Chrono Cross Second Journey

Fan Novelization

5   The Lost Friend

Leena blew out the candle, tucked herself into the bed and kicked her blanket to the floor. The events in the day disturbed her and left her confused. When she opened her eyes, she heard the words spoken by the young boy replay clearly in her mind, as if he now sat by her and spoke at her ears. When she closed her eyes, mental images of him sitting at the tavern flooded her mind and became her eyes behind those weary eyelids.

I live in Arni village.

He had been hesitant, but certain. He dressed in Arni's fashion, talked with Arni's accent, but he had walked into the lives of Arnians who had never seen him and he had insisted that he belonged within. He had spoken of his mother with pride and with forlornness, like a certain neighbor would have when he still lived some ten years ago.

You made plans for our summer program, don't you remember?

She used to, but that was before the boy named Serge passed away ten years ago, drowned at sea, washed up at the beach. It had been so long that she had forgotten that her summers were indeed of such, with week-long programs that she painstakingly scheduled months before. Those yesteryears of fun and happiness spent with her childhood sweetheart had departed with his tragic, mysterious death. She recalled crying her heart out for several days after his death, crying to the Goddess of Fate whom she felt was too cruel to take the life of an innocent boy only seven years of age. Now, she kept her lonely summers drowned in the chores of the necessary and the mundane that were to her, wine that drowned her loneliness.

We arranged to go down to the Lizard Rock, to collect Komodo Lizard scales for your necklace.

Accessories made from Komodo Lizard scales had been once a fashion craze in Arni. When the romantic had showered their loved ones with hand-made necklaces, bracelets, anklets as gifts, Leena had wondered what it would have been between herself and Serge like if he were still alive. But Komodo Lizard accessories had become out-of-fashion these days, for the dwindling of the lizards in the recent years forced the trendy to other alternatives. Still, it would be sweet if this Serge had done it, but nothing of the sort he had claimed happened.

A ghost from the boy who died ten years ago.

The captor who had called this boy a ghost must have had his eyes blanketed, for this boy who called himself Serge was human, made of flesh and blood and tears in his eyes. This boy had the shadow of a person, the breath of a living and did not walk through walls, fall through floors and certainly did not swivel around places in thick, eerie mists of white. But she could tell that he had struggled with those words that must have hurt and pained him deeply.

Do you believe me?

Serge had died ten years ago. That was an irrefutable fact.

This boy's story was incredulous, one that she could never have imagined to be true. Something must have happened to this boy that robbed him of his senses and replaced his mind with memories that had never been. She had read in such fiction where it had been often written that after a trauma to the head, the injured lost memories in part or in whole, or recalled things that never had come to pass. She lifted the idea from these stories and articulated them in words to Serge, whose look had fallen sullen by the time she finished. She was sorry for being so tactless, as she had been in the presence of others.

Still, there was no truth to Serge's story, for one could not have died in the past and still lived today. He was wrong, but did he lie?

Leena got up from her bed and walked over to the window in her room. Resting her chin on her hands over the window ledge, she gazed out into the starry night.

When she saw him earlier today, her heart moved for him, not of sympathy but of familiarity that seemed to have come from a place far beyond the stars. When she came to know that Serge returned in the evening, she found herself washing and dressing up to meet him, uncertain of where the encounter might lead and of how it might end. It stirred in her spiritless heart a subtle current of affection when Serge spoke his, as if she listened to a long-lost friend confide his troubles over a cup of jasmine tea.

The double full-moons hung up high in the sky: one silver, and the other a dark crimson red. They cast their reflection on the sea water whose waves seemed to shatter them into a million pieces of tiny light sparkles that joined those of the stars in the sky above. Never changing, their brightness never faltering, the two moons traveled the skies together every night until they disappeared into the blue of the day. In the tale that her mother once told her, that she so believed in, there used to be only the silver moon until the crimson red came from far away skies to see the silver through his life. Perhaps she was the silver moon that was lonely, and Serge was the red who had traveled from another heaven to join her on the roads.

