Time passed.

Minutes on the hillside in Vector turned to hours, and then into days. The world passed into transition, changing vibrant greenery into an inferno of autumnal colors before the cruel hand of Winter wrung it all from their branches. And so it was that after an entire decade had went by, Father Time held his ragged breath for the two brothers. It was up to them now whether or not they chose to let old rivalries be born anew . . .

"That should just about do it."

Muscles twitching and rippling beneath his faded brown tunic, Banon blew loose wisps of hair from his eyes as he fought with the number-nine pressure valve in the Figaro control room. There was no give to it, moving only a few millimeters in the desired direction. It didn't matter. Banon just needed for it to be enough if the experiment was to be a success. He kicked at a nearby clamp, locking the valve in place before scrambling up a scaffolding to check the pressure gauge. He tapped on the glass casing but the needle remained fixed in its spot.

"More torque," he heard himself say, and then leaned out over the edge of the platform. "Renzo, it needs more torque!"

"It's already at its limit," a gravelly voice called back from down in the corridor.

"Then get your bearded butt up here and help me with this valve!" Banon worked his way back down to the lower landing while Renzo worked his way up. "If there's not enough steam to turn those drills this time, then we've pretty much wasted an entire weekend rebuilding them."

"You don't have to go tellin' me stuff I already - ugh, know!" His last word fractured beneath the strain he put into the valve, bracing it from moving in one direction while Banon kept jerking it the opposite way. "I've pretty much been, uh, working with the king on this for as long as, oof, you've been."

Banon never answered, only grinned as he locked the clamp back into place. Banon had been here since Gestahl (he had learned a very long time ago to stop calling him 'brother') had exiled him a decade earlier. The chancellor of Figaro was the first to hear of the young boy's dilemma, and thus was the first to extend to him the hand of good fellowship as a friend of his late father. Renzo found his way to the kingdom two years after Banon did, not because he particularly enjoyed the company of royalty but because he needed the work. The two of them had been friends ever since.

"Okay. Let's see if we got it this time." Again, Banon scaled the scaffolding, as quickly and gracefully as the last hundred times he had done so, and checked the gauge. This time, he wouldn't be disappointed. "Success! We got it!"

"We do? Hot dog!" Renzo clapped his two hands together, genuinely proud of himself. "I told ya. Didn't I tell ya? All it needed was a bit of elbow grease."

Banon beamed, slapping him on the back. "You did indeed, old friend. So, what do we do now?"

"What the king had been asking us to do all along." He ascended to the upper level of the platform and pulled the clear casing away from a bright red buttom. "Do you want to do the honors or should I?"

"Well, call me a stick-in-the-mud, but don't you think the king would find something amiss when he returns from his hunting trip and discovers the castle missing?"

"Probably, but at least then he'd know we got his Submerge Mode up and running."

"One step at a time, Renzo." Banon stooped down to gather up his tools. "Why don't you go and inform the chancellor of our progress first? If anyone needs to find me, just tell them I'll be in the library - researching something."

Renzo conceded, still unaccustomed to the ways a kingdom worked but glad to have a little assistance. Banon retired to the library then, not wishing to linger within Figaro's many carpeted halls and chambers any longer than he needed to. Their elegance and grace was a painful reminder as to the home he had been banished from - before it had went up in flames.

Everything was as he had left it, and with so many of the kingdom's staff preoccupied with other affairs he was often free to conduct his studies undisturbed. He gave the card catalogue a quick perusing through before finding the book he was looking for, then took his usual spot at the table nearest the back. The book was called "Espers and Outcasts", written by the very same man who had hunted an esper in his home some ten years earlier.

". . . since the War of the Magi, primary source material has become a testament to the chaotic psychology of the esper race. Though not evil by nature, first-hand accounts from Magi Warriors prove conclusively that the atrocities of war have made berserkers out of many a calm and collected esper . . ."

"Shhhh," said a young woman across the way.

"Sorry," he whispered, unaware he had been reading aloud. He gave a quick scan of the open book to find where he had left off.

