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Chapter XVIII: Chosen Steps
(You don't waste no time at all)
Don't hear the bell,
but you answer the call.
(comes to you as to us all)
We're just waiting
for the hammer to fall.
~Queen

Zack, once again, found himself face-to-face and toe-to-toe with death.

But instead of a train car, this time, it was an empty library, with no-one but the everlastingly quiet Cloud to keep him company.

Commander Dilan had called them both here, rather than the PKF headquarters, for some kind of update or direction—for which Zack had been so anxious, he had barely slept the night before. He needed to do something.

There was only so much useless and aimless wandering, answerless thinking, and vigilant worry about Aerith and Vincent that he could manage—and he felt like he had reached his limit three days ago; immediately after returning from Shinra. How the hell anyone did anything after that, he was at a loss to explain.

He was angry, sad, frustrated, impatient, sympathetic—every emotion he could think of, he'd felt it. Anxious worry for Vincent's whereabouts. Heart-broken-open pain for Aerith. Abysmal sadness for the someone he wished he had known, like Aerith's mother.

And then there was the depressing resentment at the mounting number of dead-ends they had hit and the way in which everyone ghosted about Merlin's house like trapped birds, all-to-aware that landing upon the ground for even a second meant that cat would pounce.

Zack hated that. He hated Shinra, he hated both what was plain on Aerith's face and what was hidden back in her eyes, and he hated their recurring frustration. It felt, truly, like a slow and awful death, struggling to breathe against inevitably drowning—up to this very second, here, tapping his foot lightly against the quiet, carpeted floor of the Bastion's enormous library.

He needed something. Direction. An aim. He needed release—for Aerith, for himself, for everyone. Hence, the risk in even showing up at all.

With a sigh, Zack wondered if the most exciting to ever happen to him again would be pushing through the large throngs of citizens who now protested the inaction of the Garden at the castle gates.

"What are you doing here?"

Blinking, Zack turned to trace the small, light, and confident voice; not accusatory, but curious.

"Your Majesty!" Zack exclaimed, stumbling to his feet with a bow, as Cloud hastily follow suit—for there, diminutive before the enormous shelves, stood Princess Kairi Hartwell, in a knee-length white sundress, holding tight to a large book almost the size of her torso.

"You can sit down," Kairi said with a giggle, moving towards the lounges and chairs at the center of the library's great rotunda, "So what're you doing? I haven't seen you here before."

"Well, ah," Zack glanced at Cloud, both unsure of how to react to the little Princess, "My name is Zack. And this is Cloud. We're just waiting for, ah, Commander Dilan!"

"So you're not reading?" Kairi asked, dark-blue eyes wide and piercingly inquisitive.

"No, no, just waiting." Zack answered, finally deciding to sit again—but now on the edge, leaning forward, attentive to the Princess. The Princess!

Kairi nodded, "Hmm…that makes sense. Dilan never reads books, either. Just boring papers and papers and more papers."

"Well, I used to read a lot more." Zack offered.

Kairi's eyes brightened, "Like what?"

"My favorite books when I was your age were…all about the old knights—dragons and quests and stuff like that!" Zack smiled at the memories, those few of his own mother, now faraway, sitting him upon her lap in days long-gone by.

"That's good." Kairi smiled, "Daddy says that everything good comes from a story."

Zack smiled back, that's certainly where all his dreams had come from, "Your father is a smart man."

"This one—" Kairi hefted up the large, beige tome, still grasped entirely by her two, thin arms, "This one's my favorite. I'd let you borrow it, but then I'd miss Pooh and all his friends."

Zack couldn't help but chuckle at the Princess' winsomeness. The Garden was enormously lucky and, one day, he'd be very proud to serve at her command.

"Ah, that's alright. I wouldn't want you to be sad!" Zack commended, kneeling down to meet her height across from him, "It's very kind of you to think of us, though."

Kairi nodded and with a light smile and placed the large book on the table beside him, "You can look at it here, if you like!"

Zack shook his head with a smile—how could he say no? Not only his Princess, but now also his savior from boredom!

Leaning over the desk, which was nearly as tall as her, the Princess pulled open the great book to its first and title page, before turning back quickly to Zack, as if she had forgotten something, "Excuse me, but have you ever been to the sea?"

