Clouds were gathering over the ocean. An angry wind was whipping through the cracks in the fort and they had to stay close to the fire. Melody had patched her skirt back together as best as she could while still keeping it on. Only when Seymour stirred did she bother to make breakfast. While they were eating, he told her what they were going to be doing and how shield spells worked. While Melody washed the dishes, he had taken her drawing book and was busily scratching away in it.

"What are you drawing in there?" she wanted to know.

"I have mapped out the gestures for you," he said, not looking up, "so that if you manage the first shield spell by some miracle, you can practice the others."

"I know you don't think very much of me—I can tell every time you open your mouth," she responded, "but I'm sure you had some trouble when you first got going, too. Just don't give up on me, all right? I'm going to do the best I can."

"I'm going to tell you the same thing I've told the others that I've taught," Seymour said coolly, "your 'best' is only good enough if you succeed. A failure in this case can cost you your life and then what good does that do you?"

"You must have been a harsh teacher, then," she said.

"None of the students I taught have ever died."

She couldn't argue with that.

"Now," Seymour said, showing her the book, "the gesture is the easy part. Any child can learn to imitate it. The real challenge is the concentration required. You can't lose focus in the middle of battle or it will cost you your life. Each time you think there's even a slight possibility of being hit, then you have to imagine a wall between you and your opponent. If you do it right, the wall will become physical, though invisible."

He let her look at the diagrams. He could draw almost as well as she could, much to her surprise.

"Now, do as I do."

He showed her the gesture and had her do it with him. After a few tries, he decided to test abilities out. He held one clawed hand about a yard or so from her face.

"Make the shield again. This time, I want you to force my hand back."

He started to move it toward her. She was trying—her face was even turning red and her ears would probably glow in the dark. But all she managed to do was slow his hand down. He felt the magic thrumming in the air, felt its willfulness. So far, though, it was still too weak.

"You'll have to do better than that," he warned. He pretended as if he was going to drop his hand and thus caused her guard to drop. Then, he swung it towards her as if he was going to strike. He never intended to do so, however, and she cringed under the swipe that never came. His hand smacked into something hard. The minute he touched it, though, the shield crumbled.

"There," he said, "you should be able to do that every time—and at a much greater distance."

She sighed.

"There's no pleasing you, is there?"

Thunder sounded outside, causing her to flinch visibly. He could smell the adrenaline coming from her pores.

"Don't tell me a little thing like a mere thunderstorm frightens you," he said, obviously disgusted.

"Let's just say I'm not fond of lightning," she replied.

He chuckled darkly.

"Let us hope we do not have to pass the Thunder Plains then. You'll be in for a very rough few days."

She gave him a Look.

"You're not gonna make me do that, are you?"

"We're not taking the long way around just because you're afraid if that's what you're asking."

Another sigh. It was good to know that this messy mop-headed girl had a weakness after all. She was beginning to get on his nerves.

"Learn that shield spell," he pressed, "and I will show you how to never be afraid of lightning again."

"Really?"

"Really."

She watched warily through the accidental skylight as the storm moved in. The rain started coming down in sheets and the leaden sea began to roar louder as it beat against the outside of the temple. Melody shrank back into the shadows and tried to concentrate on what she was doing.

There's a wall between me and the storm, she thought, it can't get me.

She fixated on a spot a couple of feet away and imagined a brick wall being built there. Trying to block out the wind, rain, and thunder, she willed that wall to be pulled into existence with her very faith. Father would surely protect her when the time came…

Seymour sat watching her. There was the vibration in the air that always accompanied magic. The adrenaline was ebbing away—the sharp, salty smell of it was dissipating. Melody was staring hard into the empty air when there was a sudden flash. The familiar hexagonal shapes, light blue-purple with orange edges, materialized in front of her. She seemed to snap out of her daze momentarily, staring at the honeycomb-like shape with rapt fascination. One had stretched towards it—it was the most peculiar thing she'd ever felt. The shield didn't feel solid in the least, but an indescribable force repelled her touch from it. It only lingered for a second before her concentration lapsed again and it disappeared.

