Chrono Cross Second Journey
Fan Novelization
8 The Missing Piece
Had Kid not been with them tonight, Serge had to admit, that the only way to discover what had happened to him was to allow General Viper to capture him. It never crossed his mind to infiltrate the manor that was said to be impregnable. Even if he had, he would have not gotten past ten steps past the fortified walls. She remained boisterous, boyish and unforgivably rude for a girl. But he respected her, respected her thieving talents that got them here and appreciated the unconditional help she offered to someone she did not know. Now that they had gotten in, he hoped she knew a good way out.
The manor was empty, uncomfortably empty. They walked the second level unhindered with no guard who stood between arches, who cordoned off sections of the manor, and who spotted them and raised the alarm. Only empty armors of knights stood against the corridors donning helmets through which eyes seemed to peer. The air was tinted with the scent of royalty, but silent like the basements of a haunted mansion. Intermittent chandeliers glorified the ceilings, but brought to life nothing animated on the floor. The threesome's footsteps exploded in the creepy silence even as they walked on carpeted ground, like thunder that clapped in the calm before a storm.
Serge shared Kid's hunches, that all this seemed arranged. The Dragoons had disappeared for the past three years and left the manor under the hands of the Porre military. Now, the Dragoons had mysteriously returned and the Porre military just as it had mysteriously left. Only yesterday, Karsh had been sent on foot to capture him alive from Cape Howl. Today, the manor looked as if it had emptied itself and became a huge net those would close in on the catch when his time was due. Still, he could not fathom such extents the Dragoons were willing to go to have a village boy in their hands, unless they had something far greater to gain. The thought of that gave him hope to press ahead, and hope that things were not as dark and gloomy as he wildly imagined.
They wondered about the vast reaches of the corridors, stumbled into empty, unlit rooms but found nothing of interest. Kid had seemed particularly interested in scouring the rooms, the glass shelves, the drawers and the cupboards. "Where the hell is it?" she would always mutter. Yet, each time, she never cast more than a glance at the shiny necklace of gold, pendants of silver and scarlet rubies, and the crowns ringed full with glittering diamonds; and each time before she left, she returned the rooms to their undisturbed conditions. He wondered what she was really after. And he wondered why her actions were unlike any thief he had heard of.
They eventually wound up at a gate, through which led across a bridge to the western tower. Kid opened the gate and they passed through it.
The two moons glared from the skies above like a pair of eyes that watched their every movement across the manor bridge. The lunar bodies emitted no halos and their edges were sharp and distinct. In the blackness of the void behind, the moons hung ominously like lanterns from a stick, only there were no sticks, and no strings attached. Stars shone steadily through the atmosphere that collected no clouds and no covers to diminish their lights. Night had fallen for several hours now, but the burning heat had defiantly refused to leave, as if it was loath to be like the sun, to disappear off the horizon, to be defeated by the darkness that reigned in the world.
Kid slid open the gate into the library and treaded carefully in. Serge and Leena followed close behind her.
Within the western tower was a library, a circular tower of books that took the shape of its circular exterior. The library was three stories high, with each level above first, accessible by flights of stairs. Each level had a concentric ledge and had enough room space for at most two to walk round. The only reading area had been designated to the first floor and was furnished with limited, but exquisitely designed tables and chairs. A large chandelier, attractively jeweled with finely-cut glass pieces that glittered in its own light, hung from the ceiling of the three storey library. The books were of dull brown and maroon that, together with the deep brown of the oak shelves, cast an ambient of an old era, as if one had returned to medieval times some four hundred years ago, to the dark warring ages. Even the smell of aging, yellowed pages tinged the air and tickled one's noses.
In the dimness behind the tables and chairs of elegance stood poorly hidden, a craft of sleek, futuristic make. Its curved body of sand brown reflected the shelves of books behind it, while a canopy of transparent amber shut the pilot's seat beneath.
"What's this?" said Kid as she examined the craft with keen interest.
"Who might that be?" said a slow, deliberate voice with a heavy accent from the second storey up at which the threesome looked in shock, for they had been spotted.
Kid turned and hurried silently the team to the gate, but the voice said again, "Fear not, young ones. There's no need to hurry. I will not question your uninvited presence."
An old man tottered laboriously down the stairs with pile of books in his arms. He donned a robe and headdress of blue with gold trimming and of a scholarly fashion that seemed equally ancient, as was the mood of the library. His thick beard that grew to chest level was of silk white, as was the hair that fringed from under his headdress. Lines of wisdom had crawled over his pale, aged face but his eyes exuded the zeal of a hopeful, passionate youth.
When the old man descended to eye level, his gaze studied everyone intently until it fell on Serge, when his eyes lit up like that of a young child.
"Oh my!" exclaimed the old man with delight. "Give me a moment, if you will."
The old man walked hastily over to the craft in the dimness, opened its canopy and dumped the books within. He then walked into light and walked up close to Serge. Serge stared at the old man curiously and wondered warily if he were about to throw them into prison cells.
"Yes, yes!" said the old man, his gaze enthusiastic. "You must be Serge!"
From the moment Serge's world had changed, no one had recognized him and everyone had claimed the real Serge was dead ten years ago. This moment, this old man seemed to know him and even spoke his name, but he did not know if he should feel elated or disappointed, for those who knew him had all labeled him a ghost of the past. Yet, he felt a chill tingle in his spine as if he knew some thing of evil that had lurked in darkness for too long was about to come to light and stare him in the eyes.
"My, my, the texts were accurate: we really do meet," said the old man delightfully as both his hands reached out to grip Serge's arms. "That means--"
The texts. What texts?
Serge retreated several steps awkwardly. He wondered what this old man was thinking, and wondered what he might have done to kindle this old man's affection. But Serge saw wisdom deep within the old man's eyes, and saw answers that this old man might be able to provide.
"Oi! Who the--"
Serge raised a hand to Kid as he swallowed. "L-Let me do the asking, please. How do you know my n-name, Sir? And, and who might you be?" asked Serge.
The old man laughed. "Please do not call me 'sir.'"
The sage spoke the common language, but he did not speak with the formality of medieval or that of the royal, or of the crudity that Kid was accustomed, or that of the casual amongst friends. His accent was as unfamiliar as his dress was, as if it were not of this world.