Zack nearly burst out laughing again. Ah, kids—even royal ones!

"No, no I can't say that I have."

Kairi sighed, "Nobody else has, either. That's what my name means, you know. But I've never even seen one."

"That sounds frustrating!" Zack responded, enjoying the problems of children.

He'd never really given the ocean much thought—there was one, so far away that the train ceased its travels many hundreds of miles before the rivers fed out into it. But no one in the Garden had ever cared much for it beyond traveling merchants who occasionally brought seafood delicacies that couldn't be had from the northern lakes.

Kairi nodded, her appreciative eyes taking serious stock of him from under her thick, auburn bangs, "I'm glad you understand."

"Well, when you're Queen, you can go find it, wherever it is!" Zack suggested,

Kairi's eyed widened, and Zack marveled at how deep they seemed to go, "Yeah! That's true!"

Zack nodded, unintended excitement entering his voice, "In fact, your Majesty, Cloud here and I officially volunteer for that first expedition!"

"Thank you, Zack; Cloud!" Kairi smiled, looking to Cloud, who also smiled slightly and nodded, "But it could be dangerous—we may even have to travel to other worlds!"

Zack kept smiling, but his brow furrowed, "Other…worlds…?"

"Oh, but it's okay!" Kairi said quickly, "They aren't too far—it's all the same sky, right? That's what I think—" her face suddenly froze, as she threw a hand over her mouth, "Oh—no, I wasn't…I wasn't supposed to tell anyone…"

Zack frowned, "About what?"

Kairi glanced around conspiratorially, examining every quiet and dusty shelf in sight, before leaning up to Zack's ear on her tip-toes, "About the other worlds."

Zack gave an understanding hmm. The Princess must've been reading the same books Cid had been raised on. Other worlds…heh, sounds like Cid was also just one giant kid. Just as he suspected.

"Don't worry—" Zack responded with an equally secretive whisper, even bringing up his hand to hide his mouth, "We won't tell anyone."

"Pinky-swear?" Kairi insisted, reaching out her tiny hand, littlest finger extended.

Zack nodded seriously, reaching out to grab Cloud's hand as to include him, and taking the Princess' finger in his own, "Pinky-swear."

Smiling, Kairi's hand released his and she seemed to nod to herself, "Well, now that I'm seven, I need to be more royal—I have to give you a gift for that!"

"Oh, no, your majesty, you don't—" Zack started, as little Kairi hummed her way over to one of the great windows that allowed streaming sunbeams to shoot-through the library's dusty air. Taking careful inventory, Kairi reached among the dozens of plotted plants and flowers that lay carefully arranged on the sill.

With focused balance, she lifted out a little pot, growing with a single white-petalled daisy, and handed it to Zack, "It's okay—all of this sorta belongs to me, right?"

"I guess that's right," Zack smiled, receiving the gift, "Thank you, your majesty. I have someone special who will really like this."

"Ooh!" Kairi's hands clasped together, "Are they that kind of special?"

Zack raised an eyebrow, with a bit of a laugh, "Yeah, yeah, she is."

"Will you—will you get married?" she asked, voice overflowing with excitement.

An image flashed to Zack's mind of him in full regalia (fully buttoned this time!), with Squall and Cloud at his back, as Aerith walked down an aisle in radiant white, her face beaming as if the sun itself, and somehow carrying this one little potted daisy.

"I guess so!" Zack answered, chuckling at Cloud, "One day."

Kairi nodded seriously, and sighed with the wistfulness of a child as she pointed at the flower, "Make sure you tell her who it's from—maybe that'll help!"

Zack could only guffaw, holding the little plant close, "I'm sure it will! Thank you, your Majesty!"

"Just Kairi." the Princess insisted, turning back to her book.

"As you wish—Kairi." Zack nodded, reading over her shoulder.

Suddenly, across the hall, the great oaken doors the servants had originally led them through were thrown open and in strode the barrel-chested Dilan, his long, black hair flowing behind him in braids.

"Dilan!" Kairi cried, running for him and grabbing one of his great legs, to be caught up in his stride—utterly unhindered by the small person now clinging to his thigh, "Dilan! I order that you make your people read more! And also send them to the ocean!"