"Oh! Where did it go?!"

"Those shields only last for one instance of contact," Seymour told her, "you will have to repeat it every time it touches something."

"Ugh…every time? Isn't there one that lasts longer?"

"Not that you have the ability to maintain. Your power is still very weak."

Melody sighed. She tried again to make another one, but the shield only partially materialized before it faded again. The third time she tried, nothing happened.

"Now I can't do it at all? What the feathers?!"

"Your magic is used up," Seymour told her, "you'll have to wait for it to build up again."

"Great…."

Now with nothing to distract her from the storm, she paced restlessly, avoiding the streams of water that were spilling into the room. Only a small fraction of floor space was spared from the flooding since the temple was partially tilted. She was glad she'd thought to put their beds and the fire on an incline. Feeling weary, she retrieved her drawing book and began to scribble aimlessly. She had to do something or she would lose her mind. During her "scribble session" as she'd come to call them, she stopped really noticing what was happening. Seymour's gaze had grown distant just as hers had as he watched the water falling. With an enormous effort, he willed some of those drops to come to him. There was a great deal of resistance—he hadn't felt this much frustration since he was a child. It had always been as if the elements had fought back, as if they'd had a will of their own. With an enormous mental tug, he freed a few drops from the mini-waterfall that had formed and pulled them through the air towards his open palm. He counted maybe five or six droplets before they disappeared, but it was enough to know that he could do it again. The drops shone like diamonds when the next bolt of lightning lit the otherwise dim temple and he felt as if they were just as valuable. His shoulder started throbbing from all the gestures, but he ignored the pain. He remembered that water had been his first element to manipulate. With nothing but ocean for miles around, it was the easiest one to work with. Lady Aderes had always said that water would be his element if he ever became a fiend—he was cool and calm on the surface, but you never knew what was going on underneath in its depths. At the time, he'd thought she'd said that because he had blue hair.

Melody finally glanced up and saw what he was doing. The drops he'd pulled from the center of the room were collecting into swirling ball in the palm of his hand. Something was amusing him about that water—she thought she saw a legitimate smile under that cold smirk.

"You can do magic again? That's great! I knew you were missing it."

The ball of water exploded in her face, catching her off guard. Sputtering in protest, she wiped her face with the hem of her shirt and gave him a Look.

"Seymour!" she groaned.

"If you can't shield, learn to duck," came the smug reply.

"Do you try to drown everyone you run into or just me?"

"Only the ones who deserved it."

There was something about the expression he had that chilled her. She tried to remind herself that of all her cases, this one probably had the darkest past. Though she remembered next to nothing of her other earthly lives, she remembered the feeling she got each time the darkness was exposed. Immediately, an image of a massive tsunami came to mind and the blood drained from her face. Despite being glad that Seymour was recovering, she wasn't sure how she felt about him regaining his very destructive powers. If he should use them unethically, she would be the one held responsible in the eyes of Spira for bringing him back.

"Second thoughts, then?" he asked, reading her expression very accurately.

"No," she replied, though it wasn't very convincing. How many others had perished at his hands? Ten? A hundred? Thousands? Were they all acts of self-defense or murder? Or murder by perceived self-defense? How was it that a man who'd seemed so fragile just a few days ago could cause the blood to freeze in her veins? Melody shook her head as if trying to dislodge the thought. Frozen veins…he probably had been able to do that at one time.

Seymour watched her out of the corner of his eye. To an unobservant person, she didn't really seem to act any different other than avoiding eye contact a little more. To a Guado, who was both magic-sensitive and smell-sensitive, it was different. He could smell her unease, her guardedness. No longer did she appear to be the type who believed in the best of everyone. The determination was still there, though—the determination to prove him wrong about himself. As he continued to play with the rain drops, he let his mind wander a little bit. What was going to happen once he returned home to Guadosalam? For that matter, what would happen if he ran into any of the Ronso? They especially would not take this well.

"What did you have in mind when you brought me back here?" He finally broke the self-imposed silence. Melody's honeycomb of the Protect spell caused her to look orange with blue veins running through her body. It wavered and disappeared when she looked up.