"Some twelve thousand years ago, I was but a sage who was literally thrown out of his own kingdom, a kingdom now forgotten in this era."
"Twelve thousand years. How can that be?" asked Serge in disbelief.
The sage laughed again. "To keep that short, I've journeyed back and forth the river of time. But my identity is not important this moment. Just as much as my story of a lengthy explanation that must wait. Right now, you must be baffled by the events that are happening around you, so I want you to listen very carefully: The world is not just a single entity. Another world similar to ours exists in another universe."
"A universe?" Serge asked, still baffled. He glanced at Kid and Leena, only to find them equally lost.
"There you will find what you might have become, a world of possibilities that might have existed, a whole history that has not been written yet. It is out there somewhere. We are simply unable to see, feel, or experience it.
"Serge," the sage said.
"Yes," Serge said respectfully.
"This world is not the world you grew up in."
Serge shivered with a chill, as the cold gale of the sage's words blasted him in his face in the warm summer night. He found himself stagger one step back, as if the impact of his words were hard and real.
"Ten years ago, something happened that put your very soul teetering on the balancing scales of fate. With a fifty-fifty chance of life or death."
"Ten years ago? Wasn't that when I almost drowned at Opassa Beach?"
"That is correct. That same time was when your future was split in twain."
"My future was split?" Serge asked, completely lost. A rush of thoughts flooded his mind and waves of chills seized his soul.
"In your home world, you survived to live a happy and prosperous life. That is how you made it to the present point in time."
Serge eyes lit up. "Does that mean my world still exists? And everyone, including my mother, remains the same?"
"Yes," said the sage. "They still exist, but in a universe different from this."
Serge closed his eyes and heaved a long sigh of relief. He felt an invisible weight that had built up upon his shoulders ease so quickly that he almost cried. It all made sense now: the familiar faces, but unfamiliar reactions; the discarded traditions of Arni; his grave where it should be Leena's inscription; the disappearance of the Dragoons and their reappearance. All these were the contradictions of his experience that should not have existed in the same world. But never in his life would he alone have arrived at such conclusion that there was another world in which the opposite occurred.
He now knew his world still existed, his village remained as it was, and his mother still lived happily as she did the past ten years. To think he had insisted that it was the world that had changed, that it was a plot of hideous evil, that it was all the friends and villagers he knew who had upon them cast a terrible spell that had turned them against him. But never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined that it was him who stumbled into a world in which he had ceased to exist.
Serge flashed Kid and Leena a smile he did not try to contain. He hoped to hear from them a congratulatory consolation, for things were not as bad as he had made them believe to be. Not only did he receive no reaction, they were completely stunned, just as he was when he first mistakenly assumed that the world had changed.
"However," continued the old man, "here in this 'alternate' world, you are, in fact, very dead and buried. You died ten years ago, but this world's time line has flowed on regardless. You have no place in this world. Here, you are but a ghost brought back from the past!"
The word 'ghost' no longer had effect on him, for he now knew he could roam around as a ghost in this world but walk upright as a living human in his own. It wasn't the past that had caught with him and erased the world of his existence but forgot to erase his mortal flesh and his living soul. It was the past that had continued to exist and carried on cold-heartedly without him, in world different from his own. But as Serge's thinking mind dove into the details, he began to realize the absurdity of the situation.
"How could that be even possible?" Serge asked. "The worlds d-divided into two totally different futures, because I survived and died ten years ago, you say? How can the world" -- Serge gestured -- "split into two just like that?"
"They do, Serge, they do," the sage laughed. He turned his back to Serge, took a few paces forward and then turned to Serge. "The flow of time is like the branches of a large tree. As the tree grows like time flows, its long arms branch like time do. At points, the branches of time grow so close to each other, one could jump from one to another, like you did when you first crossed into this world.
"The locations where such weakened resistances in the time-space continua occur are called 'Angelus Errare' -- 'Where Even Angels Lose Their Way.'" The sage interlocked his fingers in illustration. "It is said that there, the weakened borders of two universes fluctuate in a way as to make the passage between the parallel worlds a possibility. Similar and yet totally different worlds, running side by side each other, running at the same time.
"Perhaps, in this world, you are the missing piece from a giant puzzle. And maybe, just maybe, the vacuum created by your non-existence here has drawn you across the border between the universes to fill the void in that puzzle. Of course, no one can say for sure."
Time flowed like a river, but this was the first anyone said time branched like a tree. Serge could imagine how time could have split and divided, but he found it impossible to believe how time carried down its branches the soul of the same being in two different worlds. Yet, there was a Leena in this world who lived worlds apart from the other Leena in his home, and whose character was just as worlds apart from the other. Was the soul of Leena ten years older the same of her ten years before? Or was the soul of Leena two halves of a whole, each dedicated to one world?
The more Serge pondered, the less he realized he knew. He found no solution to the puzzle that he was a part of, that the sage claimed he was a missing piece of. When he saw nothing of value should he insist probing, he decided to give up analyzing. Some things, he had learned, were never meant to be understood. Some things, he knew, were perhaps best left unexplained.
"Does that mean that I can get home?" asked Serge a more important question.
"Yes, of course. These two worlds are connected by some force unknown. Depending on the location, the two worlds influence each other in ways strange. I am certain there is a wormhole, a dimensional distortion that connects the two parallel worlds."
"A dimensional distortion? Where can we find it?"
"You will find the answer, Serge," the sage smiled. "You are a bright young man. It should not prove too elusive."
"If what you say is true," Kid interrupted impatiently, "and this world is an alternate reality, then why the bloody hell did Serge die? The reason has to be something that happened ten years ago!"
The sage turned to Kid. "The reason is long. The truth may hurt."
"Oi! Grandpa, you do know a lot, don't you?" Kid yelled furiously. "Why don't you stop beating around the bloody bush and tell us every damned thing?"
The sage smiled warmly at Kid and said, "Kid, is that not right? I thought you would be a little... different. But that is understandable, given the circumstances."
