Chrono Cross Second Journey

Fan Novelization

1   The Tides Begin to Turn

The sun hung high in the sky above the white fluffy clouds in an unusually warm afternoon.

Serge turned around to see before him a magnificent building, an unfamiliar structure. Circled by a range of tall mountains, it was a stronghold, a fortress, as if it sat right at the heart of a huge crater. Six statues of dragons, erected strategically around the fortress, amplified the majesty.

His legs carried him towards the building as if they had a mind of their own. A magical platform below himself elevated and carried him up. The door cranked as it struggled to slide open along its old and rusty tracks. Three figures beside him ran out into the long hallway before him. One was a lady in red with a blonde ponytail, another young who donned the armor of a knight. The third was his childhood friend, Leena. The three of them stopped and turned to Serge, looking extremely concerned.

"What is it, Serge? You look troubled. This is it. There is no turning back now!" Leena said.

"Oi! Come on, Serge, Leena!" The slender girl in red yelled. She turned around, facing down the hallway. "Just you wait, Lynx!  Today's gonna be the day of reckoning! Say your prayers! Not that it'll do you any good!"

The young girl boomed a victorious laughter that echoed down the hallway.

"Serge!" Leena called out.

Again, his legs carried him down the hallway. The rest followed.

They emerged at a grand hall where bats flew and large mechanical bots stomped. The group of four proceeded to the center of the hall, having little difficulty in shrugging off the persistent bats and fending off the machineries. They ascended onto a circular pad of a crystal amethyst blue engraved with a symbol -- seven rings; six at the corners of a hexagon joined by straight lines to one in the center. Flares of white danced around them, as four pillars of light shielded them and bathed them in gentle warmth. Serge began to feel light-headed as his body began to float upwards beyond his control. In a blink, he found himself bulleting up the hall, harmlessly through its ceiling, into open space and then settling down onto a structure that seemed like a roof.

"Oi!" the girl in red roared. "What the bloody hell just happened?"

She walked to the edge of the roof and looked down.

"Wow! Bugger!" the girl exclaimed noisily. "We're so high up! Is this thing floating?"

The roof of the fortress, small as the top of a castle tower, floated in the heavens by means of magic unknown. The clouds were like dense mist that shrouded them in a faint, mystic white. Strong, unrelenting drafts dragged the mist through the skin like a spray of such near the end of a long waterfall. The atmosphere was biting cold, the gushing air difficult to breathe. A straight aisle led from the pad and to huge door closed to what seemed to be a chamber.

"Did it feel like your body passed through the floor just now?" Leena asked.

"This sure is some fort," the girl in red said as she turned away from the edge towards Serge. "Eh, Serge?"

She crossed her arms, tapped her right foot on the floor and waited for Serge's acknowledgement. When Serge didn't reply, the girl studied him.

"You alright, Serge?" she asked as she uncrossed her arms. "You've been acting all weird. Who knows what's up ahead, so just stay on your toes, eh?"

Serge nodded his head but he felt extremely uneasy. He was overcome by an ill feeling, a premonition that chewed away at his guts. He tried to maintain his composure and shoved the ominous feeling aside. He walked towards the door to the chamber, where he found himself suddenly engulfed by an invisible strength that felt as if his flesh and muscles stretched in all directions. His head spun wildly as the corners at his field of vision warped, as if the door moved towards him and wanted to have him assimilated into it.

Light flashed before Serge's eyes. A different scene took over his vision. He saw another version himself -- a duplicate, an imposter -- standing some distance away with a crooked grin on his face. In that Serge's hand was a short dagger, fresh blood dripping from it. The girl in red now lay motionless in a puddle of red, her face grimaced in agony. Overwhelmed by anger and an inexplicable feeling for her, Serge dragged his feet towards "the other Serge."

"Serge!" Leena cried out. "No!"

The imposter Serge turned and pointed his hands at him. As a huge field of black energy formed around the other Serge's hands, Serge stubbornly approached his adversary, knowing well he would never be able to reach him in time. A bolt zapped through the air and struck hard onto Serge, before the darkness of the black swallowed him completely.

The last thing he heard, was Leena shouting weakly, "Serge!"

"Serge!"

"Serge?" a gentle voice said softly.

Where was this place?

