Author's edit 6/13/06: I kept the beginning, but the rest of the chapter is almost completely different…but better. Much, much better :)

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The Last Night of the World

Chapter 4

Broken Bonds

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The silence in the room was so rigid, Hitomi was afraid to breathe for fear it would crack. Her hands, which had grown cold from sweat, felt as if they should be shaking uncontrollably, but they lay still. Time seemed to freeze. Nothing moved, except for the languishing fire, which broke the spell with a nerve-shattering pop.

"I see." The two short syllables were like icy spikes in Hitomi's chest. The cushions shifted as Van stood up. Hitomi finally raised her head and saw that he was staring down at the carpet. His strong shoulders seemed to wilt, and the hair fell over his eyes. He still carried the tub of water in his hands, which he carefully placed on the floor. The towel was draped over the side, halfway out and halfway in the water. He absently wiped his hands on his pants, accidentally jostling the sword he wore at his hip. Haltingly, he took a few steps forward, then stopped. The fireplace seemed to draw his attention, and he walked toward it as if hypnotized.

He stopped just next to Merle's chair, his back turned to both of them. Merle twisted around so she could see his face, her eyes intent and concerned. Van slowly lifted a hand and let it fall onto the back of the chair. For a moment, he said nothing, a moment that seemed to stretch on forever. When he did speak, his voice was leaden, as if something had stamped out the emotion that should have been there. "I have to tell you something, too. I'm getting married."

Hearing the word married knocked the wind out of Hitomi. This has to be some kind of joke. He can't be serious.

But he was. "I don't know when, or to whom, but I'm getting married. Probably to the daughter of a king or a duke, I don't know. It doesn't really matter. Fanelia needs an heir, because I won't be around forever."

Hitomi twisted her hands together in her lap and stared at them. The ring gleamed coldly in the firelight. It's not a joke, she realized. If I have this ring, who says he can't get married to someone else, too? There was a creak, the sound of the door opening. She looked up, but all she saw was the tuft of fur on the end of Merle's tail as it slipped away, the door swinging shut behind her.

Now that she was all alone, the feeling that she had clamped shut in her throat fought its way free and welled up, tearing through her vocal cords and leaking through her eyes, hot tears streaming down her face.

-

Van strode down the hall with Merle trailing anxiously in his wake. The hallways were sparsely populated this late at night, but the servants he did pass bowed and greeted him ("Good evening, Your Majesty," or simply, "Your Highness") as he breezed by. He did not see or hear them; they were part of a world that, for the moment, did not exist.

He reached the palace courtyard, with its fountain of cherubs and angels and walkways that crossed a meticulously trimmed lawn. He stopped in the middle of a patch of green and drew his sword. Facing off with an invisible opponent, he lifted his left leg until the toe of his boot just touched the ground, balancing himself just so, and raised his right arm, poised to strike. What followed was not a series of premeditated sword forms or graceful, shadowy swordplay, but the furious movements of a desperate man. His blade arced and flashed wildly in the moonlight, his breath bursting through his throat in growls that punctuated every thrust, every swipe. Balgus would have reprimanded him for such inefficient use of energy, but the thought barely scratched the surface of Van's consciousness. There was only the air, his enemy, that briefly caught the edge of his blade before escaping with the wind, taunting him every time. There was only the icy fire that raged inside of him, which, if he paused even the slightest in his struggle, threatened to leave him cold and trembling.

At last, when he could lift his arms no more, when his voice had died to a hoarse cry, he fell to his knees, his sword impaling the ground in front of him. He hung from its hilt, as if to keep from drowning. His chest heaved, and his breath came in gulps. When his pulse slowed and the sweat no longer trickled down his face, he stood up. He yanked the sword free and sheathed it at his waist. Merle was sitting at the edge of the fountain, hugging her legs to her chest, her feline eyes glowing yellow pinpoints in the darkness.

"Van-sama," she mewed quietly as he walked by.

She did not follow Van back into the palace, for which he was grateful. Despite her ever-constant presence, she usually knew when to leave him alone.

The night echoed with the plaintive, eerie howling of the dragons in the city below.

-

In the royal chambers, Van lay on his bed, staring at the dark underbelly of the canopy, an arm tucked behind his head. He had crawled into bed fully dressed; Merle would have his hide if she found out he was sleeping with his boots on. His body wanted to drift off to sleep, but his mind refused to let him. First Fanelia, and now Hitomi. This morning, his kingdom had been prospering and whole, and this afternoon, he had still believed in Hitomi. Now he didn't know what was happening to his country and he didn't know what to believe.

It ate at his pride to ask Asturia for help. He had wanted to wait it out, to drive the dragons back, but the urging of his councilmen made him reconsider. The two attacks today were the strangest events Fanelia had ever seen. Nobody knew what was going on. It would be best to move the citizens to safety while Van investigated the situation further. Even if he were to drive out the dragons, the supplies in the hills would run out in the time it would take to rebuild the city walls that kept the reptiles out.