Perhaps she was beginning to believe "Serge."

In the dim lighting from the moons, Leena groped to her little cabinet and grabbed her pouch and cloth bundle in which she packed clothing, and a few Element beads for protection. After she was satisfied she had enough to travel, she slid back snuggly into her bed.

She made a promise to herself to see Serge through whatever he did.

Leena woke at first light. She washed up, changed, dabbed fragrance and left her room in a hurry.

"Good morning, Mom, Grandma!" she greeted her elders with a fresh voice, as she skipped the steps down to the hall and strode towards the door.

"Oh, good morning, Leena!"

"Mom," Leena said as she turned to her mother. "I will be out for a few days."

"Where will you be off to, dear?"

"I will be north in Termina with a friend," Leena said with an enthusiasm she couldn't quite hold.

"A friend? Is that the boy who came yesterday?"

"Er... He seems a little lost, so I thought I'd see him there and show him around the place."

"Well, it's about time you looked for a boyfriend."

"Mom! I am only seventeen! Besides, he's just a... a friend!"

"You were very excited yesterday when this boy came. Now, when was the last you spent so much time with a guy you didn't know? Are you sure you are telling me he's just a friend?"

"Yes, I am sure, Mom!" Leena stressed anxiously and turned to the door. "I'm off!"

"Take care of yourself, you hear!" her mother shouted through the door.

"Yes!"

When Leena crept into his room at the tavern inn, the sky outside the window remained a dark, consistent blue behind a silhouette of Arnian roofs. Leena lit the lamps to find Serge still asleep on his bed, dressed in a set of white pajamas the tavern inn had kindly provided. She walked over and nudged Serge on his arm. He opened his eyes for a short glimpse before turning to the right to catch a few more winks. Displeased with his rudeness, she nudged him again, harder this time. Serge turned face up and struggled to open his eyes.

"Rise and shine!" Leena greeted energetically with a lively grin. "A new day awaits!"

Groaning wearily, Serge turned away from Leena and curled back to slumber. Leena slapped him on his arm.

"Serge! I've been thinking," Leena rattled. "I am not sure what's happening. But I can't just leave you alone like this. You're planning to go to Termina, right? Let me come along with you. Come, let's get going!"

Then, she pulled Serge up by his hand with all her might.

"Come on, you lazy Beachbum!" Leena struggled. "Wake up!"

He sat upright. His eyes that were still half-awake stared into nothing. Leena stuck her tongue out playfully, pretending to catch her breath.

"You look really awful with your hair standing!" she said with a giggle, as she messed with his soft, blue hair. "Go wash up and change! I'd be waiting for you at the tavern below!"

Cheerful lights fell on the tavern interiors and its walls of oak that wrapped the place in the warmth of yellow. A tinge of ale and lavender lingered in the hot morning air like a refreshing raindrop that fell on parched lips. The wooden floors had been swept clean, the sturdy, round tables cleared of its overnight mess. Outside the windows of the tavern, voices mumbled, sounds of footsteps rustled the grass as the villagers went about eagerly in semi-darkness their morning routines.

The early morning saw few customers, for most of the villagers would have had their meals at home. Travelers that make up the other portion of the customers never came that early. The chef who had just woken up assigned herself to the kitchen, clearing and cleaning up, always ready for the next orders. The waitress who had worked through the night was faithfully rearranging the plants, dusting the posters and prepping the tavern for another new day of service, before she ended her shift and another took over.

Leena took a seat eagerly at a table, while the waitress wiped another.

"He was still sleeping?" the waitress asked from where she stood.

"Yes," Leena said, as she nodded and smiled. "You should have seen how he looked!"

The waitress stopped and raised her eyebrows. "Judging from the way you asked -- cute?" She continued to wipe the tabletop. "Well, what will the both of you like for breakfast?"

