AN: Well, another chapter up, and although it's extremely short, a few very important things happen. I hope at least one person apart from me is enjoying this. Please let me know if you are. It would make this story for me.

Cloister Three

The gentle motion of the waves rocking the ship had quickly lulled Beclem into a state half way between being asleep and awake. That final, blissful step into oblivion would not come however, and he lay half awake, eyes staring at the ceiling above his hammock, wondering if accepting this mission had been such a good idea. He got along well enough with Maroda, but that was no guarantee that he would like his Summoner brother. He only needed to think of Chappu and Wakka for an example.

He was only as friendly with Maroda as he was with anyone he liked, which wasn't much, and he hadn't talked to him enough to know what to expect from Lord Isaaru. If worst came to worst, he supposed he could always return to Youth League headquarters, and someone else could be the official representative of the Youth League in Bevelle.

When he thought of his position like that it almost sounded impressive Beclem thought with a grin; the Youth League's official representative in Bevelle.

He must have fallen asleep and started dreaming, because the next thing he remembered, the room suddenly became impossibly dark. He could no longer see anything more than a foot away from him. There was a sound, like a quiet growling in the cabin, and a soft rumbling shook the floor beneath him.

There seemed to be something standing in front of him. He blinked a couple of times, trying to turn the shape into something recognisable and less abstract, but it remained just as strange, covered in what could only be called spikes and claws. The shadow moved, making something around it crack. More of its body rose, breaking the wooden deck beneath it to allow room for its enormous and horrific body. It turned around and faced Beclem with two cold glowing yellow eyes.

Something exploded, making Beclem's eyes close tight, then shoot wide open again as he woke up. The remnants of the dream must have still been clouding his memory, because he thought he saw a dark shape move in the corner of the room.

Another explosion rocked the ship, and Beclem reached for his helmet. He thought he saw a hand full of enormous claws out of the corner of his eye, and the next thing he knew; there was a gaping hole in the wall.

There was one final, enormous explosion which tore the ship into pieces, and sent Beclem flying into the water.

Sleep was also eluding the current leader of New Yevon. Isaaru stood on his balcony, staring out over the city he was supposedly leading. It seemed that Dorian was receiving more and more responsibilities, and Isaaru was sure the man could have led the city if he had never shown up, were it not for the fact that Dorian was neither well-known nor trusted.

Isaaru stared guiltily at a newly formed scar on his wrist and frowned. If Maroda knew what his older brother had been doing he would undoubtedly be mortified. Isaaru had not actually brought a blade to his skin since he was a Summoner, and had felt so frustrated and guilty about his failure to defeat Sin that he had attempted suicide.

Maroda had stopped him then, quite forcefully, and had guarded Isaaru even more closely. For two weeks no sharp objects of any kind were allowed near the Summoner. It had been embarrassing; humiliating even. Then Lady Yuna had defeated Sin, and with time Maroda's watch over him began to lessen and eventually disappear, as the scars on Isaaru's wrist attested.

Isaaru found his thoughts wandering to Lady Yuna and her current quest to discover how far the chambers they had come to call Via Infinito spread, and what their purpose was. Isaaru had done a little exploring himself, and was already shocked and frightened by what he had found. The place was dangerous, and Isaaru was glad Pacce had not journeyed inside the chambers after discovering them.

Isaaru's thoughts were interrupted as a bright glow lit up the horizon. He looked out in the direction of the docks and discovered that where a ship had been coming into the bay only a couple of seconds earlier, there was no more than a glowing fireball now.

He quickly calculated how far out to sea the ship was, and how much damage the explosion had done. There was only a small chance of survival for anyone on board, but it was still a chance. Isaaru grabbed his staff from inside his study, and began running towards the shoreline.

Beclem spat out a mouthful of salty water as he broke the surface. He looked around and discovered that the ship had been closer to Bevelle's shoreline than he had previously thought. There was barely anything left of the ship except for a few planks of wood here and there. Beclem wondered what could have caused destruction like this, and how and why he had been left alive.

