Seravine - Chapter Three

[Author's Note: Another warning is in order: school starts very soon. As in tomorrow. As such, it is likely I won't have nearly as much time as I would like to write, and as a result this fic may not be updated nearly as often as I wish it would be. That said, this chapter is a bit longer than the others, so hopefully it'll last you for awhile. ; ) Oh, and this chapter should hopefully clear some things up about dear Richard, the fellow Lloyd's been having dreams about. I shan't say anymore, but he WAS a character in Tales of Symphonia, though I've had to take a few liberties, as he was an extremely (ie not even given a name) minor one.

That one guy: Good to see that you didn't mind chapter two's relative inactivity. : ) And I tried to make chapter three soon, so here it is!

Sining: Where's Presea? This chapter, actually! : ) I intended to put her in last chapter, but, ah, opted to wait until this one instead. And even in this chapter her role isn't very large, but she'll definitely have her moments some point in the future.

Al: Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed the fighting scene, as I wasn't sure how that would be taken. Can't say I've ever really tried my hand at action scenes before.

Kenji14: Thank you for reviewing! Yes, having Lloyd travel with someone would definitely nail down the romantic pairings, and I plan to have some fun with those first. : )

FireEdge: Colette angry is a bit frightening, isn't it? : ) Sadly, you won't see it this chapter, but good (or bad?) things come to those who wait.

That should be it, I think. My apologies if I missed someone.

Thanks for reading, and please review!]

oOo

The man's blood was nearly black and Richard sunk to his knees, shaking; the dagger had sunk so cleanly into the skin that it was frightening, though not nearly as terrifying as the laughter and satisfaction curling around his heart. That was number seven, already - certainly not the first and likely not the last of those damned fools who had came after him, had came cutting through the forest, fully intent on recovering what their employer had so tragically lost. He had slain every single last one of them, striking from the shadows, his dagger finding their weak hearts and tearing them in two. He couldn't quite decide which was worse; the fact that he felt no remorse for doing what had to be done, or the fact he was enjoying it, reveling in the cruel power he held in his hands.

It was so strange, how things had changed; he had known it wouldn't be a simple thing, to make off with that fat merchant's jewel and to hide out the following weeks in the forest, if this still-quivering corpse below him was any indication. Richard was no fool - he was well aware that it would be quite some time before he would step from the safety of the forest's labyrinth and make his way to a new market, in hopes of pawning the gem off to yet another merchant. Weeks had already passed and still he was hunted, to the point where he had buried the jewel in a location known only to him, slaying all those that would dare venture close. And he would move swiftly back to it every night, when the moon at last made its way into the sky, and he would will the hours away to watch over it, not having much use for sleep.

The jewel was strange and black - and it was so very warm, keeping him close and comforted in the coldest nights. He was growing to detest the idea of parting with it, as much as he knew he should; it would do a thief no good to grow attached to his plunder, something he had learned long ago, far before he had ever taken to accepting random jobs from the less scrupulous members of society.

Footsteps.

Moving quickly, he stepped back off the red-stained path and lowered himself into the shrubbery, watching silently as yet another fool made his way up the path, his bow slung carelessly across his back. The man was rather absorbed in a piece of parchment wrinkled and torn beyond belief - and Richard bit back a smile, knowing what was on it, likely a crude sketch of his own face, spread and circulated throughout the markets.

"Gaoracchia forest," the man muttered. "This looks to be it."

Richard's eyes darkened and he tensed, steeling himself for the spring, the dagger crimson in his hand.

He never was one to turn away a visitor.

oOo

Rain.

Curled safely in his bunk just below the deck, Lloyd awoke to the first drops dancing along the wood, following the crackle of thunder that had torn him from his sleep. His room, if it could be called even that, was decidedly not snug and warm, being little more than a bunk carved into one of the four walls, a table, and a lamp that flickered with the ship's rolls, throwing strange shadows to and fro against the floor. He had decided, somewhere between the onset of midnight and the first taste of the storm, that it was going to be a difficult night; the ship rocked and rolled far too much for his liking, and more than once he had been sent tumbling to the floor as a particularly fierce wave rained across the deck.