"About what?" she asked.

"Where are we going? We can't stay here forever—even if we could, I won't."

Melody traced a design in the floor with her finger.

"I don't have any idea," she said quietly, "getting you going again was the only thing I knew about."

"Surely you had something in mind…a guess, even."

"Afraid not. That's Father's department."

"The next time you talk to him, ask him if he'd have the goodness to explain it. I'm not exactly a popular person out there."

Melody had the expression of a scolded child.

"He won't say…at least not right now."

She heard him release a frustrated sigh and knew what he was thinking. Thankfully, he didn't argue with her though he clearly wanted to. He saw no point—she wasn't going to change her mind about this nonexistent deity.

"What do you want to do?" she asked finally.

Now she asks that question….

"Originally, my plans were to save Spira from its suffering—those…guardians…and Lady Yuna intercepted me at every turn. My last days were filled with attempts to get around them. They could not appreciate what I was trying to do for all of them. The whole of Spira could not understand."

Melody came to sit just a few feet in front of him.

"I admit that I don't understand," she told him, "where did you get that death equals non-suffering? You're proof that sometimes you continue to suffer even if you're dead."

"It was to be a sacrifice for the greater good."

Melody's expression was thoughtful for a moment.

"Okay, let me play Devil's Advocate here—you think you're freeing everyone from their hurt, their anger, their sadness, their fear, and every other undesirable emotion that they have to go through by killing them. There's a small chance that where I came from, that could potentially work, but only to a point because people don't come back unless Father sends them back Himself. But here, there is absolutely no guarantee that you'll make it to the other side, the Farplane, unless you're one-hundred percent sure you're okay with dying. You kill a ton of people who you think are grieving and you Send them. But what happens if there are survivors? They're going to grieve and they're going to be angry that you took their friends and loved ones away. They come after you, so you kill them. But now we've found out that even Sending someone is no guarantee that they're going to stay dead—they come back as Unsent. Some of them remain sort of rational, but the rest morph into fiends because they're mad. You kill the fiends, but even then, their Pyreflies are still smeared all over the living plane—I know that because I've seen a bunch of them in a few days and very few were good memories left behind. They can't move on. They can't rest. They can't sleep. They just know that they're furious, so the number of people and fiends you have to kill starts increasing exponentially. Pretty soon, you've taken away their breath, but Spira gets overrun by fiends and there's no more Summoners to send them. You try and do it all yourself if you want some freaking peace, but they'll just keep coming and coming. The end result is that Spira is overrun with Unsent and fiends and you're back at square one because you've made their suffering even greater."

She placed her hand on his and watched him pull away from her with a look of disgust.

"Do you know why that plan didn't work? Death wasn't your burden to carry, Seymour. It was never intended for you to take all that on your shoulders. There was only one who was ever capable of bearing it and I knew him in person. He took all that on his shoulders—every human or other sentient being—so that we wouldn't have to bear that all on our own souls. He knew we couldn't carry it. So why hold onto the idea that death solves everything? Wouldn't you rather live instead?"

"Clearly you have never suffered the way some of these people have," he said irritably.

"You would be surprised," Melody responded calmly, "if you cared what happened to Spira so much, why not help people live better? Why not ease their pain in this world instead of inflicting more? Wouldn't that be the better way so that when they move on, they move on for good?"

She wished he could see what she saw. Despite being in the body of an ordinary human woman, Melody had remnants of her ethereal vision, the one that allowed her to see into a person's soul. She could see the hurt and suffering he had borne in his short life and that it was affecting everything he did or said.

"I tried," he snapped, "and still they continued down their path of destruction!"

"That's humanity for you," Melody said sympathetically, "always failing to learn from their mistakes. A lot of them learn too late. But you don't have to get stuck in that cycle—you were chosen to get another chance."

"A chance to do what, exactly?"

"To make a difference. I don't think you're a bad person deep down—you've just been hurt so much that you'd do anything to make it stop."