"I will take it into consideration, little one." Dilan responded, with a seconds-long grunt of vulnerability that Zack was floored to observe in the Commander.

"Your Majesty!" Dilan stopped before them, as Kairi took the opportunity to try climbing higher, "Your Majesty, if I might have a word alone with these two soldiers?"

"If you sought for privacy, Dilan, you shouldn't have brought them to a library," came a wizened, old voice, "Here, millenia are listening in."

Turning to look over their shoulders, both Zack and Cloud leaped against to their feet to salute as there stood the Queen Mother herself, Eilonwy, hunched over a wooden cane, her wrinkled face enlivened by a cheeky smile. Had she been there the whole time?

"Even so," Dilan responded, impressively unresponsive to all of Kairi's attempts to tug and claw at him, "I also believe the young Princess' lunch may be nearing ready."

"Yes!" Kairi exclaimed, scampering down from Dilan's side and smoothing out her dress, "Let's go, grandma!"

"Indeed, child." The Queen Mother smiled, crossing the room to reach out a hand, acknowledging Zack and Cloud's salute in the process, who finally relaxed to merely standing.

Kairi made to dash across to her grandmother's open hand, but slowed beside Cloud, who stared down at her with what Zack first thought would be confusion and anxiety; but rather, he seemed at peace, merely curious.

Tugging at his hand, Kairi beckoned him down to her level. As he crouched, she reached out to gently pat at his blonde spikes, "You're quiet, but I really like your hair."

And with that, as Zack stifled a laugh and even Cloud smiled, the Princess rushed to take her grandmother's hand and, with a little wave, was led out from the library and down to what Zack imagined would be some sumptuous feast.

But as they left, he heard Kairi petition the Queen Mother, "Tell me the story again?"

And without hesitation, the Queen Mother acquiesced and began to speak, as she patted down the edges of Kairi's long straight hair, passing out of sight and sound after Zack only heard the first line, "Long ago, people lived in peace, bathed in the warmth of the light—"

As the great doors slid shut behind them, Dilan nodded his own response to their salute and locked his arms behind his back; dark eyes examining them both.

In that moment, Zack wanted to spill everything to the Commander: Vincent, Shinra, what they'd found and where they'd found it—but for Aerith's sake, he held his tongue. Maybe there was a spy here in the Castle, maybe not, but his love for Aerith overrode his trust and respect of Dilan.

"Investigator Fair, Private Strife." Dilan nodded, "We shall be short: you are being reassigned."

Zack's thoughts, and nearly his breath, froze, "Excuse me, sir—"

"Unfortunately, your investigative subject has fallen quite low on our list of priorities." Dilan explained, face firm.

"Sir, with all due respect, then who will find justice for Banon—"

"Who?" Dilan interrupted.

"Banon, sir. The man whose murder I was investigating." Zack responded, teeth gritted slightly. How could anyone forget? And could this be a coincidence? Reassignment right after they broke into Shinra? Did Dilan know?

"The better question is this, Fair—who will find justice for the hundreds slaughtered by the Tsviets?" Dilan countered, "Now, that will start with you."

"Sir—?"

"You are being reassigned outside the Garden. You are to track down the Tsviets, follow their movements, seek out their operative center, and report back." Dilan finished, examining Zack expectantly.

Zack's eyes widened—track down the Tsviets? He was going to do that? That…that's huge. Unimaginable! They were going to trust him with finding the terrorists?

"You'll receive whatever resources you require, and have the authority to gather your own team." Dilan continued to watch him carefully, "This is a heroic mission, Fair. You'll be saving the whole Garden."

Glancing quickly to Cloud, his wide eyes told Zack all he needed to know. This was it. He prayed silently that Banon forgive him—his murder would wait just a little longer. Now, he could help save thousands of lives, rather than answer one already lost.

"Sir, it should go without saying that I accept this mission with great honor." Zack answered, stumbling slightly over his words.

"I had a feeling you would," Dilan nodded, and turned to leave the library, "My secretary will provide you with all our intelligence and your itinerary. You will start in Wutai; your train leaves tomorrow. Good day, Investigator."

And with that, Dilan left them both in the quiet library, in stunned silence.

"Did you…did that really just happen, Cloud?" Zack murmured, still watching where Dilan disappeared.

