Chrono Cross Second Journey

Fan Novelization

Book 2

Prologue

Lynx stood by the window, gazing intently out into the midnight blue beyond. Heat that lingered from the day stung his skin and cooked it under his fur. But he stood in comforting darkness, his feline arms folded across his chest. The pale moonlight cast his shadow on the carpet floor of the royal office, a shadow that stretched hauntingly to the far wall opposite the room. His eyes were focused on a distant star that stared back at him, unwavering, without a blink. Both star and cat were defiant, deadlocked, unwilling to compromise.

Lynx questioned the heavens. He questioned nature that promised that rains must fall from heaven to earth, that ashes must turn to ashes and that history must flow along an unchanging path without resistance. Today, he saw otherwise. The Assassin of Time had chosen a different course when he should have submitted. Lynx saw an unexpected determination in Serge's eyes, driven by the emotion of the heart.

"At what point was history rewritten?" Lynx asked this question in his mind.

"When you flicked the dagger," replied a cold voice in his mind. "Had you been more patient, you could have taken him easily."

"I sense accusation," Lynx said bitterly.

"An accusation is little of what you deserve."

Lynx clenched his fists. "You say history is fixed, that fate predestines all, predicts all. But let us not forget that the Records of Fate are under your safekeeping. Not even I know of its true contents."

"Disbelieve all you wish. It remains a fact that your incompetence has altered the course of history. Not large enough to cause major repercussions, fortunately. I may still guide its flow back on course."

"Then, I want you to 'guide' him, to prevent setbacks."

"I do not take orders from you."

Lynx snorted. "Then, I shall manipulate him myself."

"You will not succeed," warned the voice sternly in his mind. "The flow of history dictates--"

"Today, I have learnt otherwise," Lynx scorned. "You have been misleading me all these years, but I understand it now. Serge and I have both been infused. His actions are extraneous to this universe and are therefore beyond the dictation of 'fate.' How otherwise could the Dead Sea have come about? If his actions can change the course of history, then so can mine."

"You have given in to temptation," the voice grew irate. "What is it that you now desire? Have you forgotten? You need only find out who disabled the access."

Lynx grunted derisively. "It seems you are the one who has forgotten. I have to thank Prometheus for this."

The door to the royal office opened, pouring into it light of warm white from the corridor outside. General Viper walked in and turned on the lights that instantly drowned in its overwhelming warm ambience Lynx's dark, cold shadow that cast against the far wall. The general greeted Lynx humbly with a fatherly smile. Even if it was marred with wrinkles of age and of fatigue, his smile exuded a brilliance of anticipation. The general regarded with curiosity a lone statue that sat atop his royal desk, a polished bronze statue of a lady dressed in primitive robes. Then, the general's eyes fell on Lynx, whose gaze remained fixed on that distant star.

"Haven't you gotten rid all of the Statues of Fate?" General Viper asked, his voice deep and respectful. "We shall leave none to the enemy, not even these statues, you said."

Lynx turned to the general. "Please accept my apologies," he said with a slight bow of his head before he returned his gaze to the star. "I have been careless. I meant to remove the last from your office, but I have been preoccupied with thoughts of matters that have just surfaced."

"It is I who must apologize," said General Viper promptly. "I must have interrupted you. Is it regarding the boy? I have never heard a word of mention from you about this young boy."

"This young boy is a key component of our plans."

"The Frozen Flame?"

Lynx turned to the general to meet him in the eye.

"I see," said General as he walked to his seat behind the desk and sank heavily into it. The red leather cushion hissed at the weight. "He is what you have been looking for all, waiting for all these years."

"It would seem that only you know me best," said Lynx.

The general laughed heartily at the comment. His laughter rocked the room and sounded like it echoed from afar, as if it had drifted out through the window and came back from the skies. The general indulged comfortably in his own laughs, for he treated Lynx as a comrade-in-arms, a true confidante. Lynx only smiled, for he found little strength within him to let laughter loose. The general exhausted his laughter quickly, and his cheeks slowly sagged into sadness. The general relaxed in his chair, heaved a long sigh and looked up into the ceiling.

"To tell you the truth, Lynx," said the general, his tone now serious. "I have some reservations about this operation. I have to trade the Dragoon's pride with Porre's downfall. I would rather fight to end the regime on the mainland, like a true knight would, than to cower in shelter, even if it is clearly impossible. Particularly, following the defeat of Guardia, Porre has grown too powerful. How ironical! To think that we've helped..."