"Good morning, Serge," greeted his mother. "Come on sleepy head, get up!"

Serge struggled to open his eyes to the wooden ceiling in his room. A dream, he dismissed.

It was morning, very late morning. The sun's rays were streaming almost vertically through the old and frayed blinds into his room onto the floor carpet.

This morning, summer had just started for the year 1020AD. He gave Leena his word that they would be down at the Lizard Rock today to hunt for lizard scales for her new necklace, an item part of Leena's comprehensive summer program, one that was always creatively different every year.

Serge was seventeen. With a blue fringe sticking out from his favorite red bandana, he was the average boy who was just as interested as keeping up with dress fashion as every other teenager did. He had the standard build: nicely toned biceps, forearms, and a naturally tan skin. His was dressed in a black shirt under a leather vest that extended beyond his hips, and around his waist a black belt that held his leather vest neatly tucked against his body. His bottom was a pair of blue Bermudas with decorative patterns dyed near the hems, a current fad in Arni these days.

Serge was quiet and he kept a lot to himself. He hardly talked to the villagers or the kids, not even to Leena. He never conversed much with his mother either, and was never verbal about the love he held for his mother, for the love that he believed was best left unspoken. His reserved nature earned him the likes of the villagers, nonetheless. Often, it was them who came up to him for the chat him, even though it almost always ended in a one-sided conversation. The other party would get tired and eventually leave Serge alone.

As a dreamer, he pondered over a lot. He often wondered about the profound issues of life and the meaning of it. Twice, in his seventeen years he had seen, he faced death. But each time, miraculously, and thankfully, he escaped its unforgiving clutches. Perhaps it was these ordeals that had made him into a thinking person he was today.

Fourteen years ago, when Serge was only three, he was bitten and fatally poisoned by a panther-demon. He couldn't remember much of it now, what happened before and what happened after. He had heard little from his mother, for she was understandably reserved about it. Most of the story was pieced up from the accounts in little bits and pieces from his fellow villagers.

Just ten years ago (or three years after the panther incident), at the age of seven, he almost drowned. He could vaguely remember the salt and the choking of the seawater. But the details in his mind were sparse, too. Some villagers found him unconscious, washed up by Opassa Beach. None of them knew what happened.

Perhaps due to the very nature of the incidents, his mind had freed the trauma of the most terrible moments in its life of their chains, refusing to be bound by the memories of The Devil's grasps at its very existence. Not remembering any of it was a good thing, Serge always felt. There are times when ignorance is bliss. And the simple, happy life he led now attested to that.

Serge sat up on his bed, stretched himself and let out a long relieving sigh. He rubbed his eyes and visually inspected in his room again, now spick and span. His mother had him clean up his room the whole of yesterday. But as most guys would have it, Serge included, he took forever. When he felt like it, he cleaned his bed. When he felt otherwise, he stood by the window, contented to just spend a few long moments, lost in deep thoughts. Or, he exerted every ounce of his strength, vigorously polishing his swallow. When he finished, he went back to his room to slog at the chores of dusting his wooden shelves and carpet. Dilly-dallying was the order of the day. By the time he finished his whole room, day had departed, the moons hung high. He was pleased nonetheless. It was after all his own room cleaned with his very own hands.

The swallow was a huge weapon that was as long as Serge was tall, like the oar of a boat, but with blades in place of paddles. He had been using his swallow for several months now, after he found it in the woods outside his village as he wondered around there one day. Then, it was old and stained and soaked in muddy water, the blades blunt. He saw beyond the unflattering dirt, and was charmed by its simplicity and its ingenuity in design. It was love at first sight. He took it back home immediately to have it cleaned and washed. Since then, he had been polishing and sharpening the swallow every day without fail, spending much more effort on it than he would have on his own room. Some days he cleaned it twice, some days thrice. He had no formal master to show him the moves, but the village chief, Radius, would drop a hint or two, drawing from what he had seen in his glorious days on the battlefield. Otherwise, Serge would invent some on his own, experiment them on long poles with weights attached to both ends, and then finally on the real thing. It became a necessity for Serge to leave home with it so that he defend himself and put it to good use, if necessary.

Serge stood up and stretched once more. After a change into a new set of clothes, he walked downstairs to the hall to greet his mother and begin his new day.

"Morning, mom," Serge greeted drearily, even though he was delighted to see her.

