A/N: Hey! Hope everyone is doing well - it's a bit silly, but I'm honestly a bit shocked that people remembered this fic aha. I hope you enjoy all the chapter!

Tales of Symphonia © Namco

You would think that, when faced with civilization for the first time in days, I might feel something … positive. Relief, if nothing else.

Instead, all there is, is dread.

Ever since her slip-up about the king, Sheena has been fairly quiet, offering nothing of further use. As far as she knows, I know nothing. … And, honestly, even with what I do know, I may as well know nothing.

Still, despite my dampened mood, Meltokio is a sight to behold.

Dressed in swathes of lanterns, lights strung up around buildings and pillars and across high archways, it's impossible to deny its grandiosity. Meltokio is nothing like the cities on Earth, but it's still no less impressive. With children running underfoot and groups bustling around, there's a constant chatter humming in the air, surprisingly comforting after so many days of relative silence.

The city square stretches out in the distance, brighter than this lower level and, it's strange; in a way, it almost feels like … home.

… It's a sobering realization.

"Wow … it isn't always this busy, is it?"

"Not usually," Sheena replies. I have to keep close to her to avoid being swept away by the crowds. "Every year, Meltokio holds a festival to celebrate the princess' birthday. People flock from all across Tethe'alla to partake in the celebrations … and the noble women use it as an excuse to dress up in their gaudy outfits."

"Oh." How interesting. "How long does it last?"

Sheena hums in thought. "Let's see … today should be the 23rd, meaning we're about three days into the celebration. The 28th should be the last day."

"So a week?"

She nods.

Even standing as close to her as I am, it's impossible to avoid bumping shoulders with strangers as we go. The contact sets something alight beneath my skin, nervous and shaky with each little touch; a persistent itch that I can't scratch. "Um …" I hesitate, unsure whether I want to even finish the thought. "If, if it's okay … can we look around tonight?"

"Hm? Are you interested?"

"A bit … I've never seen something so," I think for a moment, attempting to figure out the best description. "Extravagant? So, I just wanted to look around …"

"You can go out." I frown and, when she notices, she asks, "Do you want me to come with you?"

Regret curls in my throat, just as painful as the crowds—because, of course. How stupid of me to ask; of course, Sheena wouldn't want to spend her single free evening exploring with a teenager. One she doesn't even know; just a stupid little tagalong.

"Sorry. I-I just meant—" Despite the tightness in my throat, the blaring warning signal in my head to stop talking, for some God-forsaken reason I continue. "I've never been to Meltokio; … I don't know my way around, so I'll probably end up lost on my own. But that doesn't—that doesn't mean you have to come with me, I don't want to be a bother—"

"Relax," Sheena interrupts. My mouth snaps shut. "You don't have to apologize. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to look around; we still have a couple of hours until it's dark."

"Are you sure …?"

"Yeah, I'll come."

Reluctantly, I nod. Whether she's agreeing out of pity or some strange sense of obligation, I don't know, but … despite the guilt curled in my throat, it's impossible to ignore the relief there, too. At least I won't be alone.

… It's strange. I've never minded solitude yet suddenly—for some reason, the thought of wandering around alone, on my own, in this city; I can't help but shudder, as if something deep inside me has rejected the idea.

She props the door of the inn open when we reach it, allowing it to slam shut behind us once we're inside. The receptionist's face twists into something unpleasant as we approach and, while Sheena seems to appear unfazed, I can't help but feel uncomfortable seeing such an open look of contempt being thrown in my direction.

I move to retrieve the pouch from my bag, starting, "I have money—"

"Nah, it's fine. Don't worry about it, I'll pay."

I frown, chewing on the inside of my cheek, wanting nothing more than to push back. In the end, though, I decide it isn't worth the effort. No reason to draw extra attention toward me if I can avoid it; I really do need to stay as inconspicuous as possible.

"Thank you," I say, when she hands one of the keys to me. "I'm sorry for the trouble—"

"It's not any trouble." As we ascend the stairs, she continues, "We're in room 15C, on the third floor. I paid in advance for a few days so you'll have somewhere to stay while you figure out what to do."