The cold fury had seeped through the mask. She could feel the vibrations of a temper explosion coming up, but she stayed calm and only talked more quietly to keep him from getting wound up: "No one should ever have to go through the things that you did. And if you do things right, they never will again."

It was time to leave. Before he could argue with her or potentially hit her with a spell, however harmless it may have been, she crossed the room and headed for the door. The storm was winding down and she was in dire need of some fresh air. The world had a clean, sweet scent now that the rain had lightened to a drizzle. The sea was a dark gray, but the waves weren't white-capping so much now. She inhaled deeply, relishing the cool air. Keeping one hand on her sword hilt, she simultaneously walked the ruins and stayed close to the central room in case Seymour needed something other than a cooling-off session. Thankfully, the storm had driven the fiends away for now and the only birds in the air were the harmless gray-white kind.

Seymour got up, shaking with anger. His fists were clenched so tightly that his sharp fingernails were digging into his palms. He thought he felt a trickle of blood, but he could have cared less. At this point, he would have traded an arm or leg just to put a good Thundara spell through that stupid girl's heart. Who did she think she was, giving him a lecture on morality?! She barely knew him! If she was supposed to be some type of guardian to him, where had she been when he needed her the most? Or this "Father"? If He was so great and powerful, why had he allowed all these terrible things to happen? Why didn't He save Lady Aderes or all the other guardians destined to become the Final Aeon? Why didn't he save all those poor Summoners from being consumed by an endless, bitter, fruitless cycle? She couldn't very well tell him that her precious father had "planned" that!

"Some God," he griped, kicking at one of the pots left by the fire. It skittered across the room with a satisfying series of clangs.

He wasn't sure when it actually happened, but it was something that sort of crept up on him. He had the odd feeling of being watched and whipped around, his violet eyes glancing in all directions. Normally, he knew that this feeling was usually right—it was one of the perks of being part Guado. It was why he'd lasted so long on the road before. Now, he couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from. His heart rate picked up a little as his eyes narrowed and began to scan the shadows. So far, he could see nothing. Melody had not come back inside yet.

"Who's there?!" he demanded in a dark whisper.

There was no answer, but he felt a very tangible presence in the room with him. It was a feeling he despised—he didn't like not knowing.

"Show yourself!" he demanded.

Nothing happened, but the presence seemed to be getting closer. It radiated invisible power and there was a gentleness, yet a very intimidating feel to it. Seymour saw in his mind's eye something that wasn't solid at all, but that eddied and flowed around him like a current. Goose-bumps dotted his arms and legs and he stood with his arms crossed, waiting for something to happen (that was probably bad). But nothing did happen. The presence wrapped itself around him for a few moments before dissipating. He was left very confused and apprehensive. When Melody finally returned, he was no longer infuriated, but quite nervous.

"You okay? Your color's kind of bad," she pointed out.

"I'm tired," he mumbled lamely, "my mind is playing tricks on me, that's all. I have quite an imagination at times."

"You should be resting—that magic you were doing earlier probably took it out of you."

He lay down on his bed without protest, gazing up at the patchy blue sky with its still-lingering clouds. He truly had no intention of falling asleep, but it didn't take long for the view to blur and darken. A ray of sunshine was coming through the hole, bathing him in its light. It warmed him pleasantly and his dreams, for once, were peaceful.

The next few days passed with only minor incidents. Seymour had gotten to see firsthand where Melody was getting their food; it seemed as though more would show up every time they would nearly run out—even if it was in the form of a fiend. Piranhas would show up quite frequently to try their luck only to find out that Melody was very fond of fried fish. It took her a long time to carve out the fillets, but they had more than enough meat to make up for the time delay. Since Seymour's hands were still healing up, it had fallen on her to drag them out of the water and clean them. Her face would turn this hilarious green-gray tint and she would beg him to talk to her so that she'd have a distraction.

"Tell me about where you came from, what life here's like…just anything…" She gulped audibly when the piranha's slick insides began to slide out. He'd laughed a little at first just because her expression was comical, but then described Guadosalam to her in great detail. Before long, she had a stack of fillets on one of the plates and turned everything else back over to the sea. More piranhas would probably come because the fishy fiends had no qualms about eating their own kind. She scrubbed her hands in the ocean as Seymour described his house.