". . . calm and collected esper. Some Thamasian scholars even hold to the belief that espers were once like us, and that one violent confrontation made them into the creatures they are today. In this light, it has always been assumed that espers in their human form are only capable of curative magic . . ."

"Excuse me, could you please--"

Banon lowered the book this time, and he and the young woman made eye contact. For a moment, they were both at a loss for words. Her beauty struck him dumb, from her lightly tanned skin to her dark sweeping hair, every square millimeter of her fascinated him. Banon fumbled over his words, unsure of whether or not she was hesitating for the same reason he was.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"No, I'm sorry."

"No, I am." She went over to his table. "I had no idea you were the one helping His Majesty with his experiment."

"How did you know that?" he asked, not thinking before speaking.

She touched her forehead. "Well, you have a little bit of . . ."

"Oh," he said, wiping the grease from his brow. "Yes. I'm a mess, aren't I?"

"No." She gave him what Banon thought was the sweetest smile he had ever seen. His heart fluttered in his chest. "I don't suppose you could tell me anything about the experiment, could you? It's been all the buzz since His Majesty started working on it."

"Sorry, it's classified." With a rag in hand, he cleaned away whatever grease was left clinging to his hands and face. "The king wishes for the project to be tested first before anyone else is informed about it."

"Oh. Well, can I ask what your name is? Or is that classified too?"

He laughed. "It's Banon."

They shook each other's hand.

"I'm Gayle."

"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." She pulled up a chair alongside him. "So, what is it that you're reading anyway? It's something about espers, isn't it?"

"Yeah, there's something I've been trying to understand."

"About magic?"

"In a manner of speaking." He flipped through a few of the pages idly for good measure. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Sure."

He reached down into his toolbox and pulled out one of his utility knives. Before Gayle had a chance to react to the gesture, he drew a slit down slantways across his forearm. Blood ran unchecked from the wound along either side of the tabletop.

"Banon, my Goddess! What are you--"

"Keep watching."

The wound began to sparkle blue, clotting over and then turning to scar tissue. Seconds after the sliver of metal passed through his flesh, the cut disappeared.

"Amazing!"

"And this is where the secret comes in." He flipped back to the page he had been reading before Gayle came along. "My brother and I were both attacked by an esper once, and from what I gather from all these texts I've been studying, it's done something to us."

"What--you mean it's given you the ability to heal yourself?"

"Well, apparently. But I can heal other people as well. Here, give me your arm."

She pulled back from him. "Uh, no. That's fine, I'll take your word for it."

"Right, sorry. Well anyway, I think it happened to me because the esper was in its human form when it attacked us. Look at this . . ." He read back the proper passage in verbatim. "'It has always been assumed that espers in their human form are only capable of curative magic'. That would explain it, wouldn't it?"

"If you say so." Her eyes passed over the worn book that lay open before them. "Really makes you wonder what an esper would do to someone if it attacked while it was still in its pure form, doesn't it?"

Almost the second Gayle started to ask the question, Banon's thoughts returned to Gestahl. He had been attacked in a cave, while the creature bled hellfire. Could that have been its true form? What ghastly effect did it now have on the current ruler of Vector? Banon felt his throat lock up.

"I don't know," he finally answered. "I must admit though, I'm suddenly curious."

Gayle was about to say something in response when Renzo burst into the room, waving around a yellow slip of parchment over his head.

"Renzo?" Banon squinted at his bearded comrade. "What's up? Did you tell the chancellor about our progress today?"

"I did," he said, "and he gave me this telegram to give to you. He said it was urgent."

Perplexed as to who could possibly know as to his whereabouts, he snatched the message out of Renzo's callused palm and broke its seal open. Banon glanced at the parchment for only a second before realizing who it was from.

"Who sent it?" Gayle asked. "Banon?"

He didn't immediately answer, but instead gave the enclosed oak branch an idle spin between his thumb and forefinger. All too quickly, he was beginning to understand the changes which the esper attack was having on his older sibling.

"It's from Gestahl," he told them. "He's just dissolved the monarchy of Vector."