"I'll decide when he comes down," Leena said and burst into a chuckle.

"My, my, someone's on cloud nine today, is she not? I don't recall seeing you smile that brilliantly, Leena. Is he your boyfriend?"

"You sound just like my mom!" Leena exclaimed. "With that apron on, you could probably pass off for someone's mother. But I tell you, he's not my boyfriend."

"Are you sure he's just a friend?"

"There you go again, just like my mom!"

The waitress walked hastily over to Leena's table and sat beside her. "Hey hey! Listen," she whispered quietly to Leena. "If he's not your sweetheart, then could you kindly introduce him to me? I find him quite a charming lad -- soft-spoken, cute, and those blue, sensitive eyes!"

"Stop that!" Leena said defensively.

"See? Point proven: you are jealous!"

"No, I am not!" Leena defended firmly.

"You are, you are, you are!"

"Hey!" the chef called out to the waitress. "I don't pay you to chat with customers! Finish your shift, then talk all you want."

"Sorry!" the waitress said, hand to her head in an apologetic salute. When she turned back to Leena, they both raised their eyebrows and stuck out their tongues for a while, before they broke into giggles. After the moment was over, the waitress stood up and returned obediently to her own tasks.

When Serge finally came down from his room, the waitress looked up to Serge and greeted him with a warm smile, "Good morning!"

"Good morning, Serge!" Leena also greeted Serge with a gleeful smile and an animated wave.

Serge walked down the steps and joined Leena at the table. Dressed in his black shirt, netted vest and blue Bermudas, Serge looked boyishly charming as the waitress had so aptly described. Those dreamy eyes of blue were indeed sensitive and enchanting. They drew Leena's eyes to them and held them on, as if they drew her into a trance, into a plane above this world, a plane of euphoria. She imagined the tables, the yellow lamps and the wooden walls of the tavern disappear, leaving behind soothing wind of the heavens blue through which she effortlessly drifted. She imagined straight rays of light streaming at an angle through the skies, glimmering and pulsating as they would through the wavy surface of moving water.

"Good morning," Serge greeted.

Leena broke out of the trance and plucked her eyes of his.

"Anything for the two of you, Sir, Madam?" asked the waitress cheekily.

"So, what will you like to have, Serge?" asked Leena.

"A breakfast set will do."

"Two breakfast sets, please!" Leena ordered with a two-finger gesture.

The waitress returned to her chores and the chef began crashing away at her cooking utensils.

"Are you going somewhere?" Serge noticed the cloth bundle slung around Leena's shoulders.

Leena stared back at him with her jaws dropped, shocked and mildly angry. "Didn't you hear what I say?" she asked.

Serge looked totally lost. "What was that you said?"

"I can't believe you!" Leena exclaimed and she nudged his arm with a fist. "I said I am going to Termina with you."

"Why?"

"Why? Because I can't leave you alone like this!"

"Oh, okay," said Serge indifferently.

Leena exhaled and shook her head, disappointed at the lack of gratitude.

"It's going to be quite a walk to Termina," Serge said. "Are you fine with that?"

"Do I look like a weakling to you?" Leena said as she tried to look disgruntled at his belittling comment, though it was a concern welcomed.

"I-I don't mean that," Serge, who was startled by her reaction, quickly clarified.

Indeed, Serge was charming, but only in looks. He didn't have the gift of the gab, and seemed used to speaking without thinking. Surely this different Serge could not replace the one who died ten years ago after he drowned at sea, for this new one's poor social skills reminded too much of her own lack of it. And surely the feelings she had for the old Serge would not fade in the darkness for many years to come.

The waitress brought their morning's meal over, placed them on the table and winked at Leena, who reached her hand out to slap her on the arm. The waitress smiled cheekily, walked away and returned to her own chores.

"I forgive you for this!" Leena said to Serge joyfully. "Come, let's eat! We've got a big day ahead of us!"

"Er... Leena?" Serge said softly.

"Yes, Beachbum?"