"The whole thing's made out of a tree? I can't wait to see it!" she exclaimed, forgetting her squeamishness.

"Neither can I," he said emphatically, "there's just the matter of how we're getting off this island."

Melody frowned.

"To be honest, I really don't know…it was so much easier when I had wings. Even when I take your stitches out, I don't think it's a good idea to try to swim all that way. I can't hold my breath very long at all."

As Seymour regained his strength and she took the stitches out one wound at a time, they searched the ruins together. As predicted, they didn't find anything that would serve as a boat.

"How did you get out of here the first time?" Melody asked.

"My exile was revoked and a boat was sent for me," Seymour replied, "I do not count on having such luck this time around."

That evening, she was able to take the last of the stitches out of the deepest wound. His ribs no longer hurt when he moved and he was even getting to where he could help her do things if only to relieve his boredom. His magical abilities were also slowly returning, though he could still only manage the weaker spells. They sometimes had a game going where she would cast the Protect spell she'd been working on for days now and he would see how many things he could hit it with before it broke. She seemed to have a little bit of nerves with fire as well as lightning, so he took a sort of savage pleasure in hurling fireballs at her.

"Oh, come on! I'm starting to sweat over here!" she objected after the ninth or tenth one. Seymour dropped to one knee feeling dizzy and exhausted. His tendril of blue-violet bang stuck to his forehead with perspiration.

"No way! I actually beat you?" she exclaimed, letting the shield drop.

"Don't get cocky," he replied, "I haven't achieved my full power yet."

He thought to take her by surprise, as there was just enough magic left for one more spell. Instinctively, she ducked and flung her arms over her face. A curve of green-white light blasted out from her curled arms. The fireball hit it and ricocheted off, causing Seymour to have to flatten himself into the floor to avoid being hit. He stared at Melody incredulously just as she looked up.

"Huh?" she asked, puzzled, "Why does it look different?"

The greenish-white semi-sphere-shaped light slowly evaporated.

"When did you learn Reflect?" he asked, puzzled.

"I…don't know," she confessed, "I feel like I've seen it before, but I don't remember actually learning it. You didn't draw this one in my book."

She traced the air where the spell had been. The only conclusion she could come to was that she might have learned it from his memories.

"If we can make light solid…" she thought out loud, "…maybe we can use it to get across the water."

Seymour sighed in frustration, mopping his face with his sleeve.

"It wouldn't even be an issue if I had my staff back," he grumbled, "then we could simply walk across."

Melody stared at him in disbelief.

"Did you just say you could walk on water?"

"Of course," he said, mildly annoyed, "all the Summoners can do it. That's how we can Send a great deal of the dead without having to step over the bodies constantly. Have you never heard of it?"

She shook her head.

"I knew someone who did a very long time ago…my brother…but that was on Earth where magic didn't exactly exist…"

"How did they do it, then?" Seymour asked incredulously, "I trust that the water wasn't frozen."

"No. In fact, it was more alive than ever," Melody said, "it was storming really badly that night—really big waves higher than castles and the boat that his friends in was rocking this way and that way and threatening to go under. But there he was, just ignoring it all. His friend tried, too, and would have made it, but it was like he remembered gravity existed at the wrong time. He would have drowned if my brother hadn't been so close. I can only say he did it because he believed he could."

Seymour didn't say anything and kept his expression carefully masked. Underneath, however, he was planning something. Since Melody always seemed to know what he was thinking (or at least when he wasn't feeling well), he had to be careful to think about something else in her presence. That night, however, as they watched the sun go down and the moon rise as had become their unspoken ritual, Seymour positioned himself carefully behind her. The tide had come in and the water was nearly exactly level with the stone they were standing on. He moved so quietly that his robes didn't even rustle. With a devilish grin, he shoved Melody forward…

And sighed when she face-planted in the water with an enormous splash. It took her a moment to resurface. When she did, she clung to the side of the rock, coughing ocean out of her lungs.