So in the end, Van wrote the necessary letters, and when the volley of messenger pigeons scattered eastward to Palas, he felt as empty as the sky that bore the birds across the heavens. The invisible Zaibach melefs had been enemies he could fight, even when he couldn't see them. And when he could see them, they became targets for his rage, his vengeance. Once again, he was being faced with an invisible enemy, but this time, it was not an enemy he could see or touch. If there was an enemy at all.

This was not the first time that Van had felt lost, but it was the first time he was adrift without an anchor. He had been too young to understand when his father died, and his memories of Goau Fanel were little more than the blurry impressions of a face and the muffled baritones of someone's voice. His mother and brother were the only family he had known, and when his mother disappeared into the dragons' forest searching for Folken, Balgus was all he had left. Merle, too, because she kept him from forgetting who he was. But Balgus had died, and Merle was a part of him that he had to keep alive, or they would both perish. And then Hitomi appeared.

Hitomi. With her, Van had been able to see things for what they were: the invisible Guymelefs, the future, his true affections. Having her around had made so many things become clear; she was the rainwater running down his bloodstained hands. Now, she had come to him again in Fanelia's hour of need, but with her came another invisible enemy. It was insidious, striking at his most vulnerable moment. He believed the words it whispered in his ear, and he eagerly played the fool until he discovered they were lies. But it was an enemy that he could not touch, any more than he could touch the Mystic Moon in the night sky.

The Mystic Moon shone through the window, blue and swirling, lurking at the edge of his vision. He grabbed his pillow and rolled onto his side, away from the window, covering his head. Van wondered what his name was. Whoever he was, he could have her.

I don't need her. Van thought of Hitomi's eyes, bright and clear as emeralds, of the look on her face when she saw only him. He screwed his eyes shut. She doesn't need me, and I don't need her. Then the memory of a man with long hair kissing Hitomi on a bridge surfaced to mind, unbidden. "I asked her to marry me," the man had said. Van had been afraid he had lost her then. But he should have known, from the day she first arrived on Gaea, that she had never been his to lose. It was like saying that the moon belonged to him alone and shaking his fist at the sun when day came to claim the night.

He turned restlessly under the covers, and something crinkled in his pants pocket. He reached down and withdrew a piece of paper. It was the message from the Basram diplomats that Merle had delivered to him. It outlined the details of his meeting with the Princess Renau, which was set for sometime in the next month. He had forgotten all about it.

In post-war Gaea, political relations were tentative and fragile. Governments picked their words carefully and danced around each other, afraid to crush the proverbial eggshells beneath their feet. None of the tension overtly boiled over, though there had been the occasional skirmish between bands of rogue countrymen at the borders. Van's council had been invaluable in playing the game of politics, instructing him how to hide his impatience while keeping a straight face, advising him when to hold his ground and when to let others believe that he was giving in to their wishes.

Marriage was also something they had advised. A union with a princess or noblewoman of another country would strengthen the ties between them and Fanelia and would add stability to the political atmosphere. It was a matter of business; for someone in his position, marriage was business first, pleasure second.

Over the last year, his councilmen, like worried fathers, had expressed a steady stream of concern for Van's unmarried state. Particularly because he was the last of the royal blood of Fanelia, without any brothers or cousins to produce another heir, if he were to die or to grow old alone. When he could not take their persistent encouragement anymore, he began to send missives to the neighboring allied nations in search of a bride. It was a half-hearted search, more to appease his older colleagues and to bolster the confidence of his people.

The paper in his hand was folded in three, and Van ran his thumb over the ridges of the crest that was molded into the seal. Princess Renau was not the one he was going to marry—not yet, anyway. There had also been meetings with the princesses and the daughters of noblemen from Cesario, Daedalus, and Egzardia. None of them had the same spark or openness that he knew in Hitomi. But there was no use in comparing them to her. He needed to get married because his duty was to the House de Fanel and his country. He was the king of Fanelia, and kings could not afford to spend their lives chasing after fruitless dreams.

But when sleep finally took him, he dreamed of a place far away from Gaea and the Mystic Moon, of a girl with wings who had Hitomi's face.

-

Hitomi sat beside her bed, her cheek flattened against the mattress and her legs splayed bonelessly beneath her, froglike. That she was able to find her way back was a miracle in itself; she had not been able to see anything for her tears, and it was not until one of the maids found her, confused and out of her mind, that she was gently coaxed back to her room.

This was probably what the premonition she felt in Tokyo was warning her against. Her unforeseen return to Gaea; a dangerous force at large; Van. Tokyo had felt like weeks ago, ages ago, when she saw the china in the window, the one with the feather on it. And then she ran. What a stupid thing to do. She should have known that running would land her back here.

