Scene 2

My Father's Keeper

He awoke.

His chest hurt, damnably so. To draw breath was to suck in a small shield. Shield...He groaned, blinking rapidly to clear his gray vision. Something lay on him, probably what contributed to his discomfort. Cold. Steel. Small. Round. Like a shield...

In fact, it was.

Kain bolted upright. Or as best he could, considering that a mound of snow and ten pounds of metal lay sprawled on his chest. Working diligently, the dragoon freed himself, panting from the exertion. Then he stared, baffled, at the dragon-engraved shield gleaming in the sun. Why was that on him? What had happened? Where was Cecil?

Cecil!

That mere thought sent a rivulet of shock through Kain's spine. Frantically, he hurled his fists into the hard-packed snow, clawing with his fingers. The moment before blacking out came sharply to him, as sharp as any spear he'd wielded. Cecil had tossed the shield at him, effectively throwing him in the clear—or near clear, anyway—and took the brunt of the blast himself.

"Oh, help me god, if you die Cecil..." the dragoon muttered, his face stinging in the wind. "I'll, I'll..."

What would he do? What would he tell Rosa? The possibility was simply too horrifying to consider. At Cecil's fall from the Enterprise, Kain acted instantly and, thus, had no time to contemplate failure. But, here, now, the more time passed, the higher chance of finding Cecil...dead.

"...Kain..."

Faint, yes. But still. The dragoon's keen ears deciphered the origin and tore into a nearby snow dune. The cold burned his navy eyes and his arms ached, but that couldn't stop him. For all he knew that single syllable was the last Cecil would ever utter in this lifetime. Not since childhood had Kain cried, but if he had to face Owen and Rosa after delivering the paladin's cold body to them...

Then, he felt it. The movement in the snow. Like a burial shroud, Cecil struggled in the snow. Kain dug faster until he feared his heart would burst. Having spent the better part of his self-exiled five years climbing the mountains, he'd often heard the grim tales of travelers perishing in avalanches. Still, Kain had never figured the paladin would be end up as one of those tales.

Fortunately, Cecil was momentarily spared that fate. One arm emerged from the snow, followed shortly by the other. Kain gleefully grabbed each with a hand and pulled. Like hauling a wall down, it was. Barely waiting to catch his breath, the dragoon tried again. If he could just manage to bring Cecil's face to the surface...

Then the hands went limp.

"No, Cecil! Damn you, don't die! Don't give up now!" His voice broke, horrified, as his hands ran through the paladin's cold, still fingers. "Damn you, Cecil, get up. Think of Rosa. Of Owen. Of me...Of how I'll never return to Baron unless you wake up. I swear I won't if—"

As if on cue, the hands came to life. Kain's heart leapt to life with them, and he renewed his efforts. Soon, he'd dragged the king's face through the snow, and with it, his entire body. It was like a frozen stalagmite as Kain hauled him a few feet away to assess the paladin's injuries. Cecil was barely coherent, his eyes glassy as he muttered something about his leg.

That's when the dragoon glanced down. And gasped. A gash of about fourteen inches long sprouted blood from Cecil's right leg. That's not what froze Kain's breath, however. It was the gleaming bone protruding at an odd angle from the wound. Kain had seen similar wounds on the battlefield. Few ever survived. The break, though undoubtedly excruciatingly painful, wouldn't kill. The blood loss might, though.

With all the gentleness afforded a warrior, Kain settled the paladin closer to an outcropping to shield him from the wind. Kain's hand shook, from the shock or cold, he knew naught which, as he ripped the paladin's pristine ivory cape and wrapped the torn cloth around his wound. Scarcely minutes later it was no longer white, rather the color of melted rose petals dripping onto snow.

Hardly sufficient to stall the bleeding, yet for now that would have to do.

Damnation. What am I to do? He could stomach the thought of his own death—after all, what had he to lose, to leave behind? Nothing but a trail of betrayal and legacy of lies. But Cecil...the man of the world. His death would be a terrible blow to the Kingdom of Baron and a grave loss for Rosa and their son.

Their son. Cecil's and Rosa's. A twinge of envy coursed his veins. Oh, not of Cecil's 'getting the girl'. Kain had had time to reach closure about that. Though the dragoon would always feel irked at being passed over, he no longer felt the longing. No, in his veins was the kind of envy anyone has for someone so gifted, so blessed.

Stop that right now, Kain Highwind. Cecil lay there, fighting for his life and what am I doing? Begrudging the man his fortune? Unbecoming one of the highly respected dragoons...