And yet, for the most part, it had been smooth sailing; the three-day trip was drawing to a close and in only a matter of hours the ferry would at last roll into familiar waters, and, from there, Iselia. At least, that was what Regal had said, shortly before predicting that it would be a rough night, and if the way the ship was creaking and groaning was any indication, Lloyd had little reason to doubt him. He nearly jumped as the ship took a particularly violent lurch, sending the lamp to swing haphazardly from its thin rope, throwing the room into a weird picture, wood and shadows in the corner.

He was growing to detest all semblances of bad weather; his mind never ceased to wander down that dark road into that night in the Gaoracchia forest, forcibly reminding him of the strange little boy and the even stranger gem sitting in its bag somewhere near his waist. He felt a bit foolish, at times, for keeping it so close, fully knowing it was probably little more than a strange antique. Granted, that was something Raine would probably cherish, useless as it was, though he knew better than to tell her that, having at least placed some value on his life.

Showing it to Regal had always been an idea, considering the man's appreciation for history and lore, but Lloyd had been strangely loathe to show it to him, a bit fearful of the reprimand he would undoubtedly receive for taking it from the forest in the first place. And in the back of his mind he knew that was a key - that the forest held some sort of explanation for the thing, held just one answer to his questions, if only he could remember it. Presea was an option, too, as she had joined their small group shortly before departing, and Lloyd had spent the previous days catching up with her, not in the least surprised to learn she had been a key factor in the renewal of Ozette.

She had, by her very nature, not appeared terribly excited with the prospect of the reunion, at least not in public, though Regal had confided in him shortly afterwards that Presea was indeed looking forward it and entirely unsure of how to show it. Lloyd had immediately seized that opportunity to chip away at the base of the rather stone-like Presea, though if the rather sizable lump on the back of his head was any indication, she was very content with the she way was, thank you very much.

"Lloyd?" A gentle knock came at the door.

"Come in!" he called, sitting up in his bunk and wincing as his back nearly groaned in protest.

The door swung open and Presea stepped in, looking slightly relieved to see him fully awake. "Can I come in?" she asked, somewhat needlessly.

"Yeah, sure," Lloyd said, swinging his legs around and sitting fully up, stretching. "I couldn't really sleep, anyways."

Presea nodded, moving a bit further into the room, before glancing around in what Lloyd guessed was a search for a chair. "The storm?"

"Uh, kinda," he said, finding himself not very willing to go into further detail, not wanting to bother her with his problems. "What are you doing up?"

Presea shrugged, standing somewhat awkwardly by the table until Lloyd, struck by sudden inspiration, stood and offered the bed to her, settling atop the table himself when she reluctantly moved to sit on the edge of his bunk. "Didn't feel like sleeping," she admitted, settling onto the hard mattress.

"Any reason why?" The ship took a sudden lurch and Lloyd moved to cling to the edge of his table, settling back with a sigh and glancing up to see Presea still sitting calmly, much as if nothing had happened.

"I have a bad feeling," she said abruptly, not quite meeting his eyes. "It's strange."

"What do you mean?" Lloyd asked, shifting to get a better seat atop the table.

"Do you remember when we defeated Abyssion?" Presea asked, seemingly ignoring his question for the time being.

"Yeah, of course," he said, a tad confused.

"And how the darkness almost latched on to me?"

He nodded.

"It's similar to that," Presea said softly, her hands clenched in her lap. "I'm not entirely sure. I just know something bad is going to happen."

"You don't think - " he paused, somewhat abruptly, not entirely sure how to word his thoughts. The younger girl looked pale and vulnerable in the erratic lamplight, and he was reluctant to go further, though she seemed to read his thoughts almost immediately, shaking her head.

"No, you need not worry about my well-being. That darkness was banished; it won't come back."

"Good," he said, genuinely relieved. "I don't want you to be possessed again."

Presea smiled. "Thank you," she said, quietly.

"So," Lloyd said, feeling slightly conversational. "Looking forward to the reunion?" Seeing her nod, he smiled himself, that familiar twinge of excitement coming back full-force. "I can't wait! Think everyone will be there?"

"It is likely," Presea said, a hint of thoughtfulness playing across her face. "It is a shame Kratos cannot join us."

"Yeah," Lloyd replied, trying very hard to squash that discontent feeling oft connected to his true father's name. "I miss him, as much as I don't want to admit it."

"Look at it this way," Presea said brightly, perhaps sensing his sudden change of mood. "You can visit Dirk!"