"… Thanks."

What a waste. The stairs creak beneath our feet. Just wonderful.

The only thing on the third floor, beyond a few plants, is a singular maid. Immediately, the very moment the door is open, I hurry over to one of the beds and collapse face-first into it with a groan. "I've missed beds … so nice, so comfortable …"

It's heaven. To think, just a few days of travelling would make a bed feel so good.

"We can head out whenever you're ready." Sheena's shoulders relax as she leans back into the pillows and I hear a sigh of relief escape her lips, further compounding the sour taste in my throat. "Just let me know when you want to go."

I spare a glance around the room itself. It's nice; nicer than I expected, honestly. With plants scattered about the room and the cream-white curtains drawn back, the setting sun casts the room in a soft, orange hue.

If only it were comforting.

Chasing daylight feels so incredibly futile—I only have one chance, after all. Can I really afford to waste it wandering around Meltokio when I could be resting? When I could be thinking? Brainstorming?

Suddenly, the thought of going out for the night isn't nearly as fun as it initially seemed. A part of me wants nothing more than to kick off my shoes, curl up in bed, and fall asleep. Perhaps I'd wake up in my room—You won't.—on Earth.

I won't. The thought comes without permission, invasive, loud. Simply a fact. It isn't even worth considering; the only thing that will come with indulging that wish is disappointment.

"Um, Sheena?" I can't bring myself to look away from the curtains, tracing out the outline of softening clouds on the horizon. My heart pounds in my throat, so loud I can barely hear my own voice. "I think—"

I think I want to stay here. I don't want to go out anymore.

I just want to lie down and not get up; I don't want to be alone.

… I'm really, really scared.

"… I think I'll be ready to go soon." The words feel awful as they come out and, suddenly, my exhaustion is magnified. "Sorry for the wait …"

Her response is drowned out by my own heartbeat as my eyes catch on the bare skin of my palms, the ugly scarring that reaches up, up, up, into the sleeves of this tunic, and not for the first time I find myself wondering, What happened?

One moment I was at home. One moment I was on Earth, with a body I recognized. One moment I was someone …

… And the next moment I was someone else.

Can I really do this? I shudder, swallowing, hating the sudden press of tears behind my eyes. Why is this happening? Why me?

The thoughts are so useless, so futile—yet they come anyway, invasive like mint or poison ivy. No matter how hard I try to find the root there's nothing to grasp. It's too large, too profound, too, too, too—

Breathe in. I blink, feeling wetness on my cheeks, then close my eyes. Despite the rapidly growing stuffiness in my throat and nose, I don't sniffle; I can't. I can't allow Sheena to see me like this. Hold.

It's a pattern to fall into; breathe in, hold, release. In, hold, release. In, hold …

… Pretend it doesn't hurt to breathe, because to do otherwise would be giving in.

And then, suddenly, it's morning.

I blink drowsily, burying into the covers with a groan. I'm—

Where am I?

Slowly, the blanks begin to fill once more. Meltokio; Tethe'alla; Sheena.

When did I fall asleep?

My last memory was—reaching the inn, laying down, and preparing to get up and drag Sheena through the festival. Yet here I am, awake in a room with sunlight softening the corners and the morning light blanketing my skin, so gentle it's almost comforting.

"I fell asleep …?" While Sheena's bed is empty, thankfully her bag is exactly where she left it the night before. It's so strange—I've only known her for a few days and yet, somehow, her presence has already become … comfortable. I can't imagine dealing with this mess of a situation on my own; to wake up and see she had already left would be a punch in the gut.

I swallow dryly, because—Really, how pathetic.

Passing out the second I laid down—and cried—after all but begging Sheena to go out and explore with me is so—so horrifying that I muffle a scream with one of the pillows, desperately attempting to remember what happened the night before. I don't remember moving, much less crawling under the covers—had Sheena moved me?

… God, I hope not. I might actually die on the spot if she did.