"Thank you."

Leena bit her lips to hold back her smile.

The eastern rising sun glowed brilliantly red through a flawless dome of pale blue, unclouded, unshielded. The birds sang cheerfully their morning carols as they took to the skies for their early flights, traveling from one land to another over the vast sea of emerald blue. The lands remained warm and dry after a night's rest and were about to come under the sun's fire for another long day. Yet, the coolest moment among the hours of all twenty four was now, just before the sun crawled into mid-morning and the temperatures soared mercilessly.

Leena walked out of the tavern, spread her arms and allowed the best of morning warmth to caress her flesh and body. She closed her eyes and let her self fall into nature's loving embrace, as if she fell into that of her dearest. The scent of village lavender and her favorite jasmine tantalized her senses, just as the harmony of the washing waves lifted her spirits. She raised her fist before herself and softly exclaimed, "Yes!" For the first time in many years, she was exhilarated. And with this mysterious newfound friend who would be walking beside her, the day had much to look forward to.

The male villagers had started their day at the farms; the female villagers busy with their chores and their stalls at the village center. The children were up, and were playing and filling the air their joyous, innocent laughter, cherishing every minute of their carefree days while they lasted.

"Before we leave for Termina, I would like to pray at the Statue of Fate first," Serge said to Leena.

"Okay! Let's go!" Leena found herself agreeing, even when she had never been faithful with the prayers. She regarded such divine beings as mere religious fanaticism that one could do without. Many believed that the first of man who inhabited El Nido was created by this Goddess of Fate, though Leena believed that it was man who created the Goddess of Fate out of their own figment of wishful imagination. She kept such opinions to herself, for the elders would not take lightly such blasphemous remarks about the sacred Goddess they so believed in.

Leena and Serge walked past the village, cut across the open field, entered the chief's hut and approached the Statue of Fate. A queue of villagers stood in line before the Statue, talking noisily whilst waiting their turn for their morning prayers.

"Leena?" said Serge.

"Go ahead."

"Who's the chief of Arni? Now that everything's different," Serge said wistfully.

"It's Gonji," she replied, paying careful attention not to say more than she should in the chief's hut.

"Gonji? But... Have you ever heard of Chief Radius? He became chief of Arni some four years ago. He teaches Element magic to everyone he sees."

Leena shook her head and bit her lips to remind herself to keep certain opinions of this chief within her mind. Chief Gonji had been tagged more than enough negativity -- a miser, a coward, a greedy pig, money-faced, selfish, aloof, insensitive -- that if he were put on a boat, he would sink with all of it. That same would happen even if he had all his fats removed from his rotund belly. And if she were caught saying anything bad about, the chief would make sure she would sink with him.

"Serge, do you pray everyday?" she asked, switching the topic.

"Yes, I do."

"What or who do you pray for?" she asked as she observed his reaction.

"I pray for my dad," he said without hesitation. "I pray for his safety and return."

"Safety and return? Wait a minute. Surely, you are not talking about... fourteen years ago, are you? The day you, or Serge, was bitten by the panther demon?"

Serge turned to look at Leena, gaping.

"Y-You don't mean to say, you remember my past?"

"I don't really remember your past. I heard most of your past from fellow villagers. No, I mean, it's Serge's past, not yours. No! That's not what I meant!" she corrected, only to find each correction a worse contradiction than the other.

"Leena, just tell me what you know," Serge said eagerly.

"That Serge I knew was bitten and seriously injured. That was fourteen years ago. My father and his set out to sea, taking him along with them to seek cure. I heard my father never returned from that trip. Serge's father returned with him, but he became a little hysterical. One day, he sailed out and never came back."

Leena blinked to rid her eyes of the mist.

Fourteen years ago, after Serge was wounded and poisoned by the panther demon, her father, Miguel, had set out to sea together with Serge's father, Wazuki. Wazuki returned with Serge who had recovered from the poisoning, but Miguel never returned from the trip. Nobody dared question Wazuki of Miguel's whereabouts, just as nobody dared question how Serge was miraculously healed from the fatal poisoning, for Wazuki had seemed not to be himself, as if he were possessed.