"How do you know my name? And what in the name of Hades are you now blabbering about, you old fruit cake? Serge, there's no bloody reason to trust--"
"Trust or not to trust. That has often been the question for you. If you trust me, Serge, then trust this. The reason for your death and survival ten years ago is part of the long story that needs no telling now. You will find out in due time. Besides, the texts do not foretell my revealing of all this very night, but they do speak of me telling you the following:
"There's a bigger, and more powerful entity behind all of these that's happening, including my presence here. This entity lies in wait far beyond the dimensions of time and space. Waiting for an eternity. Waiting for the very right moment."
"And what the bloody hell is it waiting for?" Kid demanded.
"It's waiting for you. Serge," the sage said to Serge.
"Me?" Serge asked, startled.
"Yes, you, Serge. When you find your way home, you have a choice. You can take the easy way: ignore everything and live your life as if nothing had happened. Or you could go the hard way: find yourself, discover the true meaning of your existence and fight your way to this entity. That will up to you to decide."
"B-But what has this entity have to do with Serge?" Leena asked worriedly.
"Serge is bounded by fate, by a duty to all mankind. Just as every being has a role to fulfill in their lives, Serge is no exception. Only, what he decides from today charts the course of the future of his fellow humans."
Kid grunted in exasperated irritation.
"Is this entity a god of sorts, like those you get to read in legends and stories?" asked Leena. "You make it sound powerful."
The sage laughed again. "This entity is so powerful it would take sixty-five million years to defeat it. But I've never imagined it from your perspective. Yes, in a way, it is a god, but it's a god of darkness that knows only of consuming, devouring and destruction. It is a parasite, whose name you shall carry as a burden throughout your journey, Serge. A name that reads" -- the sage paused -- "Lavos."
Just as quickly as the burden of the first eased, a new one had come to take its place, like waves that washed up and down the beach, and then up again, never ceasing, never ending.
The word 'Lavos' carried a tone that was heavy to the ears, and a weight of mammoth proportions that collapsed on Serge's heart and sent blood surging to his brain. A dark sense of omen lurked deep within those letters, those syllables, and every twist of the tongue and hiss between the teeth as the word was articulated. Serge shuddered at the bass rumble of the sage's ancient intonation. Serge felt as if the word called his name and beckoned his soul; he felt as if he wanted to vomit.
"Lavos?" Kid startled. "I've heard of this 'Lavos.'"
"But of course you have, Kid," said the sage. "Do relate what you have heard to Serge when the time is right."
"And just when will that be?" asked Kid irritably.
"When you flee this place in one piece, of course," the sage joked.
"Wait, wait, wait just a minute," yelled Kid, as if something just dawned on her. "Are you the bloke who disabled the lock at the doors below? You led us in here, didn't you? Look, we appreciate all these children stories and all, but we've got some serious work to finish."
"You should have realized by now that, like you, I am merely an uninvited visitor to this place. No one knows of my presence save the three of you. How, then, could I disable the lock of a place I know little of? The one who disabled the locks is a strong being that you will encounter up at the highest level of the manor. I believe he holds the key to your past, Serge. I believe he expects you."
"Strong being, my bloody foot," swore Kid. "Why don't you just get straight and tell us his bloody name?"
"Does he have anything to do with the Lavos you mention?" asked Serge.
The sage smiled. "He, too, carries the burden of Lavos, but in a different way. His agenda is your enemy. His goals are your downfalls."
Serge found himself sinking into the sea of the unknown and the depths of an inexplicable sense of responsibility. The sea of the unknown fogged his vision and he could see no further than his hand stretched from his body. He saw no predictable future, no solid ground to firmly plant his feet, and no end to the descent. He continued to sink but he did not struggle. He tried to breathe but he choked, and he choked hard, till liquid flowed from his nostrils and saliva spattered on the library floor.
Kid helped him up by his arms, as the old man patted his back. Serge coughed incessantly till the lumped in his throat eased to a tickle that he tried to scratch away but could not. He took three deep breaths and composed himself and uttered, "I'll--I'll be fine."
"Oi! It'll be alright, mate!" Kid consoled as she supported him by his arm. "Take my advice. Don't listen to this bugger."
The sage offered a few more pats, until Serge stood upright. The sage studied Serge and nodded when he was satisfied. "Well, this is where we part, Serge. I have my tasks to fulfill, you have yours," said the sage. "You shall be fine, young man. This may be the beginning, but all things come to an end, be it good or bad," he said, as if he read Serge's mind. "I shall meet you again, in four, five years, when your journey finally comes to an end. Then, I shall share with you again those grandfather stories of mine."
"Five years? My journey takes that long?" Serge asked and coughed again.
The sage laughed as he stroked his beard. "Time is but relative, Serge. Five long years for one may be no more than a fleeting dream for another."
The sage smiled and turned his back to the threesome. He walked to the craft, opened its canopy and hopped clumsily into it.
"Oh yes," said the sage with a smile. "Please do not tell a soul that you've seen me here."
He buckled up, closed the canopy and began poking at its dashboard. The sage waved his hand and Serge found an obligation to return the wave.
As the craft hummed into life, a spherical bubble of distortion swiveled into view, shielding the craft within. The hum was soon drowned within the shield, as were all sounds that came from within. As the library fell into deafening silence, vision through the bubble rippled slowly as if it were the reflection of a pond on which water had dropped. A faint light of blue tore the spherical bubble through its center like sunlight that streamed into a room when the doors of double frames opened. The bubble that now burned of cobalt fire collapsed upon itself and disappeared into a few flakes of light, which quickly faded, too.
"What in the bloody hell is that?" blared Kid, as she ran over the empty space where the craft of the future once stood. "That freaking thing is gone!"
"Magic?" mumbled Leena, stunned. "Real magic?"
"A kingdom forgotten in this era..." muttered Serge grimly.
They party of three left the library tower, crossed the bridge and entered the manor's main building.
Serge said nothing, for he could find none to. He saw with his own eyes the sage vanish with his craft into thin air. He understood that no magic of the Elements could have been capable of performing such acts of disappearing just as none of the same could have erased the memories of people and transformed an entire world. The sage had claimed he was from an age of twelve thousand years past, from a kingdom that was not as much as forgotten as it was remembered, but remembered only as a baseless legend.
The ancient kingdom of Zeal.