He was reminded of the dark shape from his dream, and for a while he wondered. Of course it had only been a dream, Beclem thought. The ship had suffered from some sort of mechanical problem. It happened all the time, didn't it? It was one of the reasons machina were still distrusted by a lot of people.

There was another rumbling noise then that sounded as though it had come from beneath the water. The water began to churn, and Beclem began to wonder if he was still dreaming. Something slammed into his back, then his legs, covering him in tiny scratches and crushing many of his bones at the same time.

Beclem searched at his side for his guns, and found only one. That was better than nothing at least. He brought it up out of the water, and prayed that the ammunition hadn't been damaged by the water. He ignored the pain that was quickly blossoming all over his body. Pain could wait; he needed to focus on surviving for now.

He wished whatever it was would show itself.

Eventually he gave up, and swam over to the nearest piece of driftwood. He clung there for a while, until he came to the conclusion that the ship's attacker was not coming back.

When he was hit in the back of the head by another attack, he gladly welcomed the oblivion that came with it.

Isaaru scanned the beach for any signs of life and found none. There was only driftwood to be found, scattered along the sand in small pieces and occasionally covered with seaweed or, in a few cases, blood.

There was a noise coming from the ocean, and Isaaru turned to discover a rather large wave making its way to the shore. Riding it was a rather battered and bruised looking man clinging in his unconscious state to a piece of driftwood.

The body washed onto the sand, and Isaaru could see that he was wearing the uniform of one of the old Crusaders. He ran over, dropping beside the man to check for a pulse. He was glad to find one, but wasn't surprised to find that it was weak. The man had lost a lot of blood and broken many bones.

Isaaru was just about to heal the man when an almighty roar sounded from out at sea. Isaaru turned towards the ocean to discover that an enormous wave was heading towards the beach. It may have just been Isaaru's imagination, but there appeared to be some sort of dark, monstrous shape beneath the wave, directing it towards Isaaru and the man he had found, and increasing the wave's speed and power at the same time.

Isaaru sprang to his feet with his staff in hand. He placed both of his bare feet firmly in front of the injured body, not caring that the waves and sand were lapping at the edges of his elaborate robes. He placed the staff directly in front of him and whispered a few incomprehensible words.

A shield glowed in front of him, surrounding both Isaaru and the injured man. The wave struck, but the water splashed against the shield, curving away from the two men. The wind from the wave whipped Isaaru's hair around his face; his robes flying up off the ground to lap at his feet.

The wind soon disappeared, and the waves washed back into the ocean, leaving no trace that they had been there at all. If anything had been attacking them, then it had given up.

Isaaru let the shield down, and turned his attention back to the injured man.

The very first light of dawn was appearing on the horizon as Isaaru kneeled on the sand and pulled the man into his arms. The man was wearing an old Crusader helmet. Isaaru pulled it off to reveal the man's face.

He was quite handsome, and Isaaru wondered why he would cover up his face with such a mask. He looked to be in his late twenties, around the same age as Isaaru. A pale scar ran down over his left eyebrow, stopping just above his eye. Isaaru traced the scar gently with one finger.

The man's hair was red-brown, but of a deeper, richer tone than Isaaru's, and lay this way and that over the man's forehead and around his ears in a dishevelled way that wasn't completely without charm.

Isaaru gave into the temptation to run his hand through the wet hair, making the man in his arms moan a little and move as though he was about to awaken.

The man's eyelids slid open, revealing a pair of startling green-golden eyes. He blinked a couple of times, trying to focus on Isaaru's face, before smiling incredibly gently.

"Chappu?" he asked weakly, reaching one arm up to try and touch Isaaru's face.

The hand didn't make it though, before it fell back to its owner's side, and the bright golden eyes were closed again, as unconsciousness claimed Beclem once more.