"Seymour, was there a good reason for that?" she asked, wiping her dripping hair out of her face.

"Yes, actually. I wanted to see if these 'water-walking' genes were present in you as well as this brother of yours," he said, clearly disappointed, "I suppose the answer is 'no'."

She scrambled back up onto the rock.

"I can't very well prepare myself for it if I'm shoved in unexpectedly," she warned him, wringing out her skirt, "besides, what if more fish-monsters came up? A chewed-up guardian isn't of much use to you, is she?"

He wanted to say something insulting, but he restrained himself. There was something about seeing her clothes all plastered down and heavy with the freezing water that made her look woefully pathetic.

"Very well," he said quietly, "I'll give you until tomorrow."

"Why the rush?" she asked.

"Why the delay?" he countered.

She responded by shaking like a dog and spattering him with water droplets before going inside.

The next morning should have, by all circumstances, been perfect for this experiment. The sun rose brilliantly red-orange. There were fluffy pink and purple clouds in the sky, but they were harmless and threatened neither rain nor lightning. The sea was deceptively quiet, the peaks of the waves gentle. Melody and Seymour each carried a pack with their supplies, trying to divide the load up so that she was actually carrying the heavier items—though his wounds had closed, he was still weak and tired easily. He had put up a good argument to this, most of it having to do more with his pride than out of gentlemanly duty, but Melody had out-stubborned him. They stood side by side on the farthest stone out for a minute or two before she drew in a deep breath.

"Shall we?"

She offered her arm to him, knowing that this would probably only work if they were touching. Seymour linked his arm with hers only after a second's hesitation. Then, she stepped off the rock.

"Help me, Father…" she whispered. For an agonizing second, he saw her start to sink and strained to pull her back up, as he had not stepped off yet, but then she began to rise a little again. That strange charged feeling filled the air, the one that made him feel as if there was another presence. Melody's eyes had closed and she stepped forward again. This time, her footing seemed quite sure—she swayed only a little with the gentle rhythm of the waves. She started forward, pulling him with her. He had no choice but to obey the pressure, as he was getting thrown off-balance. Clinging to her arm out of reflex more than actual need to stay up, he felt an invisible force pulling him upright. His heart rate increased a little….what was doing that?

Melody's eyes did eventually open again, but she had that faraway blanked-out expression. They didn't talk as they stepped through the waves—she seemed to be using all her mental energy to focus on what she was doing and he didn't want to risk breaking her concentration. Each time he thought of letting go of her arm, he would feel himself start to sink.

"We're almost there," she said, sounding strange. Her voice had taken on a strange misty quality. He didn't answer, simply fixed his gaze on the horizon. He couldn't tell which direction she meant. For that matter, were they even going the right way? He supposed it didn't matter—sooner or later, they were going to hit land unless they just veered off course badly. As far as he could see, they were still going in a straight line. Baaj Temple had vanished behind them. There was nothing but water as far as the eye could see. The sun had faded from red to orange then to gold. Now, it was blazing overhead causing black spots to dance in their vision. Every wave looked very much like the same. The shock and awe at just being able to do this was beginning to wear off and he was beginning to feel a little fatigued. The blazing sun made their faces burn while the mist and the water soaked their shoes and the bottom hems of their clothes. After what felt like hours of walking, Seymour was dying for a drink. The fact that they were surrounded by ocean water only seemed to amplify his thirst. It was as if the moisture had migrated from his mouth and throat to the middle of his back, his palms, and his forehead and multiplied. Just as he was beginning to feel a bit shaky, he finally glanced in the direction Melody had been staring at and saw a smudge of brown and green. He didn't change outwardly, but he was overjoyed inside. With that joy came fear—how long would they have peace and rest before someone saw him and came after him? He swallowed hard, which hurt because of the dryness, and tried to think about something else. The sun was, at least, starting to dip a little lower in the horizon. Darkness would make him feel safer.