Unless man had harvested the powers of the earth to redirect the flow of history at the blink of an eye or the flash of a bolt, he found no reason why the sage could have journeyed from a distant past into the current time. If indeed man had harvested such tremendous powers in the past, then man today must be conveniently journeying from one time period to another. Then again, man was said to have harvested real magic in that same distant twelve thousand years past, but had lost all wisdom it by this era.
Yet, Serge found an urge to believe the sage, as if he so desired to believe in something, anything, that shed light on his miserable plight. The sage had offered the answer that best fitted the puzzle, even if the answer had brought about implications of the impossible. No one had offered Serge a better answer than the sage, for no one could dream beyond their wildest of dreams the bizarre possibility of parallel universes between which one could breach their boundaries and cross. But the sage's words of ancient accent troubled Serge deeply. The sage spoke with the same tongue but the words he uttered were as good as if he spoke with another. Missing piece; Angelus Errare; dimensional distortions; Lavos; god of darkness; all of which were cryptic glyphs of ill-boding, coded beyond Serge's understanding.
The light shed on his plight was but a hopeless glitter lost in the vast darkness, like a candle flame that tried to burn in the vast ocean. Serge groped in darkness as he searched for a way forward, but he found himself going round in circles. He lost all orientation and was lost like an infant, like he did when he first stumbled into this world. He felt worse than a blind man who at least knew to use his ears as his eyes; Serge felt as if he had lost all sense of sight, hearing and smell. He did not know what to expect next, and did not know what the Goddess of Fate had planned for him in this strange chapter of his life.
As if the troubles in his mind weren't enough, he was now expected by a strong being whom he knew little of.
Leena appeared gloomy and upset, as if the revelation had affected her just as much as it did Serge. She kept her head low as much as she could, and refused to look anywhere else unless necessary. If her eyes met Serge's by accident, they shifted away quickly, as if they dared not look into his. But when her eyes did meet Serge's straight, they gleamed against the pale vanilla of the walls, as if they watered with tears.
Kid seemed disturbed, for she wore a face of a look grim, and her eyes that were always sharp were now distant, unfocused and hasty. But her feelings did not seem to dull her thieving nature. She still looked behind paintings, under the carpets, and into the helmets of the armors of knights that stood against the walls, along the corridors. She was swift and did not hold the team back. But she remained silent, as those nimble footsteps of hers were.
When the three finished combing the second level unhampered, they climbed a flight of stairs to the third level, where a throne room spanned the level. A wide carpet of royal red led from the stairs up the aisle, and up onto the ground where the throne of gold and painstaking craftsmanship sat. Symbols of snakes were the throne's arms and more that of dragons formed the throne's back. More chandeliers hung from the ceilings that had been crafted into fan vaults like that of the churches.
A lady of strange dressing was walking towards them as they entered the throne room proper. She was a harlequin of petite build, dressed in a fancy motley costume. She topped a characteristic headdress of two oversized stocking caps sewn into one. One bell hung from each of the two ends of her top and, together, they jingled soothingly in the haunting silence. The headdress covered her head whole, save her face that looked through. Where people had earrings as ornaments, she had two pompons of soft, cotton white that hung near her ear. A thin, translucent silk of pale-blue fell loosely around her slender legs playfully and exposed each inch of flesh beneath. Her cheery sway to every step and her bright smile in the gloomy night took the gloomy party of three by surprise.
"Huh?" Kid exclaimed, breaking her episode of silence. "Who the...?"
The harlequin stopped in her steps and sized up the group.
"Is this the stronger being the sage mentioned?" Serge asked as Leena raised her fists.
"What?" Kid yelled. "This loony here?"
The harlequin studied Serge intently and ignored Kid's regards. "You are Serge?" she said playfully with a high pitch and a heavy accent that, again, seemed unheard of. "You are even sexier than I thought! Ooh-la-la!"
"And who the bloody hell are you?" Kid demanded, her voice booming across the huge throne hall.
"And this vulgar one must be Kid," the harlequin said. "You disgust me!"
"What did you say?" Kid yelled.
"I am Harle," the harlequin introduced, as she took a step back and gracefully curtsied. "I am the right-hand harlequin to Monsieur Lynx."
Lynx? The name drifted to Serge's ears and registered nothing in his confused mind.
"Serge, if you lie down with a dog like this girl," Harle said as she turned to look at Kid. "You will surely catch fleas, no? I think you can do much better if you gave her up! Actually, I suggest you all turn back. You should not defy him."
"Please, Serge," Harle insisted lovingly, "I would hate to see anything sad happen to you."
"I've had it up to here with you!" Kid roared, fuming mad.
"You shut up!" Harle turned to Kid and retorted. "I am having a serious conversation with Serge! Why don't you mind your own business!"
"That's it! Put up your dukes!" Kid challenged, her dagger drawn. "I'm going to kick your arse so hard, you'll kiss the moons!"
"You are the one who is going to have her derriere kicked! No?"
"You!"
"But alas!" Harle said regretfully and cheekily. "I cannot be caught fighting you here. Imagine the trouble I would get into!" She walked past them, her brows furrowed in cheeky sadness. Before she left, she turned back to face Serge. "Goodbye, Serge!" she waved, then blew a kiss at Serge. "See you again! And Serge, please dream of me! Yes?"
The mysterious jester swayed flamboyantly away.
"Sheeze! Just what is her problem?" Kid said as she flung an arm in disgust.
The last level of the manor reduced to a corridor. Indirect lights colored the ceiling a gradient of gentle warmth, which exuded an ambient less grand, and much cozier than the chandelier lightings of the lower levels. The walls of beige were lined with fragrant plants that grew from arching alcoves of fine white. At one end of the corridor, three doors of lavish gold-crafted frames and fine timbre make shut eyes from the rooms of the highest level of royalty. At the other end of the corridor led to what appeared to be a roofless balcony outside the manor, from which the stars of the night sky could be vaguely made out.
"Wait here, and don't come close to me!" Kid whispered to Serge and Leena.
They nodded.
Kid chose a door, went up to it and scrutinized every grain of it before she fiddled with the door knob. She turned the knob carefully and pushed the door. She let the door open wide fully, before she stepped into the chamber carefully and inspected every corner of the door frame, every seam of the chamber walls and every inch of its ceiling. Then, she waved Serge and Leena over.