"Oh, good afternoon!  Serge. You sure are taking your time. The sun's already reached high noon," his mother reminded gently. "By the way, didn't you have plans to meet with Leena this morning? Leena came by to see if you were up, but you, young man, were still off in never-never land. You shouldn't break promises like that. Girls can be pretty scary if you make them angry!"

Born and raised in Arni, Marge tied the knot at a young nineteen, and had Serge by twenty-one. At thirty-eight this year, she was a gentle mother, and a seamstress by occupation, the sole breadwinner for the family for now. Wrinkles of age and toil had developed at her eye bags, her hair turned slowly white. Yet, she exuded a beauty that refused to fade with the passing of time. Few who stopped by Arni in their journeys were not mesmerized by her beauty. Some tried to win her heart with words; others retreated when they realized she had Serge. But there were those who put off their journey, detoured north to Termina and spent a fortune on the best of flowers and most exquisite of gifts, just to please her.

Never once did Marge accept anything, or anyone for that matter.

Wazuki was Serge's father, a tough but joyous man; strong, yet gentle; fun-loving but extremely responsible. A skilled sailor and a conscientious fisherman, he earned his living by selling the catch. He had been working since young at the age of fifteen, and walked down the aisle at twenty-one. After he had Serge when he was twenty-three, he sailed and fished less often, and turned to help out in the farms.

Serge knew a lot about his father through the vivid descriptions from his mother and the villagers. But he knew little his father in person, or even how he looked like. When Serge was bitten and poisoned by the panther-demon fourteen years ago, Wazuki spared no efforts in seeking cure. Serge was eventually saved. But Wazuki was a changed man. He became depressed, violent and often hollered at other villagers. Several days later, he sailed out and never returned. No body was ever recovered. Everyone thought he was lost at sea and died there, that it must have been the over-exhaustion from saving his son that caused his death.

Wazuki was only twenty-six then.

The day Wazuki didn't return, Marge worried for him. She waited for him at the pier from dawn to dusk, then from the starry nights through till the morning sun rose. The young Serge who had just recovered from the panther's bite, stood vigilantly at the pier with Marge, praying for his father's safe return. The indefinite waiting and the worrying took a heavy toll on his mother. The waiting stopped, but the worrying piled like the household chores that were left undone, dust not swept. She lost her smiles, her appetite, her sleep, and soon, her pink of health. She fell so sick she had to be confined to the bed. She almost lost her mind. Serge looked after her for a whole month, until she recovered. Today, it still pained him to think that she suffered so much then.

The passing of time healed the wounds, drowned the sorrows. The family of two soon learnt to accept the harsh reality of their loss, to have the courage to turn to a new, difficult chapter of their lives.

"Hurry along now and go apologize to her," Marge advised sternly.

"Okay," Serge said as he made his way out of the house.

"Serge?"

"Yes?" Serge replied as he turned back to Marge.

"Have you ever considered Leena as your girlfriend?" Marge gently asked that same question again. "You both are old enough to get married and have children."

Like all mothers, she always reminded Serge to get himself a girlfriend to take care of him, and the suggested partner always turned out to be Leena. Serge and Leena were close friends, but close were as far as they could go.

"Besides, Leena is a nice girl, isn't she?" she said with a smile.

"Mom..."

"Alright, I shan't pester you. Now, hurry along and enjoy yourselves today."

Serge nodded obediently as he walked out the door.

"Bye, mom."

"Goodbye, Serge."

This was El Nido.

Made up of a central continent and smaller isles surrounding it, El Nido was a small archipelago -- a paradise -- located on the far southwestern part of the globe, consistently in isolation from the rest of the world, almost invisible on most available models of the globe. Its physical location was inconveniently remote, for it required at least several days to travel on a large vessel to the continents beyond. Surrounded by a barrier of corals and mountains that touched the skies, the incoming traffic from the outside sailed through a small river on the northeast and was seasonal at best. During winter, the currents from inside El Nido would deter even the best ships from crossing the border. In summer, the currents in reverse made it impossible for anyone to leave.