She would not deny that she had often wished to come back. In the months after she returned back home, she dreamed about Van. She imagined she could see him watching her through a crowd, from a window. She finished her remaining year in high school and went to college. Life was vibrant and changing, and she was going to be left behind unless she dove in and let it carry her along. The seasons changed, and her visions of Van became less and less frequent, until one day, she realized that she could no longer remember the last time she saw his face.

Then she met van Himmel Yutaro. Or, Yutaro van Himmel, in the Western style of names. He was half-German and liked his soba noodles cold, with oyster sauce and a light sprinkling of cilantro.

It was April of her second year in college, right after spring break, and she was in the dining hall chowing on a bowl of soumen in beef stew. She was by herself, her friends having been called away by the need to cram for a test or run errands or some other excuse.

The empty seat facing her stared at her while she ate, and she tried to imagine what it would be like if Van were sitting there with her. It was a rare moment that she had to herself, since she lived with a roommate and was constantly surrounded by friends and classmates. She tried to think of how he might look. He might sit with his arm draped over the back of the chair, or with his hands folded on the table in front of him, his manner quiet and self-contained. It had been almost three years now, and the memory of his face, serious and half-hidden by untamed hair, was beginning to fade a little. How was Fanelia doing? Was it the beautiful, thriving country she remembered from her first visit there? Was Van happy?

"Excuse me, is this seat taken?" a voice said, interrupting her thoughts.

Hitomi looked up, and a boy with a foreign-looking nose was standing across the table from her. "No, it's not. Go ahead."

"All right. Thanks a lot." He sat down, and Hitomi noticed the plate in front of him as he picked out two chopsticks from the aluminum can at the end of the table.

"Is that soba?"

"Yeah."

"I've never seen anyone eat it like that before."

"That's what people always tell me. But I like it this way. You should really try it sometime. It tastes great in hot weather."

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'll stick to what I've got."

"Sticking to what you've got isn't going to help you much, you know."

"What do you mean?" she said, slightly offended.

The boy nodded at the stack of books by her elbow. Principles of General Chemistry. Utilitarianism: An Essay. Art of the Ages: The Renaissance. "The greatest scientists of this century made their discoveries through strokes of luck or flashes of inspiration. Philosophers pondered the meaning of life before they came up with ideas that the rest of the world decided to follow. And I don't think I have to tell you that Picasso didn't paint his masterpieces by following the traditional rules of how to paint people's faces."

"Oh, those are just my required classes," Hitomi laughed.

He arched a sandy brown eyebrow. "Even the art class?"

"Well…there was a little bit of choice there."

He extended a hand. "Van Himmel Yutaro. Or, like they say in the West, Yutaro van Himmel." Before she could comment, he said, "It's German. I get it from my father."

She grasped his hand and shook it. "Nice to meet you, Yutaro. I'm Kanzaki Hitomi."

As they talked, she found out that they were in the same year, and that he lived in the dorm down the hill from her. That he had almost taken the philosophy class last semester, and she told him that it was a good idea that he didn't, because the lectures were so unbearably dry. That he was an aspiring writer, hoping to land a syndicated column after he graduated, and one day write novels.

The only similarity that existed was with the names, and even that was a stretch. Van Himmel Yutaro, Van Fanel. In addition, Yutaro was nothing like Van. For one, Yutaro had light brown hair that shone the color of wheat in the sun. His manner was easygoing and carefree, and he always had a quick word on his lips for anything she might have to say. When she was around him, he made her feel like she could make her dreams come true. Nothing was too hard. She only had to try, and believe. And after a while, in spite of herself, she began to fall for him.

When they kissed for the first time, Hitomi felt a pang of guilt. The second time, it faded by a shade. The next time, and the time after that, and the time after that, it dissolved even more, until it was no more than a ghost that occasionally drifted through her dreams.

Once, as Yutaro was kissing the side of her neck, she whispered, "Van."

"Hm?" he said, as he moved up to her jaw. "You've never called me that before."

Mortified, Hitomi turned her head away, pretending to give him easier access, so that he wouldn't see her blush. "I was just trying it out. You know."

He only chuckled and, just like that, accepted her excuse.

Ever since that day, Hitomi made every conscious effort to push Van out of her mind when she was around Yutaro, but it was much more difficult than she had thought it would be. Watch a kettle boil, and it won't boil. Force yourself to fall asleep, and you won't sleep. In trying to make herself forget Van, she thought about him all the more.

I'm never going to see Van again, she had thought then. I love him, but I can't keep trapping myself in the past. I've got to keep going. And maybe one day, when I'm old, I'll tell my grandkids about the boy with the dragon who lived on a planet called Gaea.

The story she had planned on telling her grandchildren had a happy ending. But now, she wasn't so sure.