That much she knew, and what she knew came from the tales of her fellow villagers. This incident happened when she was three years of age. She was too young to recall how her father looked like, or how her father had doted on her, if he ever did. And she was then too young to understand what her mother had meant when she said that her father had "departed to a far away place."

Her own mother had never been generous about the details of her father. Leena had asked her time and again about what kind of father he was while he lived. Not only her mother refused to rake up the past, she sulked upon any mention her father. As for her fellow villagers, they knew Miguel as a person who had passionate interest for the historical culture of El Nido, but she could sense they evaded such questions as "was he a nice man?" and "did he love me?"

"I'm sorry," Serge apologized.

Leena shook her head. "You don't have to," she said with a gentle smile. "It's no fault of yours. So, you don't mean to say the same happened to you fourteen years ago to you, do you?"

"I don't remember the biting. I heard that from my villagers, too. But after my father left and never returned, I remember standing at the pier with mom everyday after, waiting and waiting. But he never returned. Do you also remember how your mother was bitter about losing your father? She said it was I who caused the death of your father and disallowed you to talk to me or my mother. Her bitterness lasted almost a year. And do you remember--"

"Stop it! This is giving me the creeps," Leena said, hand to her heart. A chill tingled in her spine. "Yes, the villagers have said this Serge and his mom used to wait at the pier for his father's return. And yes, I remember vaguely mom's bitterness after that incident."

"B-But you cannot remember that I didn't drown, ten years ago."

"But I know you drowned! I mean, Serge drowned! No, this other Serge drowned, not you!" she corrected herself again.

Serge's brows furrowed. For a moment, Leena thought her tactlessness had finally earned his distrust and dislike. She realized otherwise. His brows contracted so hard that wrinkled lines of thought appeared between them, as if they wrote themselves on his smooth, flawless forehead. Those dreamy eyes had become serious, focused and resolute. Their hard gaze fell upon and through the wooden floor like chisel that bore through wood and searched its depth for the finest grains of answers. His forehead glittered with droplets of perspiration and his mind seemed hard at work, powering the probing chisel into the heart of the mystery, a mystery gave Leena the cold shudders even amidst the morning warmth.

Leena found Serge's predicament confusing. She had not come to terms with this Serge being the Serge she knew before he died ten years ago. She was certain this boy had mistaken his own identity for someone else's. But there were the testimonies from this boy that suggested that what he claimed about being the real Serge might be true. Such truths and fallacies weighed on her mind like they hung on the balance, both equally heavily burdens that refused to tip the scales to either side. She spun the threads of thoughts like silkworms spun threads into a cocoon that was to her a gathered lump of mess which constricted her logical reasoning. When it was their turn to pray, she finally gave up thinking.

Serge touched the welcoming hand of the Goddess of Fate, closed his eyes and prayed earnestly. Leena looked at him from behind, wondering how he looked like when the windows to his soul were closed to the world. When Serge finished, he moved aside as Leena took her position before the sacred statue.

"What or who do you pray for?" Serge asked.

"It's a secret!" Leena exclaimed, but shamefully. She closed her eyes and chanted garbage to herself. When she finished, she looked at Serge, smiled and said, "Let's go. North to Termina!"

El Nido was said to be an active volcanic area once. Scattered all over its lands were spewing hot springs and its sea, volcanoes large and small, concentrated in the divide between the north and the south of the central continent. The Fossil Valley that was a legacy of such volcanic activity sat between Termina in the far north of the central continent and Arni in the south. It was said that several thousand years ago, molten lava seeped through the earth's crust, filled the surface with granite rock as it cooled and shaped the valley till what it looked today. Flanked by two tall walls of granite plateaus, a single trail led the way from one end of the valley to the other. The looming jagged walls of gray blocked out the morning sun, while the granite of ambient gray left the path between dull and dim. Steam rose steadily from small geysers in the ground, shrouding the valley in a screen of thin, warm mist.