"Yeah," he said, with another smile. "I miss him too."

"There you are," Presea said, standing and moving towards the door, stopping briefly to pat his knee in what he gathered was a somewhat half-hearted display of sisterly affection. "It isn't so bad. Sleep well, Lloyd."

"G'night," he said quietly, watching her close the door behind her. The ship chose that moment to take a hard rock to the right and with a curse he found himself flung forward, landing on the wooden floor with a groan. Laying there, sprawled across the cold planks, he could only watch as the lamp shuddered and dimmed, throwing the room into darkness.

oOo

Stepping somewhat groggily onto the Iselia docks not half a day later was a blessing Lloyd would never forget; he had made it quite clear to his companions that Raine was indeed the most intelligent of them all, and not for her infamous ruin-mode, but rather her fear of all things water. It did help, however, that the day was a bright one, all blue and sunny and a handsome sky that quite distracted him from his previous bad mood.

The forests of Iselia were much as he had remembered them; towering trees and worn dirt roads that crept and stretched out before them, winding past the charred remains of the human ranch and out in the direction of Dirk's home. Lloyd was pleased to see that the monsters were few and far between, and even those that did step out on to the path gave them only a wary glance before sinking back into the shadows.

"It is quiet," Presea observed, her axe swinging loosely at her side. She appeared the most bothered by the lack of wildlife, in comparison to Lloyd, at least, who was relatively enjoying it.

"Come on, Presea, don't worry! They probably heard we were coming, you know, and valued their lives." He couldn't help but strike a valiant pose, feeling all the more excited to be so close to his home. "Besides, they're not stupid. They know when they're outmatched."

Regal frowned. "Don't get cocky, Lloyd."

"Sheesh. You sound like my dad."

"Which one?"

Lloyd paused, with an expression of deep thought. "Both, I guess. Kratos, though - well, you remember. He wouldn't let me have any fun." He could not help the reluctantly fond smile that crept onto his face.

Presea's voice was carried back on the wind. "Let's keep moving. I don't like it here."

Lloyd turned, somewhat surprised, to see she had strode far ahead, and was waiting at the crossroads between the former human ranch and the exit. Shrugging, he made his way towards her, still chatting amiably with Regal. "How does she do that?"

Regal spoke as if the answer was blindingly obvious. "She's short."

"Oh." Lloyd nodded, seeing the truth behind the older man's words. "True."

Presea stood still as they drew near, both hands wrapped firmly around the handle of her axe, utterly tense and cautious. Her eyes swept across the thick dust settled across the road, frowning, looking so severe that Lloyd couldn't help but ask what was wrong. "Nothing," she said, blinking and looking up to him. "Let's move on."

The trio moved quietly towards the exit, stepping onto the plain that separated them with only a single bend from Dirk's house, abruptly silent in the still air. Lloyd felt fit to be tied; he wanted to hurry the group along and make a dash for his home, anxious as he was to see his friends, but he knew when it came down to it the two companions already with him would not relish the idea of chasing after him.

Presea, if it was possible, spoke even less than before, her brow still furrowed and that frown still set against her lips. She appeared vaguely uncomfortable with the woodlands, often turning to glance behind them, and yet still keep in time with Lloyd's rapid pace. Regal was much the same way, his fingers encircling the pale flesh about his wrists, his eyes dark.

Lloyd paid it little heed; the last bend that would reveal his home was there, not a few feet away, and he stepped even quicker, grinning, knowing full well his two friends would have little to no trouble keeping up. The bend was close, now, and there, he was past it --

And time stopped.

The black smoke curled and unfurled about the home, wrapping itself tightly to the crimson flame that scarred and scorched the wooden frame; it was dark and majestic and the house groaned, the roof buckling, and through the haze he could see the timber rippling and bucking in the heat. Without a second thought he found himself running forward, leaping across the fragments on the bridge, mindless of the voices behind him, calling him back, the words lost in the home's shakes and groans. Kicking the door away he darted into the flames, nearly falling in the blast of heat, shaking off the fire and scanning the smoke with a growing sense of fear. There was a whining panic in the back of his mind, shaking him to his core, but he couldn't mind it, couldn't listen to it in the fire's roar.