General Viper stopped, as if he could not bear to continue his words. Lynx turned back to the skies, his gaze now caught by the moons of silver and red.

"You must remember, general, that power yields complacency," said Lynx. "Porre is driven by greed and is eager to redraw their boundaries. They can't resist ruling every inch of the world and taxing every person alive. They are now coming for the bait. They think that we have disappeared on an expedition for the Frozen Flame. They will come and deliver to us their armaments. When we have the Flame, we will take them out by surprise. We use their waters and their boats against them and launch a full-scale offensive on their mainland command. Their army will fall before they know what hit them. But until that glorious moment, general, I am afraid your Dragoons must bear with the ridicule."

"The Frozen Flame remains a legend in El Nido. Yet, I stake such huge a bet on its powers."

"You have my assurance, general, that the Frozen Flame exists in the Sea of Eden."

"Where the past and the future collide?" General Viper added.

"Yes."

"And this boy is the key to the Frozen Flame?"

"That is correct."

"Should we have him brought to us?"

Lynx shook his head. "Fret not, general, for he will come to us. He will hear of our whereabouts."

"It seems you have all these planned, Lynx. Forgive the ramblings and nagging questions from an old man. I shall leave the matter to you, for I still have my darling Riddel to worry about."

"She still will not come?"

"Is it true, Lynx, that your dagger was directed at Riddel?"

"Of course not, general," said Lynx. "I cannot bear to hurt her. Besides, I cannot take such risks. Imagine the consequences if I had succeeded. The Dragoons will turn their backs on us and all that we have done will be in vain!"

"That is how I have tried to explain to her. But she insists that I am making a huge mistake."

"She will understand your true intentions in time to come, general."

General Viper sighed. "But she may be right, Lynx. Perhaps this is all wrong. Perhaps we should not be doing this."

Lynx turned to the general to see him marvel at the bronze Statue of Fate with much respect. His hands pivoted its base and pivoted the statue one round after another. As it turned on its base, light reflected off the well-polished bronze statue gleamed as if fire burned from within the Goddess.

"It would be best that you leave matters to me," said Lynx as he walked over to the general. Lynx snatched the statue from the desk in a sudden motion startled the general. "May I excuse myself? I still have the last of some matters to attend to."

"Very well," said the general slowly. His eyes that were distant and troubled appeared grateful for Lynx's role as an advisor and a meticulous assistant in administrative and logistical matters. The general had always been grateful for the past several years. "You may leave," the general said, as he lowered his head into his hand and rubbed his temples.

Lynx strode out of the royal office. He handled the Statue of Fate with none of the respect that should have been expected of an El Nidon. Lynx walked down the corridor and then through its arches into the open-space balcony that overlooked the northern seas of El Nido. A star-studded canopy encaged him, seizing his insignificant mortal casing and blanketing his sights within its vast expanse of the night. The relentless two moons were like the eyes of the heavens that glowered upon him with hatred and repulsion. But to Lynx, it was his eyes that captured the darkness and bound it within. And to Lynx, the fiery glare of the moons was as daunted as their wavy reflections on the imperfect marble flooring.

"I see what you are up to now," said the voice in his mind. "You remembered my words very well, do you not? I should have you disposed of long ago when I had the chance. It is regrettable, but this may be part of history itself."

Lynx tossed the statue over the edge of the balcony into the seas below.

"What I desire shall benefit both you and me. In time to come, you will be grateful."

Harle had found delight in hopping around in the guest room until she came before the full-length mirror and began admiring in it her own reflection. She had spent plenty of effort and coaxing to allow Lynx to leave the mirror behind in his discard-everything-else operation. Leave none to the enemy, so he ordered. By the time Lynx finally agreed to leave the mirror to her, her mouth had gone dry, her throat sore. After all these years of being his right-hand lady, how could Lynx, she wonder, have treated her in such a manner! But after all these years of being his right-hand lady, she understood how insensitive he was to the needs of anyone at all.

She saw within the mirror another world that was and duplicate of this, but a world that cannot be felt. She had always found this fact intriguing, and had termed the world within the mirror a 'dlrow,' a word she felt rang a sickening, squeaky treble in her eardrums. The fact that dlrow sounded like a black crow cast darkness into the world beyond the looking glass. But she found a relieving fact in this world of the dlrow, that in the dlrow, Harle would be Elrah. It bore the humble magnificence of the name of a divine God. The God of Elrah. The One Elrah. Elrah, the God of Light. Elrah, the Goddess of Darkness. The fact that she could imagine herself as one made her so proud that she sleep that next few nights floating. Metaphorically, of course.