As Leena and Serge proceeded through the dim valley, Leena fanned herself with her hands, trying to cool that unbearable heat eddying within such constricted environs. Serge remained wordless throughout the walk and his eyes constantly gazed far into the distance. He walked like a zombie whose legs walked without him realizing, whose eyes looked without him seeing. His silence was boredom that seemed to add to the heat, that which she found no means of fanning away.

She found pleasure in kicking into soft ground and kicking up loose gravel into the air. She found more in picking up a handful of dust, letting them loose and watching them fall like the sands in the hourglass did. She hopped and swayed and danced about like a shaman, hoping to drive away the awkwardness of her company's silence that was worse than the loneliness of no company at all.

"Serge?" Leena finally called out to him.

"Yes?"

"Are you always that quiet?"

He did not reply. Leena looked at him as they walked, wondering if he heard the question.

"Why don't you tell me more about yourself? Like where you came from"-- Leena halted, turned away from Serge and stuck her tongue out in guilt --"I mean what is the Arni you know like?"

"Didn't you say it was creepy?" Serge asked concernedly.

"With you not talking, it is even creepier," Leena assured.

"Okay. The Arni I know is a fishing village," he reported.

Now that Serge talked, Leena tried hard not to disagree. Arni was a fishing village.

"The catch is good," Serge explained, "The fishermen return everyday with huge catches. Before the change, Arnians hung fish at their doors as a symbol of good luck. It's like a wish for the season to be always good."

The catch used to be good during her mother's time, Leena heard. She vaguely recalled that the village fisherman used to hang their catch for the day up at the hammock, and that they used to hang fish outside their huts for such symbols of good luck. She recalled the fishy smell that she so detested when she still walked as a toddler. But she vividly recalled how it reeked, and how the odor had once churned her innards like the heavy smell of fermented cheese did that as a result, she threw up a morning's worth of delicious breakfast.

Friends leave, flowers wither and all good things never last. Some time ago, the weather turned hot, the waters salty. Beautiful clouds that used to mushroom below the azure blue became things of the past. Rains and thunderstorms became a rarity as the scorching heat and parched lands became their way of life. The unexpected climatic change had destroyed the smallest form of sea life and forced fishes off the seas of El Nido towards greener pastures. The catch had suffered terribly; it had turned from bad to worse and then from worse to hopeless, until there came a month when Arni lived without fish for their meals.

The suns and the heavens betrayed the seas and the seas in turn failed Arni. The lands deteriorated as it struggled to keep vegetation alive. The village turned to slaying Komodo lizards, dragon-like creatures about the height of a child during their early stages. But these dragon-like lizards could not reproduce as quickly as it could supply the entire village. Eventually the lizards were spent, and the village was forced to depend on their drying fields and aid from Termina for their livelihood.

The dried fish had been taken down from the huts. No one saw the use of such said symbols of good luck that did not work in practical. The tradition of age-old was sadly discarded.

That must have been a good five to ten years ago.

"I don't understand," said Serge. "How could all these have changed? These are traditions of Arni. And I don't understand how my mother ended up--"

"Dead?" Leena added helpfully.

Serge fell silent. Leena shut her eyes and cursed herself for being careless. Those were words that did not pass the mind, words that were doomed to be misunderstood and hurtful. While there had been times when she thought before she spoke, there had also been times when she spoke first. It felt as if she swung between these two personalities with a rhythm, one which did not follow the days and night, the waning and waxing moons, and the movement of constellations. At this moment, she found herself on the wrong side of that rhythm she never once had comprehended.

"H-Hey!" whispered Serge with a pat on Leena's shoulder. "Those were the two of three who were after me yesterday."