Cloud nodded, flabbergasted himself, "Sounds like it."

"No more standing around!" Zack felt the mix of excitement, relief, and catharsis well-up inside him, "No more being trapped! No more waiting around to die—this is our ticket! We can all do this!"

Zack nearly shouted and jumped with a fist pump, immediately collapsing into his squats as all the pressure and pain of the last few days, even weeks, crystallized before him in a mission; a focus; a goal.

A hope.

He was going to save the world. They were going to save the world!

"Wahoo!" Zack cried, again, as he wrapped an arm around Cloud's neck and pulled the young man into his celebration, nearly dancing around the still-open copy of the Princess' favorite tome.

"Are you f*cking joking, kid?" Cid asked on behalf of everyone gathered in Merlin's living room.

Zack shook his head, glad to bring something other than sadness to this house, "Dead serious."

Squall frowned, stroking his chin, "The only loose end is that Shinra knows about Cloud, and possibly Tifa, from the Turks. The further he is from the Garden, the safer it will be."

"I don't know…" Rinoa hesitated, from where she sat draped around Aerith, "They do this now? This can't be a coincidence."

Squall didn't deny it, but continued a silent contemplation—which, as Zack frowned to see, was shared among almost everyone else in the room. This was not the excitement he was hoping for.

"So are you trying to say that the PKF, Commander Dilan, is teaming up with Shinra to…do what exactly? Get back at Cloud and Tifa by stopping terrorism?" Zack shook his head, "No, we've hit nothing but dead ends here. Maybe out there, we'll find something. Here, we're sitting ducks. Out there?" he took a breath, "We're free."

Rinoa didn't immediately respond, and Zack wondered if he should apologize for being too forceful, "Look, what I'm saying is that if the PKF hasn't descended to arrest us yet, then we should be safe, right? Like Squall said—the further from Shinra's reach, the better."

"You're not wrong…" Rinoa murmured, "But I'm not convinced you're right, either. Aeleus and Dilan? They may be fine. But the PKF and Shinra are joined at the hip—what other connections could Hojo have had? Are we really sure no one there saw Aerith on our way out? What about the outpost guards?" Rinoa's run-on questions slowed, "Nothing is a coincidence, is all I'm saying. Why now?"

Zack was about to respond, when Aerith cleared her throat, and burst like a long-pressured valve: "I'm going with you!"

"Can…can she do that?" Squall murmured, his furrowed brow cutting through his long scar from forehead to cheek.

"Hey!" Aerith pouted, crossing her arms, "I can do whatever I want!"

"Dilan said I could form my own team." Zack answered quickly, trying not to smile too hard. He so didn't want to push her—but he so desperately wanted her to come.

Aerith returned him a hidden smile, as she took Rinoa's hand to explain, "I can't stay here anymore. Not after everything," she paused, nodding almost to herself, "Besides, that one Tsviet, Genesis—he said something about my mother and Shinra. That he had been there, too; that he," her voice broke, only just slightly, "knew her."

Zack worked with all his might to stop from choking up, glancing over at Merlin to see what he thought. The old man offered no objections, rather, he merely puffed upon his pipe and watched Aerith from beneath his bushy eyebrows.

"That's true, Aerith. That's true." Rinoa responded, holding her hands close, "And Squall's right, at least. We'll be safer out there than we will be back here."

"Mm." with Rinoa tipping over, Tifa nodded affirmatively, too, even as her hands shook, clasped together, "Yeah, I can't take it anymore here, either."

"Tifa! You can't!" Aerith exclaimed, turning away from Rinoa to the young girl on her other side, "It's not safe, you—"

"You're forgetting that me and Cloud walked all the way here from Nibelheim," Tifa responded, eyes firm, but they had begun to glisten, "Don't tell me you'll go, Aerith, and then say I have to stay behind."

After a pause, Aerith nodded, breaking into a smile, "I guess I can't do that, now can I?"

"It'll be like…like old times, eh?" Tifa turned to smile at Cloud, who leaned near the unburning fireplace.

"Yeah. It will." He responded shortly, offering just the slightest uptilt of his lips.

Despite the solemnity of what was occurring before them, Zack couldn't help but allow a little grin. Everyone was catching on. Something was happening. They were gonna make this work.