Throwing Cecil's arm over his shoulder, Kain half-dragged, half-carried the paladin to the nearest shelter, that of the Temple of Klu-Ya. For the five years he'd spent exploring the terrain, the dragoon had never set foot inside of the stone-and-glass temple on the apex of the mountain. Not that he hadn't tried.

One day curiosity overcame him, and Kain approached the stone pillars. What had seemed like a doorway was actuality a frozen wall, invisible to the eye. He struck the glass like a bird in fight making for a rather comical display. But Kain had not laughed. Something about the aura alienated him. He'd felt unwanted, uninvited, an outsider.

But there he must go. Cecil needed shelter and Kain admitted to himself that he'd naught the strength to carry his friend to his hut at the base of the mountain. Each step he took nearer the temple set his nerves on fire, every alarm sounding in his head. Kain dismissed them. What choice had he when protection from the elements might mean the difference life and death for Cecil?

Oddly enough, this time, the wall did not repel him. Instead, he passed with ease. Cecil slumped and the dragoon heaved him up into his arms, carrying him fully. Fading in and out of consciousness, the paladin barely appeared knowledgeable of his surroundings. Though passing out would probably spare Cecil of what the dragoon could only imagine as insidious agony, Kain jostled the paladin for fear he'd never awake.

Kain winced as he heard his own footsteps, like the clash of steel over a gravesite. Never before had the dragoon bore witness to inside of the Temple of Klu-Ya. On their journey, Cecil had often spoke about his encounter with his father in the temple, his voice hushed, his eyes shining. Easily understandable, considering the staggering beauty of the polished mirror walls, the translucent floor and likewise ceiling. For Cecil, the experience had brought him peace...something Kain couldn't claim for himself.

And how could he? Cecil learned of a father who'd been instrumental in Zemus' first downfall. In the second, Cecil himself lead the assault on the Crystal Fortress, felling the creature his father had imprisoned years before. And what of Kain's legacy? A disgraced dragoon for a father, one who'd run out on his family shortly after Kain tenth birthday.

Cecil, the blessed; Kain, the cursed. The way of the world.

As he lowered the paladin to the floor, he whispered, "Let's not linger here." He spoke partly to keep Cecil conscious but also to chase away his dark thoughts. "I don't like this place. Something feels...not quite right." Frowning at his own vagueness, Kain distracted himself by cleaning Cecil's wound.

He tore off more of the paladin's cape, wiping the blood away from a cut on Cecil's forehead. Several strands of silver-gold hair stuck to the injury, annoying the dragoon. Then he chuckled at the odd color. "Cecil, Cecil, Cecil. You still wear that awful drag. Whatever will I do with you?"

As he hoped, the paladin muttered some response. Kain couldn't for the life of him decipher what was said, but the mere answer indicated Cecil's wakefulness. Kain grimaced as he stared at the bone, realizing what must be done. The bone needed to be set right before the dragoon could probably dress the wound. Kain had done so before, had set three legs and an arm in various battles in fact, but those people had been in far superior health than Cecil.

"If anything will keep you awake this will..." Hesitating certainly wouldn't aid the situation, so Kain leapt into the task full force. With one hand he hauled the glove off his other hand and shoved it between the paladin's teeth. "Bite down on this when it hurts." Then he quickly grabbed the white bone and tried to adjust it to its originating position.

As drops of red wine, blood splattered several tiles and Kain's gloved and ungloved hands. Cecil's eyes flew open, disturbing the dragoon. Remarkably, Baron's king remained calm, his breath coming in short gasps. A messy task, and certainly not one of Kain's favorites. At the last instant his hand slipped, and the bone adjusted improperly. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the paladin was too out of it to care.

"Damn it, man. I'm almost done. Hang in there." Realigning the white bone into its correct position, Kain wrapped the cloth back on the leg. He was glad to be finished with the grisly business. Shaking his hands clean (or somewhat, anyway) then the dragoon hoisted Cecil's head on a pillow made of the paladin's own torn cape.

"My gratitude, for saving his life."

Kain's jaw unhinged as his body jerked halfway. "What...Who?"

"I said thank you. Thank you for patching up his leg and returning him to me."

"Who...are...you?" Then Kain glanced at the far wall, its ceiling to floor mirror shimmering like polished silver.