How could this happen? Dirk was careful, he was cautious, the forge always bent to his will - and Lloyd could see the thing, there, charred and brittle in the flames. "DAD!" he screamed, turning this way and that, feeling so hopeless; moving quickly he made for the stairs, taking two at a time, and then abruptly falling back as the roof of his old room caved in, sending him tumbling down and back near the forge, his hands cut and bleeding from trying to brace his fall. This place was so strange; under the fire's touch everything changed, twisted, and warped, turning a damnable black, and he realized in a daze he had to get out, lest he follow a similar fate.

There was a gaping hole, there, to the left of the forge, carved into the wall, but the fire curled around it and he turned, standing shakily and stumbling towards the door. He could hear voices - Regal? Presea? - just outside and he wondered, briefly, why they hadn't followed him - and then the house was shaking, again, and shifting, and with a guttural moan the ceiling before him collapsed, sending him back, and showering the door with flame and debris. With a sinking sort of feeling he realized he was trapped - the door buried, that hole bathed in fire, and the second floor no more, the first soon to follow.

"No," he said softly. His lips were dry, cracked, but still the word was there, loud and clear. Clearing his mind, he forced himself to stand still, his legs weak and tired, his hands stained red. The windows - his only chance. There was one left, the glass spread across the floor below, shards still standing in the frame. Through the smoke he could only just see the sky; that blue, the strange blue, was tinted with black, until it was hard to tell when one shade ended and the other began. The flames rolled across the wood above him; with a start he made for the window, knowing time was not on his side. He could not help the hiss as he took his swords in bruised hands, but, steeling himself against the pain, he swung true, clearing the remaining glass and leaving a hole for him to go through. Stepping back, he braced himself for the spring - and could not help the cry that tore from his throat as a thick plank fell free from the ceiling, forcing him to fall back and take the flaming wood straight across his legs. Shifting it off, he rolled and tried to stand, only to fall back with a small cry, his legs numb and bruised.

And then he saw it, a single hand sticking free of a pile of wood in the corner, not a few feet away; Lloyd sucked in a breath and crawled forward, clearing the debris with his sword blades, trying not to shake as his father's face came into view. The dwarf's face was so familiar and strange, bloody and cracked, the eyes cold and unmoving. The rest of the wood was cleared with a dry sob, and Lloyd could only watch as the rest of his father came into view - or what was left. The bottom half, the legs, had been torn free, and the dwarf's waist was all blood and bone and burns.

Lloyd turned, feeling a painful twinge in his chest, and vomited, coughing in the blood that rained down across the floor. The room was spinning, fading, and he knew this was it - but he didn't want it to be, he didn't want it to end where it all started, he wanted to see everyone again - and the fire was so hot, so damn hot, and he slowly blacked out, collapsing next to his father.

oOo

"I'm sorry. No - no, I am no fool. I am not sorry! This is your fault, fool!"

The dagger was pressed against the girl's throat - she was so young! - and Richard was shaking, holding her to the floor, trying to stop himself, and already knowing it was too late. The girl's eyes were wide and fearful and he knew he should have felt something, anything, for doing this, should have just let her go - but no, he could not, could not risk anyone knowing he was here, it was much too dangerous. The red lips moved - was she asking for release? No! He could not help her, it was her fault, she should have never come for the jewel.

A clean cut against her throat and he leaned back, breathing shakily, watching her thrash and cry and the blood trail down the pale skin. It was beautiful, in a way, the kill, and he would watch for a bit, and try not to laugh. That fat merchant was a fool, thinking he would not dare harm such a fine lady. Richard had little compassion for anyone, regardless of sex or race, and this pretty thing was no exception. And she was even prettier, now, covered in the pale blood, the red as sickly and cold as her skin.

It was the jewel - god! the jewel! - and he knew it was different, special, maybe even magical. It gave him this power, this strange sense of bravery and talent, enough to cast off his fears and add yet another corpse to his happy little pile in the forest. And it was changing the forest, too, turning it black and cold, and he didn't really give a damn. It was worth it; the thing could do whatever the hell it wanted, really, so long as it took away his fear and gave him that strength. He would not sell it - never. And maybe the gem knew it, but it didn't matter, now. It was a fair trade, in his mind, and he was glad of it. Richard was determined to step free of this forest, one day, and make his way back into the world. There was talk of a war, somewhere, a war to end all wars, and perhaps he would take a look at that. He had the strength and the power to make a difference; if he played his cards right, he would never have to worry, never have to live as a poor boy again, cold and alone.