Squall nodded, "We're all dead men walking—it'll be safer together. For everyone."

But his gaze slowed as it fell over Rinoa. Zack wasn't stupid—he knew why the normally cautious Squall had backed him up so quickly, "Aerith's healing magics will be invaluable, and—" he smirked slightly as he came to Tifa, "and no one should underestimate Tifa's fighting skills."

"Aw sh*t, yeah!" Cid guffawed, "That one time when she f*cking flipped you, Squall. Damn, girl," he reached over to high-five Tifa, "Feels like I got another five years added on just reliving that moment again right now."

"Right." Squall nodded, without hint of emotion, as everyone laughed—and Zack's heart flew to the reinvigorated life. The air was feeling electric.

"I do believe I shall remain here, of course." Merlin interrupted for the first time, "Someone must watch the house and be here in case Mr. Valentine returns."

The room fell quiet again, as everyone silently acknowledged that truth. Rufus Shinra was still alive, and what had become of Vincent—no one knew.

"Thank you, Merlin." Zack offered, appreciative.

"And, damn I hate say this, but I gotta stay and work on the Highwind, y'all." Cid sighed, "Hate to miss all the excitement, but I didn't get my prototypes displayed in the f*cking Bastion because I took off after every good time." He frowned, flicking out a cigarette, "Takes some f*cking discipline, y'know?"

"Perfect—the two of you can take care of each other!" Aerith knocked the cigarette from his hand, "But I swear, if I come back and the whole house smells of smoke—"

"Ahah!" Cid chuckled, scooping up the unlit roll and tucking it away, "Can't make any promises. Y'know how Merlin and me can get—right ole' man?"

Merlin frowned, with the hint of even a scowl, "Right."

Zack took a deep breath and cracked his knuckles, "So we're really doing this, then? The six of us, out on the road, looking for the Tsviets and keeping away from Shinra?"

Looking over everyone once, Rinoa nodded, "Seems like it. And if that's the case," she stepped up, giving Aerith a kiss on the forehead, and hooked an arm through Squall's, "Then we have some things to get together."

"And we've gotta have one last dinner together!" Tifa cried, scampering off to the kitchen and dragging Cloud in her wake.

And so as they said their goodbyes, Rinoa stooped to Zack's ear as Squall bid the others farewell: "Just be with her, Zack. It is unbearably difficult to be told you're special and not know why; to be given something you have no control over."

Zack could only nod as Rinoa gave him a brief peck and passed out of the house with Squall. Cid had already vanished out back, followed by Merlin who mumbled something about needing fresh air, which left only he and Aerith alone in the living space.

"What about your other investigation?" Aerith asked, as Zack came to sit beside her.

"It's…on hold for now, I guess." He answered with a sigh of frustration for that which no fruit had ever emerged, "But when we get back…who knows, right?"

"Hm." Aerith only nodded a brief 'I see'.

Hooking his arm around her, Zack leaned closer, "Look, Aerith, are you sure you want to do this?"

"Absolutely." came her immediate and firm reply, with a matching look of near incredulity, "The Garden…it just haunts me, now. As if I've been living under some sort of spell that…broke…" Aerith paused, "When I saw her."

It was Zack's turn then to nod his own affirmation.

"And I hate it. I hate feeling like a stranger in my own home; I hate looking at the water and the flower and people and questioning…" her voice dropped low, "…if I really belong."

"Aerith—" Zack began, "Of course you do—"

"I know." Aerith interrupted, "I know. I know it deep in my heart. I meant what I told him." she frowned, brow knitted and tied to an uncertain smile, "But it's still there, nonetheless."

Zack nodded, squeezing her close, "I get it."

"So you know I have to go—to get away from here, and to see what's out there." Aerith nodded, firm, even as Zack noticed she was rolling her little white orb anxiously in her fingers.

Zack tilted her head toward his, "Well, I'm glad you're coming—'cuz there was no way I was gonna leave you behind."

Her emerald eyes peered up into his, "That'd just be plain rude!"

"We'll find something, I'm sure of it." Zack promised, "It's like being smothered here…but out there? We'll figure it all out."

Aerith sighed, falling forward to lay her head against Zack's chest, tracing a finger around his heart, "Well, I already have most of the puzzle—it starts right here, with you; with everyone."