The lights had been turned off in the royal chamber long and spacious to live a platoon of twenty. The moonlight of pale pink poured through the windows from the right of the chamber, casting shadows of the decorated windows upon the soft carpet floor. Shelves of books and decorative crystals stood against the walls, while a collection of ancient weapons of axes and swords adorned them. At the far end of the chamber, a artifact of mystic blue emanated and pulsated gently a faint glow that drained the colors from the royal furniture and painted the dim walls a ghostly monochromatic gradient of blue to black.
"Oi! Could this be...?" Kid muttered, thrilled by the sight of the blue glow as she darted to the end of the chamber.
Serge and Leena jogged over.
An artifact that rested on a cushion on the chamber desk was that of a pale white shell, shaped into a flame and wrapped lovingly around a crystal orb of amethyst blue. The orb the size of a palm stole through the top and the side of the shell, revealing a surface smooth and flawless. An intricate network of lines embedded within the crystal orb formed layer above layer, intersections after intersections of honeycombs from which the glow of ghostly blue pulsed. The artifact was surely of a design arcane, that it seemed not to have been crafted by hands of a human.
"Nah," concluded Kid disappointedly. "It ain't the Frozen Flame!"
Serge looked at Leena and she looked back at him.
"Frozen Flame?" Serge asked Kid, stunned. "You are after the Frozen Flame? That Frozen Flame? The legendary treasure? The treasure of--" Serge paused when he realized he was getting worked up. "That's what you're here for?"
"Well, yes," Kid replied, as she scanned the room, "This scrap does look like a flame, but it sure ain't the flame I'm looking for. Don't see any other booty here, either. I guess I better ask the general directly then."
The lights turned on and caught the three by surprise. The glow of blue was drowned by the warm white that fell upon the walls, the desk and red carpet floor. Wood rubbed the floor and squeaked sickeningly, as one of the bookshelves set against a wall slowly slid opened. The open shelve revealed a dim passage from which a man walked out.
Serge was startled. So was Leena, for this must surely mean they were caught.
"What is it you want to ask me?" the man asked with a low, fatherly voice.
His hefty build and facial features were instantly recognizable, for the gallant statue of bronze in the town square of Termina bore the same build and features. General Viper donned a military coat of somber brown with intermittent streaks of white across the chest. He buckled a leather belt that strangled his coat at his waist. He exhaled heavily, as if the uniform that looked dreadfully small for his size hindered his breathing. He looked a man in his late fifties with a shiny scalp and trimmed beard and eyebrows of aging white. His troubled eyes seemed to be of distant gazes, lost and confused, as if he were in trance. His cheeks were rugged and sagging, his wrinkles dark and deep, as if they were signs left not by age, by a life full of turmoil.
"My compliments on getting past my security," said General Viper composedly. His voice was deep and spoke volumes of experience. "Now, may I ask you, who in heaven's name are you?"
Serge felt heat pour into him, filling up to his neck and then to his face. He felt the guilt of crime constrict his chest, as if the ropes of restrain had already been tied around him. He felt the guilt of crime strangle his neck, as if he already hung from the ropes of execution. He wished to bolt for the door, and wished for everyone to flee with him. But he found his foot rooted to the ground, his legs wobbling nervously. His only consolation came from Kid, who stood fast, and remained in control. But whether she was in control of the situation, or in control of only her emotions, he couldn't tell.
"So you're General Viper?" Kid demanded with a finger pointing. "Don't feign ignorance on me now! Why did you send your Dragoons to get me mate Serge here?"
"Serge? My Dragoons?" the General asked as he cast a glance at Serge. "I'm afraid, my dear, I haven't the foggiest idea what you are talking about."
"General, I believe these vermin are here to see me," said a cold voice from the passage.
Another man emerged from the darkness of the passage and walked into the light of the room. This man was not one, for he sprouted the head of a feline like that of a golden-black-furred panther. He was a demi-human, a sub- and often deficient breed of humans who took the partial form of man, partial form of animal. His hands that were long were unsightly paws through which razor-sharp claws pierced. He wore a freezing look of no expressions, as if his face were frozen in its own cold. His eyes of baleful stares were equally callous, calculating, sharp and piercing as his claws were, as if it pierced into one's mind and read its contents. He wore a uniform of dark, hideous blue that did not belong to the Acacia Dragoons, and he wore a stiff robe that draped behind him and flowed as he treaded.
"So you made it, Serge," said the feline demi-human. "And you've saved me the trouble of looking for you."
Sharp fangs gleamed behind his furry mouth when he spoke, the sight of which made Serge cringe.
Having lived under the shelter of home, the panther attack that poisoned Serge fourteen years ago had slowly, but surely slipped from his memory. The initial fear for little cats that followed after the bite had long receded. He had learnt to feed them, toy with them and even cuddle them in his arms without his heart pounding at his ears. He had learnt that the members of the little cat family, as greedy and selfish as they were, were irresistibly cute. He still feared of the larger cats that bit, poisoned and devoured. But he was not fearful because of his dreadful past; he only was fearful because he was human like any other.
Yet, this half-man, half-cat that was no whole of either species struck terror more than a whole man or a whole cat ever had. The terror pumped from his heart into his veins, spread to his quivering limbs and burned them like venomous poison did. That same terror found its way into his head and stirred torrents of panic within as if they tried to flush the clogged memories of the forgotten past and flush them into sight.
Serge shook his head to shake off the terror that raped his mind.
The demi-human stared at Serge, and stared through him.
"Lynx!" roared Kid, her eyebrows crossed in bitter anger, revealing no hint of fear.
Lynx.
The torrents of panic ceased, like a storm that had come and quickly gone. Serge's mind had been momentarily freed, but his shoulders stiffened in tension as he recalled the sage's grim advice.
A strong being that carried the burden of Lavos, the god of darkness, the bringer of destruction.
"Oh!" Kid grunted in derision. "This? Is the strong being?"
"Are you...?" said Lynx.
"What's the matter?" Kid scorned. "Cat got your tongue? I've finally caught you by the tail now, Lynx! I've come for two things: the Frozen Flame and your life, you murderer!"
