down his stick.

I'm here to save you, Yamato, he said. To show you the way you've been looking for all these years. Not to kill you.

Why? Yamato demanded.

Takeru didn't answer right away. Instead, he picked up his stick again and nudged at the logs burning in the fire. The rejuvenated flames danced in his blue eyes as he considered his answer.

It is said, Takeru said, so softly that even Yamato had to strain to hear him, that no man can walk in the darkness too long to return to the light. He looked up, and Yamato was startled by the intensity behind those previously passive eyes. I…had always hoped, ever since I knew you were still alive…that I could make peace between us, one way or another.

Yamato had to clench his teeth to stop himself from laughing out loud. I would have killed you!

Takeru touched his right forearm with his left hand. For the first time, Yamato saw the stained white bandage that was wrapped around the wounded forearm. He thought he could see another bandage wrapped around Takeru's chest beneath his sleeveless tunic, and one wrapped around his left hand. Many people have tried to kill me, Takeru said. Davis and I nearly killed each other the first time we met. Some of the Ishidan lords tried to execute me on sight. If I had been concerned with revenge, half of my allies and friends would be dead by now.

I could kill you right now, Yamato said in a stronger voice. I could summon my stand and have your throat ripped out before you could blink.

You could, Takeru agreed. And even I wouldn't be fast enough to stop an attack from that range.

Then why are you doing this?

When I came, I knew that this would have to start with a certain measure of trust. I might as well be the one to offer it.

You fool! Yamato shouted. If you live by that, then there is no possible way you could have survived this long, much less gained the success that you have. How?!

Takeru smiled. That, onii-chan, he said, is the gift of a stand-master. The greatest gift of all.

Yamato didn't say anything, so Takeru leaned back.

You say to the world, Takeru said, 'Only I must be strong. So in order for me to grow, the rest of you must make room for me.' That, Yamato, is what Khaydarin has taught you. And that, onii-chan, is wrong. If I followed that philosophy, you would have died by my sword six years ago, and Gaea would most likely be crushed by now.

But you obviously don't, Yamato murmured. Because I'm not dead, and Gaea is still putting up a hell of a fight.

Takeru smiled. No, I don't, he agreed. Instead, I gave of my strength to help the weaker, and they in turn, came to aid me in my times of weakness. I don't want to follow Adun, and establish an uneasy truce between separate nations. Even Adun was not satisfied with the Council, but he was powerless to change it. He wasn't the Tenken, and he knew it. The prophecies didn't concern him.

Takeru opened his hands, and gestured at the mountains around them. His voice rose with the strength of his vision.

I want to create one nation. Where the citizens of Yagami will think of the people of Fan-Tzu as their own. Where Ichijoujans will love the Shienar as their brothers. To change them, so that the eternal war for the top of the mountain will end as people see the…the futility of it all. My strength is your strength, and your weakness is my weakness.

You're a fool, Yamato said. A deluded one. You…you're nothing but a…but a farmer! You knew nothing of war, of history, of lore. Do you even know what you're proposing? How can you…how did you…

I was weak then, Takeru said. And so was Kari. We didn't know anything. We didn't know who we were. We didn't even know we had stands. But look at us now. Would you say that we are weak now?

No, Yamato answered truthfully. You are the strongest fighter I have ever seen, and the best diplomat as well. And I have heard enough about Lady Hikari to know that I should not underestimate her.

Takeru raised a finger as if he was instructing a wayward student. So, he said. How can you be sure that the people of Gaea are weak?

Because they are divided, Yamato snapped. They are petty, lacking vision and purpose.

But they are already growing, Takeru said with a smile. In time, they will be strong again. Gaea will be beautiful once more, once the old scars of hatred and fear heal over. Remember, Yamato, not only the strong deserve to be preserved. The most beautiful and the most precious things among us, are sometimes the most fragile as well.

They cannot grow that much.

I did.

Yamato stared at Takeru's completely sincere expression. Then he leaned back and laughed. You're mad, he said. You're…you're being even more ambitious than I am! You plan to achieve what Adun could not!! Conquering Gaea is one thing. Changing it, willingly, Takeru, you ask the impossible!

And why is that?