Having seen eighteen years of age, the build of Elrah in the mirror was petite, as if she were instead several years younger. She had none of the womanly figure that was the object of desire of both immature men and women. She did have a pair of slim legs, though, screened behind translucent pale-blue silk wrapped loosely around them. But unlike Harle, Elrah was a zombie who had no will of her own, one who strived only to imitate the real person. Worst of all, Elrah had no emotions. But as a usual afterthought, Harle always wondered who the real Harle was.

Casting the philosophical inspirations to a side, Harle raised her arms and tiptoed, imitating the grace of a certain dancer that she had once seen perform in the mainland, when she wasn't occupied with running boring errands. Then, she lowered her arms and spread them wide to her sides as she watched the copy of herself in the mirror do the same. She leapt five feet into the air, flipped, and floated on magic down softly, safely to the marble floor. She grinned, pleased with her own astounding performance. She curtsied, as she imagined a crowd before her in standing ovation. She curtsied, twice, in two other directions. She pitied the copy in the mirror world, for she curtsied to no crowds at all.

The door opened and Lynx walked in, wearing an expression cast in cold-hard steel. His cold eyes gazed at Harle, before shifting to the mirror. Harle caught a slight twitch in his brows, a sight that no other person would have been observant enough to spot. Her suspicion was confirmed, that he was still bitter that she had outtalked him in the keep-the-mirror debate.

"Monsieur Lynx," Harle greeted with a bow. It had been customary for her to address him as "Monsieur," a term that she had found ticklish on the tongue when spoken. She had heard people of a different language in another continent speak this word, and had gladly imported the word for her own personal use. That it was sarcasm and an inappropriate title for Lynx was a reason good enough to attach it to his name. After a while, it became second nature to her.

"What an honor it is," Harle acted shyly, "to have you to grace my humble room in this unearthly time of the night."

Lynx grunted. "I have a task for you."

"What else can I expect?" Harle tried to sound disappointed, and tried to look the same with her shoulders slumped. Then, she put on a fresh morning smile and flirted with Lynx. "But I would do anything for Monsieur Lynx," she said in a seductive tone.

"Cut the pretense," Lynx said, unimpressed.

Harle raised an eyebrow. "You have me utterly confused. Who is the bold one acting in pretense?" she smiled. "Oh, tell me, Monsieur Lynx, and I shall have him brought here and grilled. Do you fancy your meat rare or well-done?"

"Fortunately, your wit in strategy is nowhere half as sharp as your wit in talking."

"Unfortunately, your wit in anything is nowhere half as sharp as you imagine it to be."

"Have you now resorted to hurling insults to your superior, Harle?"

"Ah! My humblest apologies, Monsieur Lynx," Harle said with a bow. "I regret that tone. I shall take heed not to repeat that mistake, not until the day you cease to be my self-proclaimed superior."

"Do not over-estimate yourself," Lynx twitched the other brow.

Harle was ecstatic that she had once again beaten him hands down. She challenged Lynx's bitter stare, a stare at which many feared to even cast a glance. But she relished at the sight of his cold, piercing eyes that was to her a sign of crushing defeat. Yet, Lynx never once endeavored to shift his gaze away, until Harle decided that the little staring war was getting old and decided to back down. She had enough of her dose of fun already.

"So, what is that our Monsieur Lynx would like to have done?" she said. "Besides being grilled by Harle."

Lynx finally relented and turned his gaze away in an unspoken triumph that Harle found was unimpressive and pointless. "Serge will encounter difficulties getting to us once we are in," said Lynx, "so I want you to help him get to us. If possible, smoke the hermit out and lure him to us, too."

"Ooh-la-la! Monsieur Lynx entrusts me with the key?"

"You must be aware that the key alone is useless to you," said Lynx as he walked towards the door. "The system needs an expert to issue commands."

Just as he was about to step out into the corridor, he stopped. Harle sighed for she knew what was coming. Lynx always had a compulsive passion for ending a conversation in dramatic rhetoric.

"Know this, Harle," he said. "Once the Sacrament of the Souls is complete, no one--not even those bloated lizards--may stop me."

Lynx left, his footsteps echoing down the long, vacated hallway.