"You must be Kid then," said Lynx, his gaze constantly fixed on Serge. "A member of the 'fearsome' band of thieves known as the Radical Dreamers, correct?"
Serge dropped his jaws. More knowledge crashed down upon his mind and stirred up one too many details that clouded his logic, like rocks crashed down upon the ground and stirred up a mist of sand and dust that clouded one's sight. Lost in the confusions that built upon the previous, he cast a glance at Kid. He tried in his mind to compose his thoughts and compose a sentence, but he composed only strings of incoherent mess. He tried through his lips to express his shock and express a word but he found none to appropriately describe his convoluted feelings.
"Radical Dreamers? This young lady?" Even General Viper seemed surprised.
"Precisely. Do not let her innocence fool you, General," Lynx said. "She is quite ferocious."
"Hah! Ferocious?" Kid spitted in disgust. "My arse! After what you've done!"
"I hate to disappoint you," Lynx said. "But the Frozen Flame is not here. That fire lies hidden in the Sea of Eden, the place where past and future collide."
While Serge remained lost amidst the sea of discoveries, he vaguely saw Lynx disappear from his eyes, only to reappear again. He imagined for a moment his eyes played tricks on him, but he had a feeling he saw it for real more magic of the arcane.
Kid had searched the lands for its clues and followed its trails, from continent to continent, from nation to nation and finally from the mainland to the southwestern archipelago of El Nido. Rumors on the streets, stories trustworthy and not, all spoke of Viper Manor to where the Frozen Flame had traveled, and of General Viper, into whose hands the Frozen Flame had landed. She knew enough of the reliability of the information, just as she knew enough of the elusive treasure that many had tried to seek but failed. The Frozen Flame was for real, not mythical legends of the ages past spoken under the stupor of ale, not bedtime stories that lulled children to sleep in the night. The Frozen Flame was the treasure that she could wish unto to fulfill her dream, a dream that was to recover all that she had lost. This night, the Frozen Flame was her goal, a goal that she, like many others, failed to find. Instead, she found the beast who took all that was precious away from her.
Kid drew her dagger eagerly and spread her feet on the ground. "It looks like I'll have to put that part off until later. In the meantime, I'll settle my score with you, Lynx! Prepare to meet your maker!"
Kid could not suppress her vengeance. The sight of the feline beast boiled her blood and exploded fire in her eyes. Her fists clenched till her nails dug in her flesh. She quivered with anticipation and licked her lips with a thirst for revenge. She desired to dig steel into this beast's heart and wrench it out beating. She desired to gouge his eyes and his brain parts and crush them with her might as he had crushed her life five years ago. Most of all, she most desired him dead.
Roaring the cry of war, Kid bolted for Lynx and thrust her dagger towards his chest. Lynx side-stepped to avoid and pushed Kid effortlessly to the right. She tumbled to the ground, but rolled quickly upright. She lunged at the thief who stole families and took lives. She aimed for Lynx's neck but had her own caught in his paws. Lynx strangled Kid and hauled her up by her neck, like he did to her the first time they met five years ago. Kid swept her dagger aimlessly before her as she groaned in pain, but she swept at nothing. She saw an expressionless gloat in his face and felt his paws tightened, as he tried to crush her neck. Channeling her might through a restrained roar, she gripped Lynx's wrist, flung both legs over his stretched arm and threw herself over. The forceful torque snapped the arm of Lynx, who cried out in painful agony as he gripped his broken limb.
Serge joined the fray and swiped his swallow at Lynx's chest. Lynx retreated to avoid but was hindered by the desk behind him. The swallow sliced through Lynx's coat and tore it open to reveal a chest of animal fur and a large wound from which blood began to ooze. Lynx howled as he struggled to retrieve an Element bead and spelled the healing powers of the holy White. A faint shield faded into view and wrapped Lynx in a blanket of recovery.
Leena took no chances. She darted to Lynx and flung a fist up into Lynx's chin, breaking his concentration, knocking him back and an Element bead off his fingers.
Lynx shrieked in agony, much to Kid's delight. She gripped her dagger and dashed swiftly to his side. She lifted the dagger to a height and with both hands plunged it down towards Lynx's chest. The dagger pierced through the wound and snapped his ribs with a crack that was music soothing to Kid's ears. His feline face contorted into an expression of excruciating pain, at which Kid grinned in pleasure. She forced with her might the dagger into Lynx's blood-soaked chest and forced Lynx into breathless grunts. His eyes rolled and his breathing wheezed.
"This was easy," Kid thought to herself, as she yanked her bloodied dagger out of Lynx's chest. "Too easy."
So thought Serge as Lynx fidgeted for a while before he rolled off the desk and fell flat onto the ground, completely motionless. This strong being was said to a carry the burden of the god of darkness. But this strong being had fallen, much too easily for Serge's comfort. Serge remained alert and kept his blood-stained swallow ready for surprises.
The shape of Lynx shifted into a motionless shadow of a ghostly cat, tall as a human, but skinny as a little cat. Its shadow took no physical form but an intangible volume of translucent black, and it wore no eyes through which it looked. The shadow of black collapsed into a puddle like butter that melted in heat. Black mists smoked from the puddle as the liquefied remains evaporated into nothingness.
"What in the bloody hell is that?" Kid yelled. "A freaking shadow?"
The real Lynx reappeared behind the desk, standing behind the blue crystal orb.
"Did you think I would be silly enough to pick a fight with a rabid dog?" said Lynx calmly. "Why, just a shadow of mine is enough to deal with the likes of you!"
"You!" Kid roared angrily.
"Now, Serge," Lynx said as he fixed on eyes on Serge once more.
"What is that you want from me?" Serge asked as he found his eyes arrested by Lynx's gaze.
"What do you desire from this world?" said Lynx.
"Serge, don't listen to him!" Kid reminded.
Lynx's lips curled slightly into a smile that was almost invisible. "Do you wish to live again?"
Serge inched backwards. He tried again to wrench his gaze away, but he found them held fast and held imprisoned within the depthless slits of Lynx's feline pupils. He was lost for words and lost for thoughts, as if his mind were being ransacked, invaded by Lynx's cold, terrifying glare. His head spun wildly and saw his vision collapse into a tunnel of fuzzy light, as if he fell into a dark well and saw its opening into the skies above shrink and fog.