They reached the shore just as "golden hour" set in. He felt the force disappear and they both dropped unexpectedly into the surf. Despite being thoroughly drenched, it felt wonderful for their burned skin to get some cold on it. Seymour's thick Guado skin had provided more protection than Melody's soft pale human skin. She was as red as a cherry, especially on her cheeks. For the first time since this morning, she seemed to remember that he was there.

"I can't believe we didn't run into a single fiend," she breathed, "I was so sure we were going to run into some trouble."

Seymour didn't say anything. Digging one of the canteens out of the bag, he drained it dry without stopping. He had forgotten what a royal pain being alive was—when he'd been Unsent, he never got hungry or thirsty though he could eat or drink if he just felt like it. He couldn't remember having to sleep or use the bathroom, either. All of these physical needs were aggravating and every single one of them was quite high at the moment. Melody crawled into the shade, relishing the cushion of the cool grass there. She unshouldered her pack and used it as a pillow. Her eyes were starting to close as he shifted awkwardly.

"Stay there….I'll be back in a moment."

"Mmmm-hmmm…." She sighed sleepily. He was glad she didn't question it. While he walked into the cover of a thick clump of trees, he resolved to help her set up camp when he got back. She seemed even more tired than he was. He straightened his robes and went to rejoin her on the beach. Melody was fast asleep where he'd left her, her breath coming in gentle waves. He supposed the first thing to do was get a fire going. Though it was still quite warm now, it would get cold again this close to the water once the sun had gone down. It would also be harder to find wood in the dark. It took what seemed like an eternity to get enough fuel for even a small one. At least he could get it going with magic…he never realized how grateful he was to be able to touch the wood and watch the orange flames blossom from his palm. Deep down, he had to admit that it felt good not to be useless for a change. He sat back and watched in satisfaction as the flames licked at all the sticks he'd gathered. Then, he dug one of the fish fillets out of his pack and devoured it. His manners were probably atrocious, but who was around to see? Feeling a million times better, he reclined against the tree that Melody was laying under and let the hypnotic rhythm of the waves lull him to sleep.

What he woke to might have been a dream. Sometime between him dropping off and now, the sun's intensity had faded from gold to red and it sank into its own bed somewhere in the ocean. The sky was a soft blue-black and the sliver of crescent moon looked like a smile, as it was tipped on its side. The air was pleasantly cool. More wood had been added onto the fire and Melody was awake now. He realized that she'd spread a blanket over him. He looked around for her until he saw a swarm of Pyreflies.

Of course…

She was spinning around and around in circles, the Pyreflies floating around her. Her skirt flared out much in the same way that a dancer's would and caught the moonlight in its slightly shiny silver fabric. She toppled over into the sand, laughing breathlessly and clutching her now-dizzy head. She reminded him of a little girl that had found a new toy. After a moment, she shakily got to her feet and shook the sand off her clothes.

"Father…I wish…he could laugh like this…"

There was that presence again. He'd given up on trying to figure out where it was or what it was.

"I just can't make sense of it all," she confessed, "this place is so odd…so different. So beautiful and so deadly at the same time. It's strange to be in a place full of wild animals and fiends and very physical threats. All the things I fought before were things only I could see…things that were more subtle and hidden in the shadows. And then there's Seymour…"

She paused, digging her bare toes into the sand. Her shoes were laying haphazardly in the grass where she'd kicked them off.

"He doesn't want to talk to me," she said, "he'll tell me about places, but he talks about them so objectively like he's giving a college lecture. There's no him in there—he's walled it off from everyone including himself."

Only a blowing wind answered. Or maybe that was only what he heard.

"I know. It takes time, but mortal lives feel so short…especially mine…" she sighed, "Will I have enough time?"

Wind again.

"Yeah, you're right. Whatever I've got's enough. How do I do it, though?"

Seymour strained his ears hard, trying to pick out any discernible voice from the wind, but he couldn't hear it even with his enhanced senses.

"Okay…of course I trust you. You made him, too."

She glanced over at him. Seymour saw her head start to turn and promptly feigned sleep.

"It's heartbreaking that everyone gave him such a hard time…I feel all that pain every time I touch him…just because he's different. He's the first known human-Guado hybrid and now he's the first…what do we call him here? Re-Sent? I can seal his cuts, I can break his fevers, I can even restart his heart, but I can't un-break it. I suppose that's your job, huh?"