Slowly, he wiped his dagger against the grass, and nodded towards the still body, watching as it rose into the air and began to float slowly towards his pile, his collection, and he followed.

It was a fair trade indeed.

oOo

Rain.

Was it raining again? And it had been such a clear day. Strange. Lloyd blinked, opening his eyes to a blue sky, and yet he was cold, damp, and sore as hell. The grass was cool against his skin, and he shifted a bit; a tad reluctant to move, but eventually giving up and moving to sit up, wondering if he had managed to miss the reunion.

Reunion.

Dirk.

That familiar whining panic was there; looking around, he was terrified to see the black skeleton of his home, Dirk's home, ruined and smoking. And it came back in instant - kicking his way in, the stairs collapsing, finding the window, finding Dirk. That twinge in his chest was there, too, and his stomach was rolling, and he flipped over, his throat burning, and heard the voices.

"We can't find him."

"Lloyd?"

"Yes, Colette. We found Dirk, and - "

"But, hey, that's a good thing, right? That means he probably got out somewhere. Look, Lloyd's a stubborn guy. I don't think he'd let this beat him."

"Zelos has a point, for once."

"Sheena. You're too kind."

"Fire's out, sis. Tsunami did the trick."

"Thank you, Genis. Are Regal and Presea still searching?"

Lloyd stood shakily to his feet. He was close - somehow, he was in Noishe's pen, or what was left of it, at least. He could not remember how he got there; mentally, he could see the window, Dirk, and the fire, but from there it was black, just black, and the dream, the strange dreams that had almost been common every time he closed his eyes. Pushing it away, he made an effort to stand straight, getting his first good look at his friends, huddled nearby, each wearing an expression of sadness. They were all there - Sheena, Colette, Raine, Genis, everyone, they were all there, some worse than the others. Sheena looked brave and strong and smiled, but she was slumped, too, not looking very much interested in much of anything. And the others looked much the same.

And there was strange feeling to the air, to the back of his mind, that he had forgotten something. It was not the first time; he had felt this, once before, only earlier that day, in fact, and still his mind was dark and clouded, and he was having trouble concentrating, though one thought came cold and clear.

Dirk was dead.

He couldn't push that picture from his mind; seeing his father beneath the rubble, torn in two, in a pool of his own blood - it was terrifying and painful and he couldn't forget it, as much as he wanted or tried. And there was another thought, too, a question - why had this happened? Why now? The how and the what could wait; Lloyd wanted to know why this had happened, why he was suddenly so alone, why the only family he had left was either torn or as good as dead thousands of miles away. He could almost understand Genis, then - no, Genis had Raine, he still had family. And they had a home, and everything else, too. And Lloyd was alone.

Raine. A thought struck him so easily that he was almost ashamed, in his grief, for not thinking of it before. Raine could cast Resurrect - she could bring him back, bring Dirk back to him, and he wouldn't be alone anymore. And already he was moving, out of the pen, stumbling towards the small group, and they had seen him, no doubt stunned at his sudden appearance. But he didn't care; he made his way for Raine and leaned heavily on his swords, his body still sore and weak.

"You can bring him back! You can cast Resurrect and he'll be okay, right? You can - " and he hated himself for sounding so weak, trying not to cry, and that crushing sense of despair wrapped itself around him when she shook her head, closing her eyes.

"No, Lloyd. I'm sorry."

"No!" It didn't make sense. She was a healer, she could bring him back. "Why - why can't you?"

Raine mumbled something, still not meeting his eyes, and Lloyd nearly collapsed in the swoop of anger that consumed him. "Tell me! Tell me why you can't!"

The older woman looked at him, at last, and her eyes were sad and strange. "There's not enough of him to bring back," she said, and turned away, bowing her head.

Lloyd realized, a bit late, that he had fallen. He was on his knees and that whining panic and that twinge in his chest threatened to topple him; he could only close his eyes and cry, feeling nothing, just cold and black and strange - except there was a warm hand under his arm, holding him up. Sheena. And another hand, too, settled on his back. Colette. And his friends moved closer, lifting him up, and his eyes sought the sky, maybe looking for answers. It was so blue, and so black, an odd mix of smoke and cloud, and it didn't give a damn about what was happening below it.

It was such a beautiful day.