"Ugh …" I groan, burying my face further into the pillow. "Why … seriously, why?"

Eventually, I manage to beat away the horror just long enough to drag myself out of bed and into the attached bathroom.

I find myself staring into the mirror as I wash my face, water splattering against the porcelain. It's a strange sight, unnerving for some reason I can't place. The person in the mirror is me; despite the shorter hair and different clothes, it's undeniably me. Tan skin, black hair, and light blue—No, brown.—eyes. My bangs are the same, even if the overall length of my hair isn't.

I glance down, catching the scars once more, struggling to feel much of anything beyond muted, abject discomfort. Not for the first time, I find myself wondering what happened. Why I'm here. What brought me here.

There's a shower too, but—Do I have enough time to shower? What time is it, even; when will Sheena be back?

Still though, after days of travelling the grime is almost unbearable, the stringiness of my hair—which, while never particularly thick or luscious, has never been flat—the itchiness of my skin; an unbearable combination of sensations that leaves me wanting nothing more than to crawl out of my own skin.

In the end, I reach out to turn on the showerhead.

By the time I exit the bathroom Sheena has returned, seated at the table with a cup of … something in front of her and a bored expression. "Good morning," I greet, offering an awkward wave.

"Good morning," she offers back, smiling lightly. "It's about time you woke up." I hesitate, eyeing the chair across from her, before slipping into it. The exhaustion from the day before returns with a vengeance, worse than when I woke up that morning—worse than when I stepped under the showerhead.

"Uh … so. I fell asleep last night, right? … I'm sorry." My voice is low, embarrassed. I can't bring myself to look at anything but the table. "I went and begged you to come out and explore with me, only to go and pass out—"

"It's fine," she replies, cutting off what would have inevitably become some self-depreciative ramble on my end. "You must have been really tired."

I admit, "I'm still tired."

"That's what happens when you sleep too long—it's just as bad as not sleeping enough."

I shrug, dropping my head into my folded arms with a sigh. "I just need some coffee."

"Coffee?" I make a noise that's approximately an agreement. "Well, there's coffee in the kitchen downstairs. Breakfast and kitchen use are included with the room." I glance up at that, blinking. "You should go and get something to eat before you leave today."

"Um, maybe later."

She takes a drink from her cup while I drop my head once more, sighing softly. Today is the day; today is the day I decide my fate.

Today is my only chance.

It snuck up so fast. When I first woke up on Tethe'alla, Meltokio was so far away; it seemed like we might never make it. The days passed unbearably slowly; I had so much time to think, to figure out what to do.

Then, suddenly, the gates were right in front of me and three days were gone in an instant, with the snap of a finger. Those long days seemed so short in hindsight, gone before I realized they were over; a simple blip in an endless stream. I have no contingency plan; no plan at all, really. Storming the castle doesn't count.

Eventually, I somehow find my voice again. "What time is it?"

Sheena hums. "A bit before eleven."

"Oh." It dawns on me that I never got a chance to ask what time her meeting was at—and, God, if I didn't already have enough to worry about; I don't even have a basic idea of what to expect. How much time to allot to this destined-to-fail plan of mine.

What do I do, what should I do—

What can I do?

"Yeah, I definitely slept too long," I continue, sighing once more. "Ugh, I'm so drowsy … I'm really sorry."

"It's fine, Eden." For some reason, the sound of my own name startles me. "You don't have to keep apologizing—it's not a big deal."

" … Okay." It's hard to agree, but I force myself to anyway. Better not to irritate Sheena simply because I can't settle my own anxiety. I hesitate again, considering whether or not it's a good idea to ask and, in the end—well, I decide; I might as well. After all, it's not like I can put myself in any worse of a spot—

"What time is your meeting?"

—And immediately my shoulders stiffen, breath catching in my throat—tight, constricting, a vice-grip as something crawls ominously beneath my skin. Quickly, frantically, I stammer out, "Sorry, you don't have to answer," ignoring the awful crack in my voice. Stupid, how stupid of me—"I-I know it's high profile. I'm sorry—"

"Relax," the relative … kindness in her voice is enough to shock me into silence, despite her obvious exasperation. "It's fine, it's just a question." Still, it takes her several moments to speak again. "My meeting is at one."