"Do you want to erase your demise from the pages of history?" Lynx continued.
"Get off it, Lynx!" Kid yelled. Then she turned to Serge and warned, "Serge, this guy's full of nonsense!"
Serge stopped his retreat when the orb of arcane design began to attract his attention. In the distant end of the tunnel, he saw only its glow of blue more brilliant, and its pulse quicker than it was earlier. Possessed by some unknown will, he found his legs carrying his body towards, as if he were beckoned by the orb of blue.
"What's wrong, Serge?" Kid shouted. "Oi!"
"Serge?" asked Leena worriedly. "Are you all right?"
He staggered to the chamber desk and heard the words of concern of his friends echo faintly in his ears. He peered into the blue orb that soon enveloped his field of vision, as if the orb fell into the same well as he did and fell onto his face. He saw nothing else, except his own reflection in the crystal. The voices of concern of his friends that had become softer gradually faded below audibility. He heard nothing but his own arduous breathing and terrified heartbeats.
As the network of honeycombs pulsated within the crystal orb, Serge saw his own reflection shifted into that of Lynx's. Startled at the sight of the fearsome face, Serge gave a strangled gasped that should have choked but did not. The reflection stared at Serge with eyes that were as cold and baleful as the real Lynx's, and made even more by the glow of amethyst blue.
Lynx's reflection faded, and a wave of relief washed over Serge. He heaved a sigh as the vision in his eyes rippled into a bird's eye view of small isles on the sea on a fair, sunny day. Isles of three that each spanned a quarter of a mile wide formed the corners of an unseen triangle. At the center of the triangular alignment was a larger isle, atop of which stood an installation of concrete buildings. The sound of an explosion rocked the isles and sent birds flocking into the skies. A dome of voided black erupted from the concrete installation and engulfed it whole. It sphere of darkness that ballooned and devoured everything its path devoured the sea, the isles, the birds and all hints of light. As the sphere approached Serge, he saw on its surface a fierce vortex of black wind and he heard from within howls of unearthly agony, as if they were the shrieking howls of the shadows of souls in the millions, trapped within a spinning hurricane.
When the sphere consumed him, Serge felt as if his nerves snapped.
Kid hurried to Serge and gripped him by his arm when he appeared to be falling backwards. He looked utterly disarrayed, his face a ghostly pallor.
"Serge? What's wrong?" Leena asked.
"Oi! Serge! You're okay?" Kid asked and slapped his face. Serge woke from a trance, blinked his eyes and glanced at Kid, then at Lynx.
"Listen to me," Lynx continued as he walked around the desk and approached Serge. "The end of the human world is nigh. When this time comes, Serge, you will be the world's worst enemy, just as the world will be yours. This is not speculation or prediction. This is history."
Serge shook his head and retreated towards the door with Kid's support. Leena followed.
"W-What are you t-talking about?" he mumbled.
Four shadow cats took form in the room; two stood at the door, and the other two cornered the party. Serge, Kid and Leena retreated to the center of the room, back to back, beating the same anxious heart, breathing the same anxious air.
Like the one they had exorcised, these shadows took on an intangible volume of faint black, through which the walls of the room could be seen. Unlike the one they had exorcised, these wore fiery eyes of amber within their formless shape, eyes that were as alive and baleful as their master's.
Six against three, including Lynx and General Viper, meant that the intruders were clearly outnumbered. It was time to call it a day, to make the run and flee for safety. But they were cornered and trapped by the shadows of a master who seemed capable of conjuring more if he pleased. Yet, Lynx summoned only four, as if he looked down on the intruders, as if he saw through their inability to fight and insulted them with small numbers.
Kid was irate and sickened by the derisive tactic that was as good as if Lynx himself had spoken of their incompetence. But she was aware that with her teammates' inexperience. She knew that the three of them combined could not take out three mere shadows, let alone all six of their adversaries, two whom were experienced fighters.
Tomorrow seemed too far away, for they might be thrown into the cells this night and might never see the light of day again. If things took a turn for the worse, this night might be the last they stood upright.
"Freak!" Kid swore as her eyes darted about warily. "This doesn't look good."
"You cannot escape," Lynx said, staring at Serge. "There is something I want to ask you."
As Kid examined the board and the pieces, and pondered her options, a young lady of refined nature walked into the room and caught everyone's attention. She was reading intently a leaflet of cruise liner's advertisement, and seemed completely unaware of the tension that was building up to flashpoint.
"Daddy!" said Lady Riddel gently. "About that voyage I've been planning--"
Lady Riddel looked up from the leaflet. Her fair maiden face broke into a startle, as she raised her hand to her mouth and gave a gasp that was just as gentle as her every movement. Kid left her formation and bolted swiftly to the Lady's back. Kid seized the Lady's right hand and drew the dagger to her neck. Riddel gasped again as she lifted her head and stiffened her neck to avoid the dagger's poking tip.
"Don't move a whisker if you want this girl to live!" Kid ordered.
"Goodness gracious! Who are you?" Riddel asked with a voice that sounded calm even under pressing circumstances.
"My darling Riddel!" General Viper cried, as he reached his hand out and moved towards Kid. Kid leaned the dagger's edge at the Lady's neck and effectively cast a freeze on the general at his feet. "Why you dirty!" he yelled angrily.
"I won't hurt you," Kid whispered to Lady Riddel without twitching a lip. "Just do as I say."
"Shut up, you old-timer!" Kid flared. "Our lives are at stake here! There ain't nothing dirty about saving your own life! You all right, Serge? Come on, let's bust out of here!"
Serge looked blankly at Kid and seemed hopelessly confused.
"Come on, Serge!" Kid screamed. "Cover my back!"
Serge nodded nervously and retreated back into the corridor. Leena followed and Kid left last, preciously holding Riddel who was their hostage and their prized possession. Kid had deftly positioned her pieces with Lady Riddel pinned between Kid and General Viper, like a queen pinned between an audacious rook and its helpless king. The dagger at Lady Riddel's neck was a threat that could turn the game around, if she so desired. But Kid was not about to kidnap and carry a sack more of responsibilities, or even hurt a fellow human being. Whether the three could escape the manor this night and walk unshackled into daylight tomorrow depended on Kid's polished skills of bluff; and whether General Viper bought the bluff.