Patting her hair gently, Zack allowed himself to slip back against the back of the lounge and close his eyes, his last sight pleasantly noting that Aerith had settled the Princess' gift beside her old sunflower upon the room's crowded sill.

"Your mom…really did seem pretty amazing, Aerith."

"Yes…" she murmured against him, "She really was."

This was truly the first time Ienzo had left Xehanort's side since finding him wandering the halls. It had been a whirlwind of days, emptied of sleep, as he wrote down much of what Xehanort dictated: genius formulae, arcane spells, and complex strings of calculus that he appeared to rattle off merely from some memory or intuition; less scientific proof than it was divine revelation.

And now, in his arms, Ienzo held the fruit of that research, received from Dilan, who himself had finally received Ansem's permission to begin the great work of upgrading the Bastion's infrastructure: from the enchantments buried in its walls, to the complex system of pipes and beams that channeled magical energy to empower the entire structure.

Xehanort's bet had worked, as if also one of those charms: Ansem wished to better defend the Bastion and, in doing so, had also tacitly approved their re-routing methods, hidden behind multiple illusory redundancies Ienzo had cleverly devised himself. These ensured that the Grand Hall at the peak of the Bastion become an extension of their basement laboratory; a synergetic whole.

Ienzo slowed as he entered into the lovely silence of the Bastion's Gallery—filled with all manner of art, antiques, and technological displays of the Garden's prowess, history, and excellence. An old haunt of his, Ienzo nearly alone among his brothers had enjoyed standing amidst such great artifacts, content merely to appreciate the world of their creators; whether ancient brush-master or modern engineer.

Long before he took up his commanding duties, it had been here that Aeleus would bring young Ienzo whenever he would ask, and where Ansem had always looked first when seeking either of them out.

Nowadays, in their mature duties, hardly anyone passed through the Gallery—and Ienzo planned it to his advantage to cut through here, thereby avoiding all the foot traffic and prying eyes who passed through the halls nearest to the PKF; and especially the tranquil and deep-set orbs of he who oversaw their entire operation.

Content in his privacy, Ienzo reshuffled his armful of blueprints and instructions and hurried forward through the still displays, until a faint murmur froze his feet to the floor.

"And how is Braig?"

There, down the short row of modern marvels stood the one person Ienzo wished to most avoid. Amidst a whirring gravira engine, a miniature motorized coach, rumbling atop is four spinning wheels, and just beyond the the small example of the computerized system Ansem kept in his office, knelt Aeleus before the single-occupant prototype of Shinra's original spacecraft.

Barely more than a glass-lidded pod with firaga boosters and sufficient life support from a clever admixture of Aero magic and modern filtration, the little shuttle had come here on the momentous day of Shinra's first (and last) test flight—many years ago when the company had still charmed its investors with grandiose talk of the next great conquest in space.

But these old origins did not presently concern Ienzo, who took a moment to move from gawking to response, shocked as he was that Aeleus still, indeed, came here.

"He is—he is well enough, for someone who fell as he did." Ienzo eventually managed, trying to recover a balanced demeanor, "Dilan has finally squirreled him away into an inescapable recovery. They say, unfortunately, that his eye is certainly lost."

"I see." Aeleus murmured, as Ienzo noticed he was reaching one of his great arms inside of the open pod of a small craft—only large enough to fit a single person, the small oval interior was covered in dials and screens, which Aeleus had gently disassembled, as if trimming a bonsai tree, and was carefully adjusting with his large fingers.

Ienzo wanted to move along as quickly as possible, but his curiosity bested him, "What ever are you doing, Aeleus?"

"Achieving peace." Aeleus responded from his meditative kneel, his great bulk taking up nearly the entire path through the exhibits, "I have found that returning here to labor over minor adjustments brings me great comfort from my burdens."

Ienzo nodded—many would forget in sight of his imposing presence, but Aeleus was as much a scientist as the rest of them.

Taking up a tone that Ienzo recognized well from older days, Aeleus elaborated further, "I have found that the properties of the meteorites provide excellent binding magicks and a conduit that a project such as this was lacking."