Dubbed the land of the "Sleeping Dragons," legends had it that El Nido was once home to Six Dragon Gods who watched over humanity and was worshipped by many, especially in the days long gone when humans, demi-humans and the Dragonians once lived in perfect harmony. Islands were named after the Dragons: Sky Dragon Isle, Water Dragon Isle and Earth Dragon Isle; and presumably those Dragon Gods lived there. The other three Dragon Gods had no islands named after them, as was their whereabouts when the others were still around. In the recent years, the Six Dragon Gods, however, had not been heard of. There had been abundant conflicting rumors of their current state of existence, but it was generally thought that they had vanished overnight.

Arni, Serge's home, was a small village by the sea in the south of the central continent of the El Nido Archipelago. Set far away from the bustling town of Termina and the Viper Manor very far up in the north, surrounded by woods and paddy fields, Arni was a peaceful village, away from the sophisticated lifestyles. The villagers of Arni grew their own crops on the paddy and crop fields, and hunt their meals from the wilderness. Their main supply of food came from the sea. Arni was, after all, a fishing village, and fish was their staple food, as well as a revenue-generating trade.

The village center was a gathering place for the villagers during the festive seasons, a place for celebrations, dinners, wedding ceremonies and all other joyous occasions alike. But on normal days such as today, the village center served as a market place for the villagers to sell their wares to travelers.

Wooden-walled and green straw-roofed huts housed the Arnians and circled the village center, their entrances facing it. Stilts supported the huts at its base, elevating them from any potential floods and high tides that would have otherwise ruined their homes. Villagers hung dried fish as a symbol of luck and prosperity at their doors as a tradition. The big catch for the day would go up on display in the hammock, in accordance with another luck-bringing tradition handed down over the past thousand years, or so it was said. The fishing season had always been good; there were easily big catches every day.

Serge stepped out of his house into the grass and took a deep breath of the fresh air, which wasn't totally fresh, for it had the faint odor of fish mixed with the refreshing scent of the green grass and bushes. But it was air that Serge had been breathing for seventeen years, and that alone made him feel comfortable.

The kids ran about and after each other in their games of catch, as they did almost every fine afternoon. Their joyous, carefree laughter blended with the soft sounds of the sea as its waters gently washed up the beach beside Arni. The male villagers who weren't out at sea carried out their daily routine at the fields; they plowed, dug up crops and planted new ones. The female villagers toiled through their daily housework chores: babysat and cooked while some others exercised their mouths with their daily gossips. Others set up their stalls to sell their crops and Element beads in the market place.

Serge decided to head to Radius's for his daily prayers before meeting Leena. As he made his way there, Una screamed across the village center, "Yo! Sergey!"

He was Leena's younger brother. At fifteen, he was a bright, cheerful, but terribly mischievous boy. He liked Serge a lot, and seemed to be already treating Serge as his brother-in-law. The siblings were playmates -- or "the gang" as they used to call it -- together with Serge. But since they became of age, Serge was kept busy with the miscellaneous affairs of the village while Una and Leena looked after with the children. Una can be rarely spotted in the village for he was often out in the jungle tracks with the kids. Not today, it seemed.

"Hi," Serge said, still half-awake.

"I heard you totally blew Leena off this morning," Una gloated delightfully. "I didn't think you had it in you!"

"I slept late last night," Serge said truthfully.

"That was really gutsy of you," Una said with a soft punch onto Serge.

"Is that so?"

"I guess that kinda shows her who's boss, eh?" Una said, raising his voice, lifting his chest as if he spoke of himself.

Serge scratched his head and forced a difficult smile.

"Don't tell her I said so," Una said as his eyes darted around slyly. "But my sister's a bit uptight, you know?"

Serge turned to Una and raised his eyebrows, puzzled.

"Could you, like, break her in a little? You know, make her act a little more ladylike."

"Well, she's not really--"

"You have my support all the way," Una interrupted, regaining that fresh voice once more. "I'll keep my fingers crossed for ya."

"Okay."

"Hey, listen, I can't talk to you now, I've got a lotta work to do!" Una said, as he turned away from Serge.

"Okay."

"Bye Sergey!" Una waved to Serge as he walked back to his home.

Serge continued on to Radius', whose abode graced a large field of green beyond a simple archway made of straw. The chief was taking a walk in the open space.

"Good afternoon, Serge," Radius greeted Serge.

"Good afternoon, Chief."