You cannot change the essence of humanity, Yamato said, shaking his head as he tried to put into words the vague conviction in his mind. I told you that the last time we met! You…you can't change who people are! At best, you will be another Adun. Your legacy will fade with time, and the Seihad will continue until the end of time. The good works of the few are invariably overwhelmed by the evil that lives on after men have died. You can't do it!

Takeru sighed. I can't do it, he said. You were right, Yamato. My way would be the fool's way, the dreamer's way, if I didn't have my faith. I believe what I cannot see, I have faith that the Creator will deliver us, his Creation. And He has not let me down so far.

You're dreaming.

Then explain how we've managed to reconcile Yagami and Sheid, Takeru challenged. Explain how I'm well on my way to reuniting Ishida. Explain how we've convinced every single leader in Gaea to attend the conference, where every one of them is deadly enemies with everyone else.

You're a good diplomat, Yamato grunted. And you were lucky.

You are a student of history and a son of Emperors. Do not insult me, Yamato. I know you're smarter than that.

Yamato opened his mouth, and…nothing came out.

In time, Takeru said, smiling again. You will understand how we did it. Or perhaps, I should say, in time you will understand how we did not-

Why are you doing this? Yamato whispered.

When Takeru frowned in confusion, Yamato looked up. The faint firelight flared briefly in the night, casting flickering shadows across Takeru's face. The pregnant silence continued, until Yamato could bear it no longer.

Why do you keep trying to convince me? he said quietly. Twice now, you have had the chance to kill me, and twice you have withheld your sword. At great risk to your life, you've come for…what? For a chance to talk to me? Why, Takeru? Why is peace between us so important to you?

Takeru looked down. For a moment, the wind stopped, as if the sky was leaning in for the young stand-master's answer. Finally, when he spoke, Yamato could barely hear him.

You should know, Yamato, he said with quiet conviction, that even if you never accept it, I love you.

Yamato sat up slightly, but Takeru continued with the dogged air of a man trying to confess something before his nerve deserted him. I love you more than I love this mortal, temporary life. There is absolutely nothing you can do to me that will change that. It doesn't matter what you've done. It doesn't matter who you've hurt or killed. If you are ready to come home, I will always be ready to forgive you. And I will always love you.

Yamato sat on the ground, stunned into silence. For a long moment, he couldn't even move or breathe as he struggled to comprehend could possibly inspire such…such unconditional love in a person. The shock numbed him to his very bones, as if those simple words had cut deeper than Takeru's sword ever could. For a long moment, Yamato could do nothing but stare at Takeru with dazed, disbelieving eyes.

Takeru seemed to understand. He didn't press for Yamato's answer. Instead, he dropped his stick and leaned back against the log he was sitting on as he waited patiently. I hope you heard me, he said, with a slight smile, because I really don't want to have to repeat that.

Yamato didn't smile. Instead, he took a deep breath, and was surprised to feel a large, leaden lump in his throat. There was a hot ache in his chest and in front of his face. His vision suddenly blurred, and Yamato blinked to clear the stinging tears in his eyes. And in some far off corner in the back of his mind, a thought kept repeating itself despite his best efforts to silence it.

The Emperor never loved me…

I…I would have killed you! Yamato repeated through a throat that was suddenly too tight to breathe through.

You are a warrior, Yamato, Takeru said. You understand only the sword. But me? I am a healer. I build what has been shattered and seek out that which has been lost. But in the end, we are both after the same thing. You see, onii-chan, your goal and mine aren't that far apart after all. Except, where you sought to accomplish your goal through conquest…I want to do it through the love the Creator has given me.

And that, Yamato, is the greatest gift of the stand-master.

Yamato sat in silence, trying to absorb what Takeru was telling him. So that was his brother's way. That was his real answer.

Love.

It was that elusive quality about Takeru that inspired those around him to fanatical loyalty. Not only to him, but to each other. Yamato had commanded respect from his men. He had inspired pride and confidence. His men had followed him into battle because they knew he would always lead them back out.

But Takeru's men would follow him to death itself without a word of complaint. If Takeru told his people to go out into battle and purposely sacrifice themselves, they would do it. Because his brother inspired all that, and more. Takeru inspired love in his men.