Making some other unseen adjustment, Aeleus seemed to nod satisfactorily to himself, and turn his focused eyes fully onto Ienzo, "Here, I can think in peace. You are welcome to join, brother, if you would like."

Ienzo paused, open-mouthed and about to respond, when a piercing shout blasphemously shattered the silence—had everyone conspired this morning to make this quiet place the most trafficked hall of the whole Bastion?

"Ienzo! Ienzo where are you?" Even's shrill voice echoed.

Aeleus nodded only briefly, barely, as he turned back to his work, with just the slightest of smirks, "Ah, I apologize."

"Ienzo!" came Even's cry again.

"I am here, Even." Ienzo murmured, turning just in time to see the wildly twisted face of their brother march into sight, emerging from the art collections.

"Oh, good, good! We must talk, we must—" Even grasped him firmly by the arm, noting Aeleus with a nod, "Aeleus."

"Even."

"What are you doing?" Even frowned, his eternal curiosity overshadowing whatever he had previously sought.

"Enjoying peace, brother." Aeleus replied, not turning his eyes from where he worked upon the small spacecraft, "You might do well to join me."

"Another time, methinks." Even frowned, "If you'll excuse us—"

And without even a chance to bid Aeleus farewell, Even dragged Ienzo away and out of the hall, though he began to speak in whispers before they had even exited, "Finally, to get you away from him…"

"What are you talking about?" Ienzo questioned, shaking his arm free as Even ceased to drag him.

"Xehanort. Xehanort, you idolizing child—is he sane?" Even brushed at his coat and straightened his hair, "Have you seen his eyes? Has he been sleeping?"

"Can't you sympathize, Even?" Ienzo frowned, "How did you live when you were writing your dissertation on replicas?

"That's not even remotely the same, and you know it!" Even replied firmly, "I did not babble endlessly about doors and worlds and darkness—"

"—Though, you did about hearts." Ienzo reminded, straightening his papers as he turned to make his way back to Xehanort's office.

"My work was founded upon firm science, Ienzo, come now!" Even cried, stumbling after him, arms whirling wildly, "Not upon Xehanort's sensitivities and half-remembered dreams! Not upon fantasy and mere philosophical reflection!"

"Your work did always lack such broader considerations." Ienzo affirmed.

"Ienzo—Ienzo, we are not children anymore!" Even grabbed him by the shoulder, forcing him to stop, "You know I am right. Look at him. He's—he's unhinged!"

"Perhaps because he sees farther than any of us?" Ienzo questioned, only a little shocked as the words came out—was he asking that of Even?

Or of himself?

"Bah! Of course you would speak like him!" Even shoved him away, "Will you be as equally blind? Shall we follow him to the bitter end, no matter the cost?"

Ienzo began to answer, but found he couldn't. Would they? Would there ever come a line that they could not cross? An answer they would refuse to seek? A virgin territory gone unexplored; some secret corner unmapped?

Could there come a time when they might ignore the enchanting song of truth, to content themselves with the mere illusions of this world?

With no answer, Ienzo could only question, "Are you suggesting we stop now, Even?"

"Well, no, no, of course not." Even shook his head, pulling back, "I am merely concerned for the research's boundaries; for Xehanort. What are we doing here, Ienzo?"

"We seek the truth. Reality." Ienzo nodded, affirming to himself, "And with that, the ability to save our world from the vagaries of the heart." Satisfied, he turned to continue walking, "And, for now, Xehanort is essential to that task."

Even did not pursue him, and for that, Ienzo was grateful. Even was not wrong, of course—he was right to be worried for Xehanort, who appeared more and more harried and sleep-deprived by the day. His eyes were, somehow, both more wild and sunken than ever; his movements both laboriously slowed by exhaustion, yet propelled on by endless energy from some unknown source.

But such was the cost of their research—Ienzo had experienced it himself, in the past. Each of them had. In its own way, Xehanort's present sacrifice was quite noble—it always had been. If Father had only allowed it and worked with them, the whole project might never had needed to move beyond Xehanort—the man so willing to spend himself as the whole world's test subject!

With a warning knock, Ienzo cracked open the office door and slid in—there he was, white-bangs splayed across his forehead as he hunched over his mahogany desk: writing and writing and writing.