Radius was the chief of Arni, and had been the chief for about four years now. At 62, he was a bald man with white moustache, beard and brows so thick that it covered most of his eyelids. His was dressed in a white starched shirt over a dark turquoise sarong that extended all the way down to his ankles. The gold lavish embroidery masterfully sewn near to end spoke of his illustrious, royal past. In his younger days, Radius was an elite swords-master of the Acacia Dragoons – a Deva -- until he retired four years ago and settled down in Arni. He walked around with a cane and looked handicapped, but he was not to be underestimated for he remained a tough, experienced fighter, well-trained in the army. A punch from him or a jab from his cane would send one volleying across the village, or so the villagers exaggerated. Radius was really a benevolent old man, one who would beyond his call-of-duty to help another fellow villager.

The Acacia Dragoons used to be the military force of El Nido, until its leaders and a significant bulk of their top-ranking officials mysteriously vanished after an expedition some three years ago. Those who were fortunate enough to have been assigned to stay behind had shed their uniforms and since lived as civilians in Termina. Radius had lamented the disappearance as the lost of the world's finest governing body led by the world's finest leader. Three years later, today, he could be seen frequently staring blankly into the oceans, as if he grieved the loss of his comrades. Three years later, today, the military from Porre, a nation on the Zenan mainland east of El Nido, ruled the archipelago.

"Up late today?" Radius spoke slowly and deliberately.

"Yes, Chief."

"Have you been practicing with your Elements?"

A usual question. Since Radius became Chief, he wanted the villagers to study Element magic to defend themselves against the hostilities of world outside, against both animals and humans. When a villager walked past, he always went through with him or her, his lengthy lecture on the origins of the Elements and their effective use against danger.

It was said that the Earth was made up of six basic alignments, which they called the Elements. Each had a natural color, and these six colors -- the White, Black, Red, Blue, Green and the Yellow -- together made up the colors of everything visible. Each was also said to symbolize a different part of the natural environment. The White represented light and holiness and all things good, the Black shadow and darkness and all things evil. The Yellow represented the lightning and all forces of the Earth, the Green the winds and the leaves and nature in general. The Blue represented the waters that flowed in the oceans and rained the lands, the Red the fires that burned in the sun.

Each person and even animals and plants that was born to this world had his or her or its own innate Element color, which depended on the living thing's time, date, place of birth and his parentage. Many fortunetellers used these particulars to foretell if one's life would be of prosperity or of poverty. But, there were those who believed in being the masters of their own fate.

Magic existed in the form of Element beads, the size of an almond. The bead was a rough crystal, its surface frosted, its composition colored by its natural alignment. A gentle glow pulsated from within the bead and disappeared upon the bead's use. The bead would be unusable for a while until the bead recharged and the glow returned. During use, the caster would hold the bead in hand and picture a continuous flow of energy from the bead to the target, who would receive its power in damage or in healing. It could be considered a form of meditation, only that it could also be used to inflict pain. As with any weapon, its effects could be enhanced with a higher level of concentration, a skill that can be trained from young, or a talent inborn. But as with any weapon, the effects could backfire if used improperly. In times of peace, enough beads put together doubled as light in the dark and as decorations during the festive.

There existed many legends related to the origin of the Elements. It was believed that the Six Divine Dragon Gods once raged a terrible war almost against each other ten thousand years ago, known today as the War of the Gods. Though the reason for that war had been lost in the mists of time, many believed that following that war, the Dragon Gods reconciled and created the six respective harmonious Elements for the mortal beings. When the magic was used, it would summon the strength of the respective God to their aid, a show of repentance for their atrocities. But this form of magic mysteriously refused to function in the mainland Zenan, far east of this tiny group of islands.

The younger generation of people, who were always eager to dispel the existence of any form of divine entities, believed these elements were created underground under the intense pressure of the earth that had caused them to be condensed and crystallized to a small point of concentrated energy. Historians believed that the Elements were created by the now extinct Dragonians from specific high-energy points on the land, which were termed, "Power Spots." Whichever the belief was, the Element beads were a widely used tool of defense, as well as offense.

In some legends, a last seventh Dragon God even existed, but it was said to have been lost long ago, perhaps exterminated during that war. Correspondingly, if there was a seventh Dragon God, then there must have been a seventh Element as well. But by any logic, if that last Dragon God was no longer around, then that Element must have long disappeared. Still, such stories fascinated and sent archeologists digging into yet more, and then scouring the grounds of El Nido in search of the truths. But truth be told, these legends always remained as legends.