She turned her back to him again, looking out at the sea they'd crossed only hours ago.

"I guess we're in for a long trip, huh?"

Seymour noticed something when she turned. The sword she carried was glowing. Not just shimmering because the moon was hitting it, but actually glowing. Whatever it was made of was reacting to the invisible presence.

"As long as you're here, I'm up for anything," she said, replying to an invisible speaker. They talked for a few minutes longer. When she returned to the fire, she realized that Seymour was awake. Feeling strange, he waited for her to get situated before asking, "Who were you talking with just now?"

"Father," she said calmly.

"I didn't see anyone there but you."

Melody nodded.

"Anyone fleshed can't see Him unless He appears in a different form," Melody said, "He can never appear to the living as His true self because the light would burn through us. He's been known to take a physical form now and then, though…He might appear to you at some point."

The sword, he noted, was not glowing now.

"I hope he does," Seymour muttered, "I don't feel comfortable with someone following me that I can't see."

"He's like the wind at times," Melody told Seymour, "you can't always see Him—but you can always tell where He's just been. See?"

Seymour had to get up to look where she was pointing. He stared, bewildered, at the second set of tracks in the sand. There was no way that Melody could have made them—they were all in step with hers. They were larger, however, and they sank in deeper than Melody's. There was absolutely no way that she could have made them—he'd been watching her.

"Where did those come from?"

"I told you—they're His prints."

He said nothing. There really wasn't anything to say. It chilled him and he decided to drop the subject. Instead, he asked, "How long was I asleep for?"

"Not long," Melody said, "a few hours. I kept watch, don't worry."

"Have you seen any fiends?"

"No. Not yet…."

"Take care not to go into the woods alone."

"But you did."

"I was still within earshot. Stay close."

"Okay."

She played absently with the sand.

"You sound a little disappointed, actually," Melody said, "that nothing's happened."

"It would be a mixed blessing," Seymour replied, "I have traveled all over Spira and learned two things: first, that specific types of fiends are drawn to certain areas, and second, that the local 'wildlife' as they put it, can act as landmarks. The disadvantage, of course, is that you lack the training to deal with some of them."

Melody gulped.

"Like what kind?"

"We should wait until morning to discuss that. I don't want to give you nightmares," Seymour said, "and we're bound to run into some of them soon."

He gestured to where her resting spot had been earlier.

"Get some rest. It is my turn to keep watch."

She did, but it took her a long time to get to sleep. When she did finally sleep, however, she dreamed of things coming out of the woods. She jerked just as some fanged creature reached her and awoke with a jerk. Heart thundering, she looked around.

"S-Seymour?"

"Over here," he said, sounding annoyed. A gout of flame flowed from both palms, hitting a strange white thing floating towards him. Melody could sense by its presence that it wasn't friendly. Drawing her sword, she struck at it again and again, but it seemed undeterred.

"What the heck is this thing?!"

A shower of ice shards glittered both beautifully and dangerously in the moonlight before it struck her. She responded by stabbing her sword through the middle of it. While it didn't hurt it much, it distracted it enough for Seymour to finish it off with a burst of fire. She shivered violently, as there were patches of frost still on her arms and face. Had she been facing any other way, she'd have missed the huge wolf-beast that leapt out at them.

"Seymour!" Melody screamed, instinctively casting Protect. The wolf's teeth sought him out, but it slammed into the force-field instead. It crashed apart, but at least she'd kept him from the worst of it. Seymour turned and sent a lethal-looking spear of ice down its throat and Melody plunged her sword into its chest.

"Oh, my goodness…." She half-whispered, half-sobbed shakily. Jerking it free, she watched the Pyreflies floating upward, not realizing that she had a death-grip on Seymour's arm. Despite her shaking, he tugged it free and flexed it a few times to restore the blood-flow.

"You had better get used to it," he warned, "there will be more. Many more. On the upside, I know where we are now, or at least have an educated guess."