Takeru leaned forward slightly on his log, and for the first time Yamato caught sight of the raw emotion in his brother's eyes.

I know it's not enough, Takeru said slowly as he held out his hand, but I'm going to ask you to take a leap of faith.

I have shown you what I can in the time that we have. You now know what it is I work for. You know from where I take my strength. And most importantly, you have seen the way to the other side. You wanted what you don't have? I offer it to you now, for free. But you have to trust me that I am doing the right thing.

Yamato stared at Takeru's outstretched hand in silence. Takeru paused for a moment as he regarded his brother's expression. When he spoke again, his voice was husky with emotion. Please Yamato, he pleaded. For your own sake, I beg of you. Abandon this foolish, hopeless battle with me. Put down your sword for once, come with me...

Help me save our land. Help me move the mountain.

Yamato felt light-headed. The world was spinning around him and he felt as helpless as a leaf caught in a hurricane. Despite himself, he could not tear his gaze away from Takeru's outstretched hand, and the ray of hope that it represented. His guts seemed to wrench violently within him as everything that had ever been important to him was wrenched away a second time.

Except…

Except this time, the wrenching didn't seem quite as painful as before…

Except this time, for some reason, his shoulders felt lighter than they had ever been before…

Except this time, an incredible peace seemed to have descended upon him, as he felt himself relieved of a burden he didn't know he carried, as he finally allowed his wearied soul to halt its search. Because…

Takeru knew. He knew what he had done, the heinous crimes and massacres he had led, the countless innocents he had killed.

And yet, he loved.

Yamato's right hand slowly lifted from his side. Staring at his own hand, as if seeing it for the first time, the pilgrim watched in wonder as it reached out and took Takeru's outstretched hand.

Immediately, Takeru pulled in his brother's hand, flung his arms around Yamato's neck and embraced him. Tears flowed unabashed from Takeru's eyes and stained Yamato's shirt. Tears of relief. Tears of elation. Tears of joy.

Stunned, Yamato sat there and let his younger brother embrace him. No-one had embraced him since he was a toddler. It felt strange. Locke had been a friend, but a distant one, always held at a distance with a salute. The Emperor had been a mentor, but certainly never a friend. In his youth, his fellow soldiers had always been kept away by his cold stare, ever envious of his power, ever jealous of his brilliance. Awkwardly, he raised his hands to push his brother away, then lowered them again. Somehow, the embrace felt right. It felt safe. It awakened feelings that he didn't know he had, unlocked memories of his mother and father he thought he had lost.

And most of all, it felt comforting to know that despite all that he had done, at least one person in Gaea still loved him.

**********

Half a kilometer away, on the ridge at the very edge of Palas's second tier, Locke lowered his spy glass from his eye as the brothers embraced. Beside him, his Centurion shifted slightly to a more comfortable position on the ridge, then lowered his spy glass as well and looked at his superior, as did the twenty other cloaked men that comprised the small scouting team. Locke did not deign to reply to the officer's questioning gaze.

Tracking Takeru across Saldea had been no easy task. But now, the stand-masters were within his grasp. Even without the spy-glass, he could see the glow of Takeru's fire as plainly as if the stand-master had built a beacon specifically for him. Locke knew that, if he so wished it, he could have the entire city surrounded in half an hour. The brothers would never be able to escape.

Kill them, something whispered. Now! They're helpless! Kill them! Locke shook his head as if to clear it, then frowned.

"Yvan, did you say something?"

"Me? No sir."

Locke looked around once more, frowned, then dismissed it as his imagination. He turned his gaze back to the two stand-masters.

The mirrireid burned and tingled on his chest, and Locke realized that the metal didn't seem quite as cold as before. It was not burning with hate or rage anymore, as it did whenever Tichon touched it. Despite the evening chill and his light black cloak, Locke did not feel cold at all. Looking down, he drew the mirrireid out into the open and examined it. The violet-blue aura that seemed to surround the mirrireid at all times was glowing brightly in the dark. It was burning with joy. With peace. Locke didn't know how he knew. He just did.

Just like how he knew how to interpret every thought-shape that the two brothers had used to talk, from the beginning to the end. He had heard everything. The mirrireid made all that and more mere instinct to its bearer.