Leena opened her eyes and followed Serge's finger that pointed at two figures more than a hundred feet away from them. They stood in the way and spoke among each other.

"Acacia Dragoons?" wondered Leena. "They were after you? What did you do?"

"A-A-Acacia Dragoons?" Serge was confused and startled. "Didn't the Dragoons go missing three years ago? I recall that they left on some expedition and never returned since. Porre took over Viper Manor, didn't they?"

"No," Leena clarified, picking her words carefully. "They didn't go missing. Porre never set foot on our soil, Serge. If they did, the Dragoons will most certainly thrash them."

"The Acacia Dragoons," Serge mused. "Yes, I recall their uniforms now. But this cannot be!" -- he turned to Leena -- "Even if it were a plot. How could the mastermind bring these dead Dragoons back to rule El Nido. That cannot be!"

Serge troubled eyes were soon lost in thought, as they did last evening at the tavern. Leena wondered what he was thinking and began to wonder if Serge's words had any truth to them. She found no reason as to why the military could have left their headquarters unattended and opened an opportunity for someone else to walk into. She wasn't well-versed in the art of war, but she knew that the Acacia Dragoons were not rash and unintelligent leaders to have acted as such. Furthermore, according to Serge, it seemed like he was now a wanted felon of the Acacia Dragoons.

"Shake it! We can't just shake it on back to the manor like this. We failed in our mission!" the fat Dragoon whined pathetically.

"That was awfully awful back there," the skinny Dragoon added equally miserably. "I want a rematch!"

"By the way," the fat said. "Do you remember what kind of outfit he was in?"

"Hmm," the skinny pondered as he turned and noticed Serge. "Just something justly like that!"

"Oh, you remember," the fat turned to Serge. "So he looked like that, huh?"

"Actually," the skinny readied his spear. "It is him."

"So you're sure about this?"

"Wonderfully wonderful timing!"

"Let's shake it! We're really going shake it to you this time!"

The fat and skinny inched over.

Leena found herself balancing on the scales, unable to decide whether she should believe in Serge when the facts seemed to point otherwise. She was troubled by the dilemma she was caught in. Defending Serge equated to harboring a criminal, a crime punishable by a long, awful prison term. Snitching equated to the betrayal of a friend's trust.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and made a decision on impulse.

"Let's fight them off, Serge," said Leena.

"Are you serious about that, Leena? You had better think twice. If these are the Dragoons, defying their authority, not to mention fighting them, will implicate you!"

"I'll show you how serious I am!" she said.

Leena stormed down to the fat who was startled by her sudden offensive. She screamed with her might and threw a fist square into the fat's face. The impact exploded, not with the sound of a broken noise, but that of an agonizing cry from the fat. He retreated with a few wavering steps, eventually lost balance and fell miserably on his oversized bottoms. He wept relentlessly, nursing a broken nose with his chubby hands.

Leena was both surprised and guilt-stricken by the damage the blow had done that she went over with the intention of helping the fat up. The fat shook off her help and hands away.

"Retreat!" cried the fat. He got up on his fours and crawled away in shame. The skinny gulped and scurried to safety.

Leena giggled in disbelief. If all Dragoons behaved like these two, then the general of the Dragoons must be the head of a circus, or the janitor of the zoo. They would make for a good pair of comedians for they had been born with a look that would certainly bring laughter to an audience. But as soldiers of the army of El Nido, they were a disgrace, a humiliation of to their regime and themselves. Yet, she looked upon them with sympathy, and wondered how they must have been outcast by their fellow comrades who must be more normal.

"Those were the Dragoons who were after you?" she asked, and wondered if the attempt to capture Serge were serious.

Serge scratched the back of his head and nodded. "Do you think they will report this matter? I am concerned--"

"Certainly not!" Leena assured. "Remember how they were shameful about returning back to headquarters?"

"I hope you are right..."

"I will be!" Leena smiled. "Come! We'll be there, soon! There's a lot going on around there now. You don't want to miss it!"