"Yes," Serge replied.

"That's good to hear," said Radius with a voice that was calm and at the same time. "Keep practicing, though, and don't stop at it."

"Yes, Chief."

The Statue of Fate was a sacred statue, symbolizing the Goddess of Fate, another higher being whom the El Nidons worshipped. The bronze statue was sculpted into a fair maiden, who, dressed in primitive robes wrapped her essentials, stood and reached out to welcome the believer who would say his or her prayers to her. The believer would come before the sacred Statue, hold her welcoming hand, and pray for advice, for guidance and for a wish to be fulfilled. If their hearts supposedly held the faith, their prayers would be answered.

The Goddess of Fate was originally a religion part of the one religion that bound the El Nidons -- the religion of the Dragon Gods:  the Divine Dragon Faith -- to one single spiritual faith. It was that one religion that was spread only by folklores and legends and by the word of mouth. It had having no official records, scriptures, or bibles, even if many had tried to compile one.

Legends spoke of the Goddess of Fate as the one Goddess who reconciled the six Dragon Gods during the War of the Gods, bestowing upon the lands and its inhabitants eternal peace. Thus, the Statue of Fate was erected in the name of the Goddess of Fate, as a symbolic reminder of the divine salvation granted to all life-forms. The Dragon Gods had no statues erected and they needed none, for when they still lived in El Nido, the people prayed to and worshipped the living Gods.

Among those whose faith were the strongly rooted in the Divine Dragon Faith were a race of species known as the ancient Dragonians, lizard- or dragon-like creatures the size of a human, who walked the very lands of El Nido, who lived peacefully alongside humans and the demi-humans for the past several thousand years, or perhaps even longer. Known as the sons of the Dragon Gods, the Dragonians were peaceful beings, affined to nature. They offered much to learn from: their intelligence, their technology, and most important of all, their way of life -- undisruptive and un-destructive to their surroundings that was to them, their home. Their fates changed drastically when a century ago, mainlanders from Porre came down south to El Nido and colonized the entire archipelago. Seen as strong, versatile beings, one by one, they were kidnapped against their will, and then exploited like slaves. Some were forced to work as transport like horses, and others even turned into exotic delicacies for the taste buds. In a period of no more than two years, the entire race of Dragonians was forced into hiding. And over a period of no more than ten years of weeding out these innocent beings, they were finally hunted into extinction by the mainland murderers.

Since the demise of the Dragonians, the believers' faith began to shake and divide, as the followers of the Six Dragon Gods dwindled in numbers over the past few decades. To compound that, the Porre immigrants brought along with them a whole new generation of trendy and bold ideas, many of which denounced the role of the Gods and pronounced the existence of the self as being the ruler of one's own life. This, the young and easily impressed were quick to embrace, much to the dismay of the older generations, who were completely helpless at the blasphemous change that they felt spread like a terrible virus and corrupted the minds of their people. But the irony was that even when many didn't believe the existence of the Dragon Gods, they still relied on and harnessed the power of Elemental magic, said to be the strength from the Dragon Gods themselves. The bigger irony was that the very mainlanders who refused to acknowledge the Dragon Gods had gradually turned to the Goddess of Fate for their spiritual needs, a hip trend that, too, infected the many races as it swept through the archipelago. The fairies, dwarves, demi-humans, and the humans alike, now pledged (most of them, at least) their spiritual allegiance to the Goddess of Fate.

As for Serge, he believed in all that was good, and that included a sincere prayer everyday the Statue of Fate.

Whereever you are, I pray that you are doing fine, Dad, Serge prayed sincerely as he touched his hand to the hand of the Statue, closed his eyes, and lowered his head.

Mom and I are still waiting for you.

The pier, made of wooden planks and sturdy stilts, extended the grassy grounds of Arni village out into and above the deep waters of the sea. It provided the docks where the fishermen's boat anchored, and a place where the troubled found solitude. A village fisherman sat quietly at the end of the pier for his daily fishing routine, sat beside his boat, which rocked gently to the waves of the sea on the waters beside him. Some of the village children were swimming not too far out in the sea, having plenty of childhood fun in the fine weather. Leena stood at the edge looking at the kids, babysitting them from afar.