"Ah, Ienzo, bring them here, bring them here—" Xehanort beckoned without looking up, as Ienzo crossed the cold, stone floor and placed the carefully delivered pile beside his brother's copious notes.

"Has Aeleus seen these?" Xehanort asked, his piercing amber eyes glancing briefly up, as he slid the stack closer.

"No."

"And he needn't, if the Lord Protector approved them." Xehanort began a brief examination that Ienzo knew to be unnecessary, for Xehanort himself had designed the magnificently elegant system.

"If he does inquire, Ienzo, you will be in the best position to allay any concerns."

"Indeed." Ienzo answered, unsure of how he felt being considered leverage. He cared for Aeleus, but he admired Xehanort and his dogged insistence on banishing every moral, societal, and personal illusions for the sake of truth.

"Did Dilan send word regarding our other problem?" Xehanort asked, setting the stack neatly to the side and leaning back in his chair.

Ienzo nodded, "They've been successfully reassigned and leave in the morning, and the Shinra incident has been ruled accidental, with Professor Hojo lost at its epicenter."

"How many lives were taken there?" Xehanort asked, steepling his fingers.

"Presently, less than a dozen, upon the last report." Ienzo said, frowning.

"If only this world could hold itself together just a little longer…" Xehanort sighed, his eyes drifting out to the sunny distance beyond his balcony glass, "It's all falling apart so fast, Ienzo."

"But we may work now in peace, Xehanort." Ienzo replied, sensing acutely what Xehanort did, "We're so close…aren't we?"

Xehanort released a small smile, "Ah, Ienzo, how I wish Ansem and our brothers could see things as clearly as you do. I am glad you understand."

The image of Aeleus peacefully tinkering with the spacecraft flashed through Ienzo's mind.

"And yes, we are close." Xehanort nodded, his words turning softer, "all the answers are on the other side of that door. All of them."

Tomorrow they would leave, and Merlin's house was quiet—indeed, Cloud, laying on the lounge in the darkness, thought he might be the only one still awake.

He was a torrent of feelings: boiling frustration, at how essentially everything had gone since the party: all the loss, all the pain, all the failure; all the shadows that now hung behind Aerith's glittering eyes; the way Tifa could no longer sit still; how Zack was bursting at the seams.

There was crippling anxiety, as he imagined going back out into the wilderness, with Tifa again, reminding him only of those long, horrible nights they spent out in open fields and amidst the branches of dense woods, when they first abandoned Nibelheim for the Garden.

There was sharp discomfort, as he felt acutely the split between Merlin and Aerith, the tension between Squall and Rinoa, and whatever oddness lay between him and Tifa.

Then there was helpless fear, as he had felt watching everyone leave for Shinra—except he was leaving now, too, and who knew if the Garden would even still be standing upon their return?

Everything was changing so fast. What if there was another attack? What if Shinra was left unchecked? Where was Vincent, after all of this?

There was pain, as the shrill screams, burning wood and flesh, and stinging, acrid smoke was seared into his memory; the way Vincent, mangled and bloodied, had looked up at he and Tifa, as the party had faded into the background. The callous, heartless air.

And all the memories further back, darker and more obscene, that he kept locked away.

But maybe, just maybe at the bottom of it all, there was a small sliver of excitement; founded in the chance to keep being inspired by Zack, to have Aerith charm a smile out of him, for Squall to understand him, for Rinoa to drag him about, for Tifa to…to just be, all of them—to fill him, to keep him sane, to keep him grounded.

Cloud knew that he didn't talk much. It wasn't just that he didn't think he had anything worthwhile to say, nor merely that he found himself so profoundly detached from the world about it. No, it was also because he was too busy simply drinking in their presence. He didn't know what he'd do without them—he'd just merely exist.

Or maybe he wouldn't even exist at all.

Because so long as he was with them, it wouldn't (couldn't?) come inside.

Indeed, then, he also knew he wasn't awake merely because of his swirling emotions and bottomless nightmares; perhaps he was only faking slumber—

because it was watching him, standing there, or floating, outside the window; almost pressed against the glass: a deeper, twisting, curling shadow against the dark, most visible by that horrible, lipless smile that fogged upon the glass.

A/N: We trek along! As you might've noticed, I've also uploaded a cover page, re-awakening an old cartographic hobby of mine!