The voice belonged to a man trapped behind the glass. Like those white knights in fairy tales, he was tall, magnificent and regal. As he gazed upon Kain, his bright white hair gleamed in the reflected light of his plate mail armor. His resemblance to Cecil was singularly striking—one might have placed a mirror before the paladin and the reflection would have been this man. "Klu...Lo?" Kain's tongue stumbled with the complex syntax of the lunarian language.

As a torch flaring to life, the man's smile lit up the room. "Klu-Ya. It is wonderful to finally meet you, Kain Highwind. I've heard of the great yarns your adventures have spun." He extended his arms, imploring, like a mother begging for her babe. "Come, here, bring me my son."

The request seemed quite reasonable; the result immediately obvious. Yet, Kain's scalp tingled with alarm. Some innate dragoon sense warned him about Klu-Ya. Kain failed to understand why. The man longed to look upon his son again. Didn't that make perfect sense?

Too perfect, in fact...

As he gathered the limp body of the paladin in his arms, Kain ignored his discomfort. Or tried to, anyway. Each step made him cringe. To him, this was as much as delivering his friend to some fiend of the nether-world. He took another step. And another. One. Two. Three. Four. Five...all toward the exit.

"Where are you taking my son!?"

"Out of here," the dragoon called over a shoulder, for not even the man's distraught voice would halt him now. "He needs the sort of medical attention only a white wizard can give. Do not fear, I will return with him shortly." If you consider never any time soon.

He continued talking, hoping to distract the man. "I know a good white wizard. She'll have him up and about in no time." The words crumpled as stone dust, but Kain barely cared. All he knew was that he must escape with Cecil before...

...the door shut.

For long moments, Kain hung his head. Breathing deeply, he lowered Cecil to the floor. Then, his face twisted in fury, the dragoon slammed his fists on the beautiful steel-and-glass doors. A fruitless task, for the doors had been created thousands of years ago and could not be forced by normal mortal means.

"Come back here, Kain. Bring Cecil. I'll not hurt either of you. Just trust me." The tone was soft, sibilant and Kain flinched at the sound.

"No."

"Come here or else..."

The dragoon's head snapped up, blue eyes flashing. "Or else what? You can't do much trapped behind the glass like that..."

In the midst of the argument, Cecil stirred. "Kain, who...who are...you talking to?" He climbed to a sitting position, wincing from the pain. As his eyes fully adjusted, they traveled from the shadowed visage of Kain to the irked face of Klu-Ya. He gasped, struggling to reach his feet. The dragoon read the eager expression on his face, the tinge of hope in his voice...

"Father..."

"No, Cecil, don't!"

He might as well been shouting at a wall. Certainly Cecil heard no more than one. Blood oozing from his reopened wound, the paladin staggered toward his father. Klu-Ya's voice rose in joyous victory—each step his son made, that voice intensified. Kain hurried over to block his friend's path.

"Move, Kain," Cecil muttered through gritted teeth. When the dragoon refused to do so, Cecil shoved him hard. Kain had not anticipated the action and stumbled backwards. Hardly enough to truly hurt the dragoon, considering the plate mail armor he bore and Cecil's frail condition, still it was enough to set off his balance and give the paladin space.

"Yes, my son, come. I've been waiting. Sorrow fills me..."

"Again? Why? I don't understand..." He stood inches from the glass, his image semi-imposed on his father's. "Whatever evil in my soul do I have left to atone for?"

He lifted a hand to the face.

Five fingers touched the surface.

The surface rippled erratically.

"Sorrow—at what I must do to you!"

A demon hand burst through the glass, seizing Cecil's wrist. The paladin instantly screamed, the sort of sound that, had the glass been composed of less durable material, would have shattered the walls, ceiling, and floor. Cecil's eyes rolled in the back of his head and he slumped to his knees.

"Stay back!"

Kain froze. The voice that emanated from the mirror was no longer benevolent, nor human. Its grating sound reminded the dragoon of rusted steel against bricks. Its blood-red eyes feasted upon Cecil's pained face. Something about that grin unsettled Kain. Something he'd seen ages ago...

"Kain, take not one step nearer or your friend dies. I never approved of your friendship with him, anyway. I always knew he'd be the ruin of you. Look at you, this man's lapdog..."

Time broke. Past and present merged. Though his feet remained on the solid mirror floor, the image disappeared in his mind. There he saw a tall, blond, hard-face man towering over him. A man that had never approved him. A man that had broken his spirit years ago. And there he stood again, lording over him as a simple child...

"Father, it's been a while..."