That leaves only two hours until the meeting. Dismay curls in my stomach, hot and sour, but the lack of anger is enough to soothe the worst of my anxiety. Is that enough time?

At this rate, it really does appear that I have no choice but to find a way to break into the castle, and—God if the thought doesn't leave another cold sweat breaking out across my back. Can I even hope to succeed, or is doing so too naive?

Eventually, after what is somehow an eternity and a second, my emotions settle enough to drag myself to my feet and back over to the bed. After messily pulling the sheets back into place I settle on the edge and pull my shoes on, then gather up my bag.

"Ready to go?" Sheena asks, once I've risen to my feet once more. I nod. "Let's go then. I'll show you the way to the shopping district; it's easy to get lost in Meltokio."

"You don't …" My voice trails off. Sheena stands as well, tossing the now empty cup in the garbage can before moving to gather her own things. "Thanks."

Sheena returns her own key to the front desk as we leave. Thankfully, the streets are far less crowded than they were the night before—rather than having to swallow the discomfort of brushing shoulders with a stranger, I can actually walk without worrying about bumping into anyone.

We trace our path from the night earlier until we reach the stairwell leading to the upper levels. All around us are vendors already setting up for the day and I realize—I didn't actually miss out on much of anything by falling asleep. The thought of being caught up in a wave of crowds with vendors on all sides, packed up like a can of sardines—… No thanks.

The bridge we cross offers a direct view into one of Meltokio's various residential districts and my eyes immediately catch on the park nestled in the center, tracing the outline of shrubbery and flowers as we go. The third level of Meltokio extends far above us, with towering stone and houses—it really is a sight to behold, especially in the daylight.

"This is the shopping district," Sheena starts, eventually; and despite myself, I can't help but blink in surprise when I catch sight of it. I hadn't expected much; a few shops, maybe. But it really is a shopping district; boutiques, cafes, souvenir shops—an open market, even.

"Wow," I say, lamely, "it's big …"

"I tend to only come here for accessories and gels," Sheena tells me. "But you shouldn't have a hard time finding whatever you're looking for."

Whatever I'm looking for? Her words leave my brow furrowing in confusion but, rather than asking her to elaborate, I instead swallow my nerves and force myself to speak. "Thank you for the help, Sheena. Not just for showing me around, but also for—"

For helping me get here. For not leaving me alone; for being kind.

"Just, … thanks, for everything."

Something odd flashes across her expression but before I can hope to decipher it, it's already gone. "Yeah, no problem—be careful, okay? Watch out for pickpockets; and if you ever see a guy with long red hair, turn around and walk away."

"Long red hair?" Is she talking about Zelos? "Okay, I will. Um, thank you. Again."

She turns on her heel to leave—and suddenly, before I can stop myself, I call out to her one final time. "Wait—Sheena, will I—" She looks back at me. "W-Will I ever see you again?"

The question, of course, is nothing but a farce. Whether I succeed or fail at weaselling my way to Sylvarant, at the very least I'll meet her again when the party returns to Tethe'alla. Still, though—as far as Sheena knows, I'll simply disappear into the crowds of Meltokio and never be seen again.

… It's so strange. It's only been a few days and yet for some reason, somehow, I've already grown so attached. So comfortable in her presence. Almost like—… like the way one might feel about an older sister. A friend.

A friend … it's probably too early for that, I think. All I am is some annoying teenager.

… What a fool.

It takes a few seconds, but Sheena does eventually respond. "I … I don't know," she admits. "I can't guarantee I'll come back from my mission." I wince, and she's quick to continue with, "But if I do, I'll try and find you. After all—maybe you'll have remembered something by then."

Ah, right. My memory. Neither of us had brought it up since, well, we met in that field, but it's plainly obvious that Sheena believes I have some form of amnesia. And … honestly, I'm not exactly eager to tell her otherwise.