One part of him was soothed. One part of him was calmed. But the other part…

It hurts…, the voice whispered again. It burns. Sick. Ill. Weak. Destroy it now. Stop it now. Now!!

Locke frowned again. What was that? "Yvan, if you have something to say to me, say it now."

"We should go back soon, Praetor," Yvan replied softly. "We have seen what we came to see, and the Decurions will become suspicious if we stay out any longer than we already have. They won't believe us if we say we found nothing."

"That's not what you said before."

"Sir?"

"Didn't you say something?"

"No sir." Yvan looked askance at his superior. "Did you hear something?"

Locke still didn't answer. Instead, he reached up and tugged the hood of his cloak down, exposing his ears. Perhaps it had been interfering with his hearing. He shook his head uncertainly. "I…nothing Centurion. Your suggestion is noted."

He cast another glance down at the stand-masters. He raised his spy glass to his eye and looked at Yamato again. The words of six years ago came to the fore of his mind again.

"We didn't fight for Khaydarin. We…we fought for you."

If only…if only he had the time to go down and speak with his master again. If only he could be free of Tichon's watchful eye for another hour…

"Sir," Yvan said urgently. "If we do not go now, the Decurions will be suspicious."

Locke carefully retracted his spy glass and put it back into the sheath at his belt. His Centurion was right. He had seen what he had come to see. And if he had not done what he had come to do, then that would have to wait for another time.

"Then let's go, Centurion," he said as he stepped back from the ridge, and swung into the saddle of his horse. "We have work to do."

Yvan said nothing as he mounted his own horse, but Locke could feel the curiosity building in his subordinate. Wordlessly, the cloaked men behind them leapt into their saddles as well. As the Khaydarin soldiers nudged their horses and sent them racing along the ridge to return to their army, Locke felt the decision crystallizing in his own mind, forming like a solid shape in the fog.

Yamato had finally accepted Takeru's hand and had stepped off the blade's edge. It was time for him to do the same.

"Centurion," Locke said as he rode. "When we get back, I want you to discreetly assemble all the Decurions that you can trust into my tent in the morning. Make it look as if it's a routine report, but do emphasize that they should be there."

"Not all the Decurions, my Lord?" the Centurion said.

"No, not all," Locke said as he smiled. "Use your judgment."

Traitor… the voice whispered. It was more insistent now. Demanding. The countermand almost rolled off his lips before he realized what he was doing and stopped himself. But the voice continued. Betrayer. Worm. Not right. We know your thoughts. Dangerous thoughts. Useless thoughts. Traitor…

Locke sucked in a breath and clenched his teeth in frustration. He looked around wildly, then looked down. He reached into his shirt and pulled out the mirrireid.

The talisman was glimmering with a baleful red light as opposed to its usual cool blue. The metal wasn't as cold as before, but it seemed to be pulsing wrathfully. Locke stared at it for a moment longer. Then he ducked his head and slipped the talisman off his neck. With the air of a man trying an experiment, he reached down as far as he dared and slipped the talisman into the depths of his saddle bag.

The moment his fingers let go of the metal, the voice stopped. Locke took a deep breath and swallowed.

He had never know the mirrireid could do that. The Emperor was a master indeed. It would not do to underestimate Tichon ever again. Silently, he resolved never to don the mirrireid unless absolutely necessary. He could only hope that the Emperor had not heard the mirrireid's fell voice.

Straightening up in his saddle, Locke cast one final glance at the mountain's crater. Then he cantered forward. "We're going to be talking treason tomorrow," he said to his Centurion, his voice tinged with quiet certainty. "Choose those that you don't think will react…adversely. We'll have to watch our step from now on."

**Author's notes: *wipes forehead* This was a tough chapter to write, as you can imagine. Well, I can only hope you liked it. I spent a lot of time on…well…everything. And so did my editors, Kari and Hell's Hauntress. Give'em a hug when you see'em! They've been a huge help, and without them this chapter wouldn't be what it is now.

Preview of chapter eight: the stand-masters finally meet face-to-face again after years of separation at Ardinberg, but will they accept Yamato into their ranks as Takeru apparently has? And, as a special bonus feature, there is a Takari scene next chapter! A…uh…long one. So, stay tuned!