"Come on, you guys should join us! It feels really good!" shouted from the waters a boy by the name of Ricky.

"Unlike the rest of you, we're not here to play!" answered Leena. "Don't swim out too far, now!"

"Ooookay! Gotcha!" shouted Ricky as he returned to his dip.

Serge walked up to Leena, who was Serge's childhood friend. She was no older than Serge was, and was Serge's best friend in Arni village, even though he often felt that it was the other way around. She lived in the hut next to Serge's with her mother, her grandmother, and her greedy and overweight pet dog. She was fair with an average build, and wore a silky headband tied around her soft, silky red hair. Today, she dressed in red and blue, a combination that she stubbornly insisted was a perfect match. The blue was a long dress that extended from just above her bosom down to her knees. Had she had her way, she would have kept her upper arms, shoulders and collarbone exposed as such, but her elders felt it too bold by Arni's conservative standards that she wasn't permitted, not even in the house, to have that dress on without a proper outer covering. Much to her dislike, she had it worn under a comfortable, red outer dress that she cut and tailored herself. She saw it to that wore like a robe but that it bared her collarbone and revealed much of the flattering blue dress at the front. She made sure that little hatches were precisely cut into the red dress just so she could teasingly yet proudly reveal her fair, smooth maiden shoulders. Her elders had initially refused permission, saying that the change was just as good as none, but Leena would have none of that, insisting that it was her final compromise until they finally gave up, and gave in. Among her other fashion accessories was a sweet jasmine fragrance that she never failed to put on and that she, Serge heard from her, had bought from Termina with several months' worth of savings.

She always never had the right posture and behavior. She preferred to stand with her feet wide apart, and her clenched fists resting on her hips as she spoke. And when her mood was appropriate, she would straighten her chest and hold her left fist up, as if ready to throw a punch. But really, she was just preparing her pose before exclaiming "yes!" to declare her achievements in all imaginable, as well as unimaginable, circumstances.

Serge knew that she liked him. Contrary to popular belief, guys aren't exactly numbskulls and guys do know, even though they kept mostly mum about it. He was fond of her as his best friend, but that was as far as he could go. She had once very explicitly confessed her feelings before the village crowd, but they were too young then to be taken too seriously. And being the person he was, he never avoided her because he dreaded anyone to be hurt. Leena, on the other hand, always took care of Serge, always offering her unconditional help (most observers would say "love") wherever possible. When Serge was discovered at Opassa Beach after he nearly drowned, he fell very ill. Leena, only seven then, helped Marge take care of him until he recovered.

She was adored by kids and adults. She always offered her help to baby-sit while their parents worked their day jobs, and the cleaning of homes included at no charge. Her biggest client was Marge, and Serge was the one she would baby-sit. An excellent chef, Leena loved to cook. But her experiences with the art of culinary didn't come without catastrophic failures. Serge was often the one who would become of the victim of every failure, for he was somehow contracted to be her food tester. But her natural talent in the kitchen turned a horrible dish into a divine delicacy a day or two later. Though he was the only one who tasted the worst, he was always the first who tasted the best; not even his and her mother had this privilege.

"Kids sure have it easy," she said. "Remember when we were like that? Not a single care or worry on our minds. How each day lasted an eternity, filled with newness, fun and excitement!"

"Yes."

"But the important thing now is not our childhood," Leena declared as she straightened her body and lifted her clenched fist before herself. The "yes" pose had come on, the victorious posture that looked like she had conquered the world and was returning home to sing her achievements to him.

"But my KO-MO-DO scale necklace! Yes!" she declared enthusiastically, raising her voice a little as if she had just fathomed some innovative and profound philosophy. "We have to face up to reality and live each day anew!"

"Yes, yes," Serge said monotonously, accustomed to her preaches.

"So, I want you to go to Lizard Rock and get some scales for me!  I would join you, but I still have to watch the kids. It's your fault! You were late! Once you collect some Komodo dragon scales, I'll catch up with you at Opassa Beach. Is that okay with you, Serge?"

"Sure. I will go get it."

"That's what I wanted to hear! Okay, then! Don't just stand around! Go collect some scales at Lizard Rock. Good luck!"