It won't last forever, I know, especially if I somehow—miraculously—succeed. The amount of scrutiny I'll be subjected to already leaves a chill on the back of my neck and I haven't even reached the starting line yet. "Okay," I finally reply. "I'll look forward to it."

She nods and offers a small smile and a wave before going on her way. Only after she's out of sight do I turn towards the shopping district, thinking of the empty bag and massive coin pouch, before resigning myself to a miserable shopping session.

The first thing I search for is a pair of gloves.

Long gloves.

The sight of my hands and arms leaves my stomach twisting into a knot; I want nothing more than to hide them away, because they aren't me. I'm not scarred up like this, I'm not marked up. I'm not—

I'm not supposed to be here.

I force back a shudder and squeeze my eyes shut, breathing in deeply. Now is not the time. Not in public, in the middle of the day, with a deadline looming overhead. No; I don't have enough time to panic.

Still, it's far easier said than done—so much easier to tell myself to breathe, to bite my lip and ignore the tightness of my throat as jitters squirm beneath my skin. It's okay, I attempt, feeling a magnitude of eyes on my back, judgemental, prying, malicious—

When I turn, there's no one; no eyes peering back at me. Still, the feeling remains, and I slap my cheeks a few times in hopes that the pain might put me back in place. "Get it together already … there's nothing wrong."

Focus on your mission. I take a moment, just one, to breathe. You can panic after. You can be afraid after—but not now.

Eventually, I manage to find a decent pair of gloves—fully fingered, reaching well past my forearm, covering the worst of the scarring. The colour even matches my tunic, which is a massive relief, and my eyes catch on the shoes as I pass the lineup.

For a moment, I consider looking. These current ones, after all—well, they aren't bad, but … they're definitely not comfortable. A glance at the clock shows it's already nearing 11:45—and accompanying the realization is a sharp jolt because I'm almost out of time. I haven't even looked for any sort of weapon yet, or bought anything related to general survival.

I do end up moving over to look at the shoes—it's such an incredibly disgusting feeling, sliding off my own off and trying on several fresh pairs; but in the end, it does pay off. The boots I settle on feel so much better—looser around the toe with actual traction, and even a bit of heel. I'm so short that any little centimetre makes a difference.

I add on a pack of socks, underwear, and several tank tops before hurrying over to the counter. The woman behind the counter cocks a brow and I quickly ask, "Um, you're—you're open, right?"

"Yep." I rummage through my bag for the coin pouch as she totals everything up. "You owe me 14,132 gald."

"14,132 …" I don't remember things being so expensive in the game. Then again, the only things stores sold were armour and weapons. Meltokio, after all, is the capital of Tethe'alla—it shouldn't come as much of a surprise that things are expensive here. "Sorry."

I should have looked first. Thankfully, it doesn't take long to fish out the appropriate amount of gald and hand it over. The woman doesn't say anything as she counts it out and unlocks a safe to deposit the money—not until it's closed again. "68 gald is your change."

I mutter out a low, "Thanks," as I put away my change, then shove the coin pouch, undergarments, and clothes into my bag.

"Thanks, come again."

Only after changing shoes and slipping on the gloves do my shoulders finally begin to relax. Being able to look down at my skin and not be overwhelmed with confusion is a huge relief. Admittedly, with the humid summer air, it is a bit uncomfortable to have so much fabric against my skin—but a bit of heat is far preferable to, well … seeing those scars.

It takes a bit too long to find the traveller's shop, but when I do it's filled to the brim with a vast array of everything someone might need. Bed rolls, tents, individual blankets; things I should purchase, except—how could I even store something so large?

In the end, I do settle upon a singular blanket that somehow, when I fold it to test its thickness—despite how heavy it feels, is just small enough to fit. Cheap, too, which is always a plus.

The blanket and gels come up to a total of just over 9,000 gald. This time it's a bit easier to pick out the individual coins, though I can't help but blush when I feel the shopkeeper's eyes on me, scrutinizing, judging.