"Don't be foolish!" General Viper warned. "Do you really think you can escape?"
"We're blocked in!" Leena reported fearfully.
Kid stole a glance behind her, at the stairs that was now sealed off by four armed Dragoons, one of whom was Karsh who had attempted to capture Serge last evening. Kid cursed under her breath at the expected trap.
"You fiend!" Karsh roared wildly. "Take your dirty hands off Lady Riddel!"
"Oh, okay!" Kid said sarcastically. "What do you take me for? An idiot?"
Karsh growled and raised his axe threateningly, but he could do only that much.
"Serge, this way," Kid said, as she tugged Lady Riddel to her steps and retreated to the other end of the corridor that was not sealed and led to the balcony. The army of dragoons, led by Lynx and General Viper, closed in on the intruders.
The roofless balcony at which they emerged was dim and as spacious as the royal chamber. Its marble flooring of jade green was lit by the pale moonlight and spotlights from the ground. The three backed up to the fenced edge of the balcony, an edge that overlooked the northern star-studded horizon, an edge off which would send them plunging down to the base of the cliff from where they started. If it were the sea they fell into, they might even survive the crashing impact, which meant they would be free. But if it were the rocks of the cliff on which they slammed, they would lose this game of chess along with all their lives with which they had betted.
"We have you now, you vermin," Lynx reminded thoughtfully. "There is no way out of here."
"Bloody hell!" Kid cursed, knowing that she had made a wrong move. She should have demanded a way down the stairs even if Karsh and his Dragoons had it sealed. She could have used Karsh, exploited his feelings and forced him into giving in with Lady Riddel at her mercy. She knew from the ferryman's account and sensed from Karsh's anxious concerns that he still carried the torch for Lady Riddel. But at the crucial moment when she treaded the fine line between freedom and punishment, when she still had the options to choose from, this fact had inopportunely slipped her mind. Such carelessness of her might prove to be fatal.
"Let us back down the corridor," Kid ordered. She understood that once this statement was spoken, it would either make or break their bid for survival.
"You are a clever lady," said General Viper with a triumphant smile, "but we aren't dimwits either."
The general had caught the bluff and he must know now that Kid would do nothing to harm Lady Riddel. With an experienced general at the helm of the enclosure, the fates of three were sealed, the game declared over. Kid found herself trapped at the edge of the board in a checkmate that was about to cost her and her innocent teammates their lives.
"Let's work out a deal," General Viper said. "Release my daughter, and I shall let you walk away. How about it?"
"Yes, right! As if we can trust you?" Kid asked, buying time.
"Are you willing to jump to your death?" Lynx said.
Kid frowned in desperation. She stole a moment to look over the edge.
"Kid! Watch out!" Serge and Leena cried in unison.
Kid sensed danger in the cries. She tossed her head back to see a dagger leaving Lynx's hand. Its glare from the reflecting moonlight flitted through the air towards Lady Riddel. Kid twisted Lady Riddel away just in time for the dagger to scrape Kid's arm. The wound seared as blood oozed steadily from it, as if the burning fire of a thousand suns licked at her skin.
Kid released Lady Riddel and staggered to the edge of the balcony. She gripped the wound and cursed in agony, as her vision exploded into a kaleidoscope of colors and her head twirled violently. Her face, limbs, head and chest burned, as if fire from the wound had spread and consumed her whole. A flurry of confusion clouded her mind, just as a myriad of tones rang deafeningly in her ears, robbing her of rational thinking. As she gripped the balcony's fence for support, she heard faintly more cries of danger from her friends. She tried to blink off the flashes of light, but they intensified and blinded her completely. She only heard another dagger whiz by her ears, at which she reacted late with a clumsy back flip.
"Poison...," she muttered feebly, when she realized she flipped onto no ground on which she could stand.
"Sis...," she voiced in her mind, as she felt as if her mind slowly departed from her body, as she plunged down into blissful peace.
Wait for me.
"Kid!" shrieked Serge as he sprung to the fence and tried to grab her. But his hands caught thin air and his eyes saw her fall helplessly into the darkness. His heart tore and tears sprang as he watched her disappear from his sight, until he heard a soft splash in the distance below.
"What do you live for? What are you willing to die for?" uttered Lynx.
Serge turned to Lynx and stared the devil in his face, and stared through the devil's eyes as they stared through his earlier. He found no shudders that froze his thoughts, and no cuffs that arrested his gaze, as they did earlier. He only saw red that burned a desire in his heart, a desire to rip apart this despicable feline beast. He wanted to fight Lynx, the general and the entire army of dragoons. He wanted to shove them to their bottoms with his swallow and trample all over them. But he saw in his mind himself struggling miserably in their grasp as they boxed in on him, if he did what he wanted.
The three had broken into the manor, and had held a member of the ruling family hostage. Such were crimes of gravity that would lead them all into the gallows without doubt. But surrendering to the situation equated to surrendering to death, an action meant only for the insane, just as fighting for survival was meant only for the foolhardy. Only fleeing from all was for the intellectual who knew what it meant to live to fight another day. It was an insane gamble that must be taken with his life as the stakes, but if he did not, he was just as insane if he surrendered.
"I've been waiting for you, Serge," Lynx continued, as he inched towards Serge. "For a long, long time. Now come to me, Serge -- the Assassin of Time!"
A tear rolled down Serge's cheeks, as he pressed his back against the fence. His heart ached for Kid, and ached for his mother who might never see him again.
"Leena!" Serge called. She turned to him, blinked her eyes and wiped her cheeks that remained wet and shiny against the pale moonlights. Then, she nodded firmly, for she must know what he intended.
"You cannot run," reminded Lynx, expressionless. "You should not, because all these that have come to pass have been predestined. It is your fate; it is your calling. I know you would come into this world different from yours. I know you come here seeking answers. I--"
"Then, you must also know that I will rather jump and meet death than stay up here and wait for it!" Serge interrupted resentfully.
Lynx raised his brows in startle as the first of any expression.
Serge lifted a leg over the fence and another, and leapt without further thoughts. Leena followed.
"No!"
That voice of Lynx was the last of what Serge heard before the darkness claimed him.