12:26, the clock by the door reads—and in an instant the blood has drained from my face. How could I have wasted so much time? I don't even have an hour left to figure out a way to into the castle—a way to break into the castle.

I can't afford to waste any more time. A weapon, it appears, will have to wait.

The moment my feet touch the third level I immediately distance myself from the stairs, not sparing a single glance at the surrounding scenery. Standing around gawking like a tourist will only attract unnecessary attention and that is not something I want to worry about right now.

Storming the castle—Out.

Sneaking into the castle—There's no obvious way in.

Bribing a guard—Absolutely no chance.

Presea randomly showing up out of nowhere to help—As if.

Slowly, cautiously, I approach the gardens that lead to the church. Pollen tickles my nose and for a moment it feels like I might sneeze—overhead a bell chime rings out, crisp and clean in the afternoon air and suddenly I remember something about a secret passageway in the Pope's office that led to the castle. Provided he isn't in there, it shouldn't theoretically be too difficult …

I bite back a groan while weaving through well-trimmed shrubbery until my only companions are the gates and greens and the walls of the church. Why must it be so difficult? Why couldn't I have just been dropped in Sylvarant instead? At least there I could try exploiting Lloyd and Colette's friendly nature … at least I'd have a chance.

After all, all it took for Sheena to join them was her desire to extract revenge on the Desians; I could have done the exact same thing. Come up with some lie that Kratos and Raine can't pick at without any evidence, except—… though, actually, considering Sheena and I share similar physical traits, that alone might have been enough to cast suspicion on me.

There's really no easy way out of this, I think to myself, crouching low and wrapping my arms around my waist, swallowing bitterly. I'm doomed no matter what I do.

I count the minutes in my head, blinking my eyes closed and listening to the chirp of birds and leaves rustling in the air, the occasional breeze that washes across my skin. Five, ten, eleven—at fifteen I get to my feet once more and round the shrubbery, before beginning the arduous trek up the steep stairs that lead to the cathedral, forcing myself to stand steady.

The doors are heavy against my palms as I push my way in. They close at my back as I step past the very furthest pews, a resounding yet soft thump that vibrates throughout my bones. Succinct steps, heels against well-polished marble, a soft tap, tap, tap that echoes against wooden pews before I finally come to a stop, just meters away from the podium. To my right are several doors and a hallway—to my left, a single, ornate door and a second, unmarked door.

The plaque above the ornate door confirms that it leads to the Pope's office and I spare another look around me, taking in the silence—the complete emptiness of the church, devoid of any clergymen or followers of Martel, the shadow of the sun through a wall of stained glass as I approach, my knees trembling.

I swallow—then send a single prayer to a God I don't believe in before wrapping my hand around the doorknob and twisting it open—

—Empty.

"It's … unlocked." Disbelief swells in my chest and I spare another glance over my shoulder, half expecting someone to lunge out of the shadows and grab me. Yet, as the seconds tick on it remains just as quiet, just as empty. "Okay. Okay, I-I can work with this—this is good."

How could he be so careless? I shut the door soundlessly behind me as I enter and cast my gaze upwards to the bookshelves. There had been a button, or something similar in the game …

I step around the desk carefully and graze my fingers against the spine of the books, pressing gently in hopes of triggering some switch to unearth the passageway; first at arm's level, then at ground level—finally, as high as I can reach, stretching up on my tiptoes—

Something clicks and depresses beneath my fingers.

There's a great tremble as the ground rumbles; a harsh grind of wood dragged across the floor, scraping the insides of my ears like nails on a chalkboard. By the time it settles once more—the chord in my stomach is tight, drawn taut, poised like the string of a bow, ready to snap. A part of me screams to turn around and check that no one is coming; that the Papal Knights aren't about to break down the door and drag me to the dungeons.

Another part screams to run before they can drag me away—and that one, thankfully, is the one that wins out; so without another thought, I step forward into the darkness and hope for the best.

